Part 10

I WELL remember when I was a schoolgirl, my father taking an old farm which had been uninhabited for years. It was a quaint old house with three stairways, and the best bedroom had queer little knobs and ornamentations all over the ceiling, and the date 1643 or 83 let into the wall—I forget exactly, it was so long ago.

It was pleasantly situated, but bore a bad reputation, for it was said that the old lady who owned it in bygone days had come by it through fraudulently altering a will; then, towards the end of her days, it was unlawfully wrested from her for some paltry debt. This preyed on her mind and she died soon after, vowing that she would haunt the spot, so it was said, and anyone who took it would rue it. My mother was very averse to taking it and so was my grandmother, who, indeed, begged and prayed father to have nothing to do with it, saying there was a curse on the place, and no good would come of it. However, father, not being at all superstitious, but an honest, God-fearing man, laughed at such predictions. He had the farm put in repair, and we went there to live.

From that day our modest prosperity vanished; we lost money steadily. In a few months my father was brought home seriously ill. He got up at last from his bed a wreck of his former self, only to linger for two years a semi-invalid, then a recurrence of his illness took him from us within a few days.

My mother’s mind broke down under the shock and worry, and she had to be taken away, and we girls were left fatherless, as bad as motherless, and penniless into the bargain. Our home was sold up, we paid our debts and got out of that disastrous house as soon as we could. As for our uncanny experiences there—we were awakened more than once by sounds as if all the heavy furniture we possessed downstairs was being dragged about, also by footsteps coming up the flagged path that led to the front door, and by raps at the window.

Also, one evening, I remember distinctly we four girls were all sitting quietly sewing, when, all at once, we jumped nearly out of our skins at a loud rat-tat-tat at the front door. “Whoever can that be at this time of night?” we said. My eldest sister snatched up a light and ran to answer, and came back saying: “There's no one there.” At this moment, our dog, chained in the back yard, snapped his chain and ran round the house howling piteously.

Who it was, or what it was, I know not; we saw nothing, but I don’t think anyone would have played a trick on us at such a time when we were in deep trouble. Then, too, it was a lonely place, and the house stood back from the road enclosed with high garden hedges, and in those days country folk were not wont to travel the dark lanes at nine or ten at night to frighten their neighbours or, indeed, for any purpose unless necessity compelled them.

Only once during our stay there did we see anything. One night my second sister was awakened by the feeling that someone or something was in the room, and was horrified to see the figure of an old woman, with thin grey wisps of hair, bending over the bed. As she lay, too frightened to call to the rest of us, the figure gradually retreated in the direction of the door, which led into the best bedroom.

I don’t care to recall these things, for even after the lapse of many years their remembrance both saddens and terrifies. Was there some sinister influence surrounding this spot? Or were our misfortunes just the chances and changes of this mortal life which might have occurred anywhere? Who can rightly say? What happened to the next tenant (if there was one) I do not know. We removed to a distant county, and I have long lost touch with any I used to know who might give me news of it.

The Lady with the Thimble

MY aunt has often told me that, when she was staying with her mother at a friend's house in the city, at night time a curious tapping, as if with a thimble, on the door of her room used to awaken her, and then something seemed to appear at the bottom of the bed which was one of the old-fashioned four-post type. Then she would feel the bed shake beneath her, the shaking increasing in volume. The tapping was heard about a quarter to twelve, and everything ceased on the stroke of midnight.

Her mother used to think she was dreaming, but, as she was so emphatic in her story, they agreed to change rooms, my grandmother sleeping in her daughter’s room. Soon after twelve o'clock my grandmother entered my aunt’s bedroom, looking very frightened. “You are quite right,” she said, “I can’t sleep there another night; I don't know how you managed to sleep there so long.”

The next day my aunt inquired as to the occupants of the room who had preceded her. The host looked rather anxious. “Why,” he said, “my mother used to sleep there; she died rather suddenly a year or two ago, and I don’t think anybody has ever occupied it since.” My aunt told him of what had happened, and he said that his mother was always accustomed to wearing a thimble, and, on entering a room, used to knock on the door with it. He was unable to give an explanation of the shaking of the bed, so that must be put down as an unfathomable mystery.

A Reverend Gentleman’s Story

MY grandparents, with their two sons, lived at a lone farm about a mile from the village. In my early days I spent much of my time with them, and often heard them speak about the visitations of “the ghost.” They quite believed the place was haunted, and, taking into account my own experiences, I was led to believe the same.

It was no uncommon thing, as we were sitting round the fire in the evening, to hear three distinct knocks at the top of the chimney, which would gradually descend to the back of the fireplace. So used were they to these rappings that they would be dismissed with just a passing reference.

On moonlight nights my uncles would often go out to shoot rabbits. On one occasion, when they came back, they said they had seen a man sitting on the branch of a tree. They challenged him to come down, thinking he was a poacher in hiding, but, as they were looking at him, he suddenly disappeared.

On another occasion, one night, when the snow was on the ground, one of my uncles came in from the village, and said there was a man sitting astride the wheat stack at the back of the house. My grandfather took his gun and went up to the back bedroom window, and, looking out, sure enough there sat the human form. My grandfather shouted: “If you don’t come down, I'll shoot you.” But before he had time to raise his gun, the figure vanished. Next morning they got a ladder and examined the roof of the rick to see if they could find any footprints, or if the snow had been disturbed, but not a trace could be found!

Sometimes the ghost would appear in different shapes and forms. In the winter the cattle were kept up in the yard and cow-sheds. My grandfather’s brother, who lived in the village, used to come up early to feed them. One morning, when he had finished his work, he came in and said: “The thing was in the manger again.” The “thing” referred to was a white calf, which he had seen more than once in the same position, but it always disappeared when he went up to it.

My mother often referred to her experiences with the ghost when a girl at home. It would come when she and her sisters were playing around the ricks. It took the shape of a round log, covered with long black hair, full of bright spots. After rolling about for some time, it always finished up by going into the pond at the end of the barn. On one occasion a girl with long black hair joined them at play. At first they thought it was a girl from the village, but when they gathered round her, she vanished.

It was in this rick yard that my cousin and I had a hair-raising experience. One evening as it was getting dusk, we were romping in a heap of straw; then we sat down and covered ourselves up to the neck. Sitting there, we heard a panting noise, like a horse trying to get its breath after a race. Looking up we were horror-struck to see a huge animal like a lion, with long, shaggy hair, coming towards us. We sat breathless. It then passed over our legs and disappeared through the bushes into the pond. Terrified, we ran into the house and told what had happened.

I had another experience later on, early one morning on the road leading up to the farm. Just before me I saw a white calf’s head projecting from the corner of a heap of stones. It was motionless, so I went to see what was the matter with it, but as I came up to it, it vanished and appeared at another corner! I then thought of the white calf in the manger, and started to run. On another occasion my brother and I were driving along this same road one dark night. As we got to a very narrow part of the road we saw before us two large lights. Thinking it was a carriage with lamps we wondered how we should pass. I pulled in to the left and waited. We could hear nothing. As the lights drew nearer they seemed to grow larger. At last we saw the outline of some monster beast, and these lights were its eyes. I could have touched it as it passed. Neither of us spoke a word till we got to the village. The horse did not seem to have seen it.

In the course of time my grandfather gave up the farm and came to live in the village, but, strange to say, the family ghost followed him! Many weird and uncanny things happened about the house, some of which I could speak of from personal experience.

My grandparents have long since passed away, since when nothing more has been heard of the family ghost.

Whose Eyes?

“I SHAN'T be a minute; I’m going to fetch a book from my bedroom.”

So saying, I got up and smiled across the table at Mr. P., the gentleman boarder. “Let me go,” he said. “Certainly not,” I answered, and lightly ran out of the room and up the inky black stairs. There was the awful soundlessness and stillness of impenetrable darkness, and I had to slacken my steps to feel for each stair. When I was about half way up someone pushed against me from behind and tried to tread on the same stair as myself. I gasped and instantly thought it was a practical joke that Mr. P. was playing on me, and I said fiercely: “Go away, Mr. P.! You ought to be ashamed of yourself, frightening me like that.” As he didn’t answer me, I turned round to push him away, and found Emptiness. The horror of this was so great that, regardless of the danger of missing the stairs, I literally flew up the remainder and opened my door and rushed inside.

As I was in the act of banging the door a pair of eyes gazed at me out of the darkness. Oh! it was awful!—Eyes without a body, gazing at me. I flung myself against the door to shut them out, at the same time covering my eyes with my hands.

My bedroom was pitch dark. Outside, I knew I had to face unknown terror—what was I to do? Not a sound to be heard, and the only living people in that house were at the bottom of all those stairs.