Part 20

One day, years later, liking such exercise, Mrs. D. sawed up an elm bough, lopped from an overhanging tree. Succeeding sections showed a pattern; in the annular rings there was discernible the figure of the woman in brown. This was corroborated by others.

The question arises, ‘Did the thoughts of the woman in brown continue, after bodily death, to inhabit the spot where she had been so unhappy, impressing themselves, not only on another's mind but on the internal structure of the tree near by?’

“IS THAT YOU, TOM?”

Many years ago, I, accompanied by my infant son, went to spend a few days at my brother's home—a lonely farm on the Derbyshire moors.

My brother was away when I arrived, and was not expected back until next day. During the night, I was awakened by the feeling that someone was leaning over me as I lay in bed. Looking up, I saw a dark shadowy form and, thinking that my brother had returned sooner than expected, and had come in to see me, I put out my hand saying, “Is that you, Tom?” There was no answer, and the shadow faded. I sat up in bed, wondering if it was my imagination, then, taking a look at my sleeping son, I composed myself for sleep again.

Next morning, I asked my sister-in-law if my brother had returned. Receiving a negative reply, I related the incident of the night. My sister-in-law said, “Oh, Anne! have you seen it also?” Then she told me that whenever my brother was away for the night she always prayed that she might sleep soundly and not be disturbed by the shadow that she had so often seen leaning over her bed—sometimes at the foot and sometimes at the side of the bed. Shortly after my visit, my brother was visited by relatives of his wife from Southport—people whom I did not know—and, one morning, they burst into the kitchen asking if the house was haunted and declaring that a big dark shadow had been in their room during the night. They made quite a joke of it.

Now, as I am a very sceptical person, in spite of my own experience, I asked my cousin, from whom my brother rented the house, and who had lived there, if he had seen anything. He did not want to say he had, but, when pressed, admitted that both he and his mother and father knew about the manifestations. He told me that one night, sitting up to attend to a sick cow, he had locked the kitchen door and was sitting by the fire, when, suddenly, the door was flung open and a tall man walked into the kitchen, passed through the sitting-room, and clanked upstairs. (The farmhouse has only one doorway which opens directly into the kitchen.) My uncle, who was in bed, called out, “Is that you, Walter?” But it wasn't Walter; he was still sitting by the fire spellbound and gazing at the still locked door. There was no one upstairs but the family in bed. I afterwards asked my aunt what she made of it. She was a deeply religious woman, and, without hesitation, she simply said, “Aye, Anne, I’ve seen it many a time, but I don't mind, it's harmless enough.”

I often wonder, can we all have imagined it? I knew nothing about it till I went there—nor did the Southport visitors; and my relatives were very averse to talking about the visitations.

“OUR GHOST”

GHOSTS! Of course there are ghosts, and we should feel lost if our ghost did not walk about at times. We have lived in this house for eighteen years and it was a bit uncanny at first to hear footsteps come down the stairs, then see the handle of the door turn. We would look up expecting to see someone, and so we christened the occurrence as “Our Ghost.” Still, I must say there is something in the house. Our dog will be asleep on the rug, and, all at once, will get up and stare at the door for some time and then whine. There are times when the cat fights shy of the passage. It is only a few months ago that we heard someone (or something) at midnight move about downstairs and then we heard the front door bang. We went down to investigate and then remembered “Our Ghost.” This is after a life of eighteen years in the same house. Of course, there are ghosts.

A MAN WITH AN AXE

I LIVE in an ordinary little suburban house—one of a row of “boxes with lids on”—the approach to the upper storey being by a flight of twelve stairs and another flight of four stairs set at right angles to the first, a small bedroom being in the angle formed by the junction of the two. One night some six months ago, when passing this bedroom in the dark, I caught a momentary glimpse of the form of a man holding an axe in his right hand, his face bearing a highly malevolent expression. Not being at that time of a nervous disposition I dismissed the whole thing as imagination, but, on three separate occasions since, I have seen the same form, and always when passing that door in the dark I have the impression of having received a glancing blow on head and shoulder. Now the sequel to this is strange. I have ascertained that some years ago the then tenant of the house attacked his wife with an axe as she was descending the stairs, and she died from her injuries; he was confined in an asylum, where he died six months ago. The name of the road was then ——— Road; in consequence of the tragedy it was changed (as was then the common practice) to the more pretentious ——— Avenue, and only the older residents of the district recollect anything of the case. Can any of your readers tell me how to exorcise this “ghost,” for if it troubles me much more I shall be a fitting candidate for the institution where my ghostly friend ended his days.

SEEN IN THE MIRROR

A FEW years ago, I was sitting waiting for my husband to come home. It was nearly midnight and everything was quiet. I looked up to the mirror and saw an old grey-headed lady walking slowly across the room, from the middle door to the back door. When I turned to look at her she had gone. I sat a few minutes, dumbfounded, looking at the mirror, and she came again. This she repeated three times and then went for good. We could never keep a door locked at night. The doors have been locked and bolted and, then, in the morning have been found undone. People declared the house was haunted. After we left it no one would live in it, so it was pulled down.

A TRAGEDY RE-ENACTED

I AM not superstitious neither do I believe in ghosts, but the following tale may interest some of your readers.

Some time ago I used to stay at an old rectory in a Kentish village. The rectory stood in a beautiful garden joining the churchyard, and was approached by a carriage drive bordered by thick hedges and trees. The house was low, gloomy-looking and rambling, containing many rooms and winding passages and had three staircases, but it had been somewhat modernised. One room was supposed to be haunted.

I once slept in this room, but the ghost did not visit me; neither did I see or hear anything unusual. The room was a large one with two windows overlooking the carriage drive. A niece of the rector came on a visit and was given as a bedroom the haunted chamber. It was early autumn, a warm, beautiful moonlight night, not a leaf moving. The rector's niece had gone to her room, but wishing to finish a book, sat reading between the two open windows. Just as the church clock struck twelve, the door (which was fastened) opened. There was a sound of a scuffle, a rush past, a swish of skirts, a loud groan which seemed to end at the window, and a deep thud as if a heavy body had fallen. The window curtains, which were thick and heavy, blew straight out into the room.

At breakfast next day, the lady related her experience and was told she had seen, or rather heard the ghost. Other members of the family had had a similar experience. The story goes:

Many years ago a certain rector murdered his wife at midnight in this room, and threw the body out of the window.

At certain periods the lady's ghost is supposed to visit the scene of the murder.

A HARMLESS APPARITION

MANY years ago one of my workmates went to live in a house not more than five minutes walk from my address. One night, whilst he and his wife were sitting in the house, they noticed a hand draw aside the curtain, which hung at the middle door—the door near the pantry—and then there stood revealed to them an old lady who looked at them for a minute or so and vanished. One day they invited some of their relations to tea. After they had had the meal, a young man of the party got up from his chair and stood with his back to the fire-place, while the other members of the party were still sitting around the table talking. All at once, they noticed the hair on the young man’s head stand straight up, and there was a horror-stricken look on his face. He couldn't speak. He was looking past the table to the kitchen door. Every member of the party turned to look in that direction, and there stood the old lady revealed to all. My friend inquired of the neighbours as to who had lived in the house previous to him taking possession. They told him a young woman who was living in the next street. He went to see her and told her about the old lady whom he described. The young woman told him that it was her mother who had died in that house. He told the landlord about it, saying that the old lady seemed to come out of the pantry.

The landlord sent workmen who took up the flags in the pantry, and then replaced them. Since that was done the old lady has never reappeared. I asked my friends if they were not afraid of living in the house, but they both answered, “No, the old lady seemed harmless enough.” They are still living in the same house.

EVEN THE LANDLORD LEFT

I AM not interested in ghosts as a rule, but I was rather struck by the story of the brown lady of Raynham Hall. While reading of it, this incident came to my mind and it is just as true as uncanny.

When I was eleven years old we lived in Yorkshire and I was one of a large family. We had occasion to remove to a more convenient house. And as houses were very bad to get at that time, we thought we were very fortunate in securing a nice convenient place, without much trouble.

Strange to say, we had not lived in the house many weeks when, on returning home from school one day, I was amazed to find my mother quite prostrate on the couch. After I had attended to mother, she requested me to go upstairs and have a look round the rooms as she thought something had fallen out of place. Thinking nothing of it, I immediately went and examined all the rooms, but everything was in order. I was at a loss to understand mother's nervous breakdown.