Part 9

KENT

IN the late war I was working with a married friend who had a small son, three years of age. Her husband was in the Navy. We were working in a T.N.T. shell factory in Kent. Her husband had been on leave and had returned to his duty. She was very depressed because she had a feeling that something was going to happen. I cheered her as best I could. One night (we were working nights), I was put to work in a large shell store by myself. I heard the door open, as I thought to admit the night foreman, but as no one came in, I looked round, and, to my horror, I saw my friend's husband in full naval clothes, with no hat on, and his little son in front of him with arms held out. I rushed to the door, thinking something had happened, but I found no one there. Sixteen hours later my friend had news to say her husband had been drowned off the Irish Coast, and, two days later her little son caught his night clothes alight in front of the fire and died in hospital from the shock of the burns.

DERBY

ONE night in April, 1917, I was in bed asleep when I woke with a start and distinctly heard my fiancé call in a distressed voice: “Frank! oh, Frank!” (my nickname). It was so real, I jumped out of bed and, going to the window, I saw him, sun helmet, kit, and all equipment in the garden beneath my window, as clear as ever I had seen him in reality. I turned to go back to bed and have a good cry, feeling sure something tragic had happened. My sister came from another room and said, “I felt certain I heard Charlie call you. What can it mean?” There was not much sleep for either of us that night, and, not hearing from him for several days, I feared the worst. However, one day at the office, I received a wire asking me to meet him on the London train due in that evening. When I had an opportunity I asked, "What were you doing on the —rd April?” He took out his diary and gave it to me to read, and this was written at the date of my experience:—

"Submarine sighted, lifebelts—what luck if we go under without a fight after two and a half years away from home. Frank! oh, Frank, God bless you!”

And he admitted what a narrow squeak they had that night in the Mediterranean.

TRUE TALES OF HAUNTED HOUSES

An Evil Presence

DURING the recent September my husband and I went for a motoring tour in Scotland. The weather was wonderful, and I had never felt better in my life. Towards the end of our week we made for a certain hotel in the Highlands, where my husband hoped to have some dancing.

At the close of a perfect day—from every point of view—we neared our destination. On entering the hotel I became conscious at once of an extraordinary sensation which I can only describe as a soul chill! This remained with me as we went to our room to dress for dinner. After that meal my husband went to the ballroom and I, who do not dance, cowered over the fire in the lounge and tried to get warm. Telling myself that I had caught a chill, I sought out my husband and told him I was retiring. He decided to remain until the dancing was over.

The instant I got into my bedroom I was seized by a sensation of appalling panic. I saw nothing, but I was perfectly aware that the small room was filled with uncanny and evil beings!

I undressed and got into bed, but the obsession became too terrible to be endured. I endeavoured to make the Sign of the Cross, but found that I could not raise my hands. I then fell on my knees and tried to pray, but I could not; even to utter the Divine name was an impossibility.

This seems cold written down as it is, but words fail to describe the awful atmosphere. I can only say that the room was crowded to overflowing with some evil presence.

I could stand no more; I put on a dressing-gown and went in search of my husband. I found that he had foregathered with some men he had known during the War. He was angry at the interruption, but, as soon as he saw my distress, he at once came to my room.

His presence seemed to help me somewhat, but all that night I tossed about, sleeping only to dream the most awful dreams. In the morning my husband, believing that I had caught a chill, wished to get a doctor, but I knew that my ailment was not physical.

We went out for a long day trip, and no sooner was I out of the house than I became perfectly normal.

Some of my fears returned as I came back that evening, but as we were going south in the morning, I made up my mind to brave it out. The second night was not quite so bad, probably because my husband, who was now rather infected by the condition, remained with me. I did not sleep at all; the whole night through I was aware that the evil thing was crouching and waiting to spring upon me.

We left the place immediately after an early breakfast next day.

My only sensation when about half a mile from the place was as if I had had a serious illness—intense weakness both of mind and body.

I have never seen a ghost, but I have felt things more than once. I am very psychic. I have told this story to several people, and the only explanation offered has been that something must have happened in the hotel or in that particular room. This explanation does not satisfy me. I want to know why it is that when we drove up to that beautiful place in the majestic scenery of the Highlands my soul seemed to shiver and to shudder within me.

In a covering letter, the writer of this story says:—

“I do not know whether this is, strictly speaking, a ghost story, but it was a recent and very terrifying experience, and I feel that I cannot do justice to it in the telling. For obvious reasons I do not give the name of the place in the article, but it was the ———, a lovely spot and an excellent house. Perhaps some of your readers may be able to help me to a solution of the mystery.

“I may add that I am a perfectly sane and normal woman; a journalist by profession. My husband is a Highlander, so if the experience had been his there might have been less to wonder at. I am English and Irish and more remotely Scottish by descent, but I have no connection ancestral or otherwise with Perthshire. “Hoping that perhaps some light may be thrown on this.”

A Strange Story

WHEN I was a child of twelve my parents moved to a new neighbourhood. We had lived in our fresh house about a month when I was awakened one night by very heavy footfalls. I sat up in bed and was amazed to see a bent and dirty nun stumping beside my bed. She wore a nun’s habit, very roughly made of coarse material. She was wringing her hands, which were tied at the wrists, and on her feet were heavy wooden shoes. As I gazed at her she turned her face to me, and her look of anguish was terrible. Over her face hung wisps of hair, and on her face were blood marks. I looked at her quietly for a second or two before I realised that the whole room was changed; it was much smaller, the walls were rough enough for barn walls almost, and there was no wainscotting. To my horror I saw that a door was open by the side of my bed where there was no door. This really frightened me and I screamed loudly, but, after my first screams, the room became ordinary, and when my father entered I told him what I had seen. He got very angry with me, banged down the candle, and left me much comforted by its tiny glow. In the morning I told my parents what I had seen, but they both told me I was a foolish child, and forbade me to mention my “nun,” as I called her, but they allowed me to have a candle for a few nights until I forgot my visitor. Soon after this I went to school and quite forgot my experience, as a healthy child would do.

About three years later, I was again sleeping in the same room, when I was awakened by heavy footsteps. I felt too frightened to cry out, and all the same scene was enacted. I dared not tell my parents this time, but confided in a dear old farmer who lived at “The Priory” next door. He listened to me with respect, and told me that our house was some hundreds of years old and had been a monastery in earlier days. He knew that my bedroom had been altered from two small ones to one large one. He also advised me to tell my parents of my fright, as he was sorry for me. After this I slept in the attic for some time but, later, I was taken ill and, to save steps, I was put into my “nun room” again. My fright had worn off by then. However one night, as I lay tossing on my bed, I again heard the heavy footfalls. I screamed loudly, and when my mother came in she found I had fainted from sheer fright.

I have had many experiences of ghosts, though I am far from hysterical, and have been laughed at when I have spoken of them, so I usually keep silent about them. But my “nun” was so real that, on cycling by the house recently I felt shivery at looking up at the old bedroom window. And why a nun should appear in a monastery is a thing unexplained.

Was it a Curse?