Part 16

Retiring to bed one Sunday night to my room situate off a rather long landing in an old farmhouse near here, I slept from about 10:30 p.m. to about 1:30 a.m. I was then awakened by hissing noises—very similar to those made by a flock of geese—coming from the landing. This was followed by footsteps proceeding to a spare room at the end of the landing. The footsteps died away, and immediately there commenced a violent rattling of empty milk pans and other odd things stored in that room. The footsteps would again be heard, and this was followed by severe shaking of my own and other bedroom doors in the house. I sat up in bed and tried to call to the person in the next room, but found I was unable to do so, apparently from shock. These noises continued without a break until 4 a.m. Then the footsteps seemed to go along the landing, down the stairs, across the hall, and through the front door, which seemed to close with a huge bang. When all seemed quiet again I gained courage enough to go downstairs, and found the house in order as at the time of retiring to bed, and, stranger still, the front door was still bolted and barred as usual on the inside. The rest of the household had heard exactly the same sounds as myself. Some who had come to stay in the house for a holiday hurriedly returned to their homes in Birmingham the same morning, thus losing their proposed fortnight's stay. I also changed my residence, and did not sleep in the house again.

Moreover, I knew personally a tenant of the same house who heard strange noises there; he actually sat up at nights with a friend to try and find out the cause and went so far as to take up the flooring. The mysterious noises both in my own case and on three other occasions within twelve months could never be explained, and to-day I am unable to offer any solution.

THE MISSING PAPERS

I can vouch (writes a clergyman from Yorkshire) for the truth of the following story:—

A clergyman of the Church of England was asked to preach at some special services in the Midlands. He spent the weekend with the local squire, and when he came to take his departure he said to his host, “Would you mind letting one of your servants take me round the house?” “Certainly, I'll show you round myself.” The clergyman was shown all over the mansion, but was still unsatisfied. “There's still a room in the house that I have not seen, and I want to see it.” The squire protested that he had been all over the house, but the clergyman was obdurate. At length the squire remembered an old disused attic. “But,” said he, “no one has been there for years.” “I want to see that attic.” Accordingly the door of this attic was forced open, and the party made their way in. “Ah, this is the room,” said the vicar, “and somewhere in this room there is a cupboard—there it is. I want it opened.”

The cupboard was forced open and a bundle of papers fell at the feet of the vicar, who picked them up and handed them to the squire. The squire opened them and uttered a gasp of astonishment. “Why, these are the deeds of my estate. I have been searching for them for months. Had I not found them very soon the chances are that I should have been involved in serious financial loss. But how did you know they were here?”

“I didn’t know they were here,” said the vicar slowly, “but last night I was conscious of the presence of someone in my room, and I became aware that somewhere in this house was a room I wanted to see, in which was a cupboard I wanted to open.”

THE HAUNTED LANE AT HENDON

THE district between Hendon and Kingsbury is believed to be haunted.

Thirty-five years ago, Welsh Harp Fair was bigger than to-day. On Bank Holidays I used to visit friends at Neasden, near Wembley, and we boys used to walk across the fields to Hendon.

The homeward road (Cool Oak-lane), after crossing the Welsh Harp, wound up a hill between tall dark trees and silent ponds, and past the blank wall of the grounds surrounding a large house.

Although only five miles from the Marble Arch, it was very lonely: being cut off from London by the Harp, a sheet of water a mile long.

The people of Neasden believed that the road was haunted. I remember the boys speaking of actually seeing a tall white ghost. This story may have been originated in the contrast between the brilliantly illuminated fair and the dark country road. Of course, the fair was not always on, so there was some other reason for the superstition. Anyhow, the neighbourhood is unchanged, and the children of to-day keep away from the place at nights.

CHESHIRE

SOME years ago, I, with my wife and family, lived in a house which was undoubtedly haunted. One day, my wife was in the hall with the baby in her arms when, suddenly, a figure in white appeared, and she had to draw to one side to allow it to pass her. She saw the same apparition on several occasions and, later, a nurse, who we had in the house during my wife's illness, also saw it at different times. One day she was in the bathroom when the figure appeared, walked through the room, opened the door, and passed out. On another occasion she was having breakfast in the nursery adjoining the bedroom when she saw a figure in white standing in the doorway. She thought it was my wife who had got out of bed against instructions, and she immediately went into the room next door to “blow up” the patient, and found she had never left her bed. Ultimately, I myself saw it one evening when in the bedroom (the door of which was open) brushing my hair before the mirror, I suddenly became conscious of something unusual and saw a figure mount the stairs, pause at the top and then proceed on its way upwards.

Subsequently, we were very much disturbed by loud hammerings which always commenced immediately we went to bed at night, continued the whole night through, but finished always immediately the servant got up in the morning. These noises became so violent that we finally had to give up the house. On making inquiries, I found that in the vicinity of the spot where the house was situated, a young woman, whose husband was a captain and had lost his life at sea, had lived and had drowned herself in a pit not very far away, some years previously.

KENT

SOME years ago, I went home to stay with my parents for holiday. They had recently moved into an old mansion which had been converted into a double dwelling-house, both parties using the same staircase and hall. During my stay, my mother and father took the opportunity to go away for a week end, leaving me to get meals for a friend who lived with them, and whose duties as a postal servant often brought him home in the early hours of the morning. My mother feared, as I was young, I might not rise in time to get his breakfast. I gave my promise I would do it, but did not mention how. Accordingly, I sat up all night busy with fancy work until it was time for me to get ready a nice hot breakfast. I felt sure if I went to bed at my usual hour I should not waken. When all was ready—about 2 a.m.— I went into the hall to listen for any sound of the friend coming. The door of the room I was in faced the staircase which was very wide, and, right in front of me, about half way down the staircase, stood a tall gentleman clad in brown velvet jacket, cord breeches, leggings and huntsman's cap. Thinking it might be a friend of the people in the other half of the house, I went in and closed the door, wondering why he was roaming about the house at that hour. When the friend arrived for breakfast, I told him what I had seen. He laughed heartily and then said: “So you have seen him?” I asked where the joke came in, and he calmly told me he saw the same gentleman repeatedly—he haunted the house. Needless to say, I did not spend another night in sitting up.

When mother returned and I told her my experience, she was ever so sorry she had left me; she did not dream I would stay up. She then told me that night after night she and father were kept awake with music and dancing somewhere close to their bedroom, and they could find out nothing to account for it. Some time after, the place was pulled down and a large jar of golden coins was found embedded in one of the walls of the bedroom in which my parents slept. This may sound to some people like a fairy tale, but it is perfectly true, and, whenever I think of the place, I can see that gentleman who, they told me, always vanished as soon as you had seen him.

SEAFORD

WE were living, in 1912, in a quiet Midland town, and the household comprised my husband, small son, maid and myself. The son was recovering from an attack of croup, and my husband and I took it in turns to sleep with him in the large bedroom. As the doctor gave a good report of the invalid, I was looking forward to a good night's rest in the smaller room. When bedtime came, I opened the window and door, and, after a short time, was fast asleep. I do not know how long it was before I became wide awake, feeling that something evil was hovering around me. There was nothing to be seen, but a bad influence or presence made itself felt, and I was simply terrified. I was in a cold sweat of fear, afraid to move lest something should happen to me. What that something was, I did not know then, neither do I know now.

My husband slept in the room on the next night, and he said he was troubled by bad nightmare dreams—but would say nothing more.

When the doctor called, he advised that our son should go into the smaller room in the daytime for a change, so we soon had him comfortably settled there in bed. But he wanted amusement, like most boys do when they are well enough, so we fetched the kitten upstairs and placed it on the bed, for they were very fond of each other.

Alas! before we could ask ourselves what was the matter, the kitten seemed to turn pale, and, tucking his tail between his legs, he absolutely bolted off the bed and rushed headlong downstairs. Of course, we joked about it to our son, and called to the maid to carry the kitten and a saucer of milk upstairs again. Again we tried to tempt the kitten to remain on the bed, but it was impossible. Again it rushed downstairs as if terrified.

What was to be done? I determined to sleep there at night, as we arranged and, again, I was awakened by the knowledge that some evil was present in the room around me. I was still terrified and unable to move, but was able to pray to God to save me, body, soul and spirit, and, after about ten minutes’ silent prayer, the influence or presence, or whatever it was, went, and the air in the room became light and fresh and buoyant as it used to be. The next day the kitten remained upstairs and was a joy to the invalid.

Can these experiences be accounted for? I wonder! I was afterwards told that a crime of continual cruelty had occurred in that room a few years before. If so, why did the evil influence revisit the room, and not the perpetrators of the cruelty?

This is a true account of what actually happened in a pretty little house near ———, in Warwickshire.

CAMBRIDGE