The Haunted and the Haunters;
Or, The House and the Brain
A friend of mine, who is a man of letters and a philosopher, said
to me one day, as if between jest and earnest, "Fancy! since we
last met I have discovered a haunted house in the midst of London."
"Really haunted,--and by what?--ghosts?"
"Well, I can't answer that question; all I know is this: six weeks
ago my wife and I were in search of a furnished apartment. Passing
a quiet street, we saw on the window of one of the houses a bill,
'Apartments, Furnished.' The situation suited us; we entered the
house, liked the rooms, engaged them by the week,--and left them
the third day. No power on earth could have reconciled my wife to
stay longer; and I don't wonder at it."
"What did you see?"
"Excuse me; I have no desire to be ridiculed as a superstitious
dreamer,--nor, on the other hand, could I ask you to accept on my
affirmation what you would hold to be incredible without the
evidence of your own senses. Let me only say this, it was not so
much what we saw or heard (in which you might fairly suppose that
we were the dupes of our own excited fancy, or the victims of
imposture in others) that drove us away, as it was an indefinable
terror which seized both of us whenever we passed by the door of a
certain unfurnished room, in which we neither saw nor heard
anything. And the strangest marvel of all was, that for once in my
life I agreed with my wife, silly woman though she be,--and
allowed, after the third night, that it was impossible to stay a
fourth in that house. Accordingly, on the fourth morning I
summoned the woman who kept the house and attended on us, and told
her that the rooms did not quite suit us, and we would not stay out
our week. She said dryly, 'I know why; you have stayed longer than
any other lodger. Few ever stayed a second night; none before you
a third. But I take it they have been very kind to you.'
"'They,--who?' I asked, affecting to smile.
"'Why, they who haunt the house, whoever they are. I don't mind
them. I remember them many years ago, when I lived in this house,
not as a servant; but I know they will be the death of me some day.
I don't care,--I'm old, and must die soon anyhow; and then I shall
be with them, and in this house still.' The woman spoke with so
dreary a calmness that really it was a sort of awe that prevented
my conversing with her further. I paid for my week, and too happy
were my wife and I to get off so cheaply."
"You excite my curiosity," said I; "nothing I should like better
than to sleep in a haunted house. Pray give me the address of the
one which you left so ignominiously."
My friend gave me the address; and when we parted, I walked
straight toward the house thus indicated.
It is situated on the north side of Oxford Street, in a dull but
respectable thoroughfare. I found the house shut up,--no bill at
the window, and no response to my knock. As I was turning away, a
beer-boy, collecting pewter pots at the neighboring areas, said to
me, "Do you want any one at that house, sir?"
"Yes, I heard it was to be let."
"Let!--why, the woman who kept it is dead,--has been dead these
three weeks, and no one can be found to stay there, though Mr. J----
offered ever so much. He offered mother, who chars for him, one
pound a week just to open and shut the windows, and she would not."
"Would not!--and why?"
"The house is haunted; and the old woman who kept it was found dead
in her bed, with her eyes wide open. They say the devil strangled
her."
"Pooh! You speak of Mr. J----. Is he the owner of the house?"
"Yes."
"Where does he live?"
"In G---- Street, No. --."
"What is he? In any business?"
"No, sir,--nothing particular; a single gentleman."
I gave the potboy the gratuity earned by his liberal information,
and proceeded to Mr. J---- , in G---- Street, which was close by
the street that boasted the haunted house. I was lucky enough to
find Mr. J---- at home,--an elderly man with intelligent
countenance and prepossessing manners.
I communicated my name and my business frankly. I said I heard the
house was considered to be haunted, that I had a strong desire to
examine a house with so equivocal a reputation; that I should be
greatly obliged if he would allow me to hire it, though only for a
night. I was willing to pay for that privilege whatever he might
be inclined to ask. "Sir," said Mr. J----, with great courtesy,
"the house is at your service, for as short or as long a time as
you please. Rent is out of the question,--the obligation will be
on my side should you be able to discover the cause of the strange
phenomena which at present deprive it of all value. I cannot let
it, for I cannot even get a servant to keep it in order or answer
the door. Unluckily the house is haunted, if I may use that
expression, not only by night, but by day; though at night the
disturbances are of a more unpleasant and sometimes of a more
alarming character. The poor old woman who died in it three weeks
ago was a pauper whom I took out of a workhouse; for in her
childhood she had been known to some of my family, and had once
been in such good circumstances that she had rented that house of
my uncle. She was a woman of superior education and strong mind,
and was the only person I could ever induce to remain in the house.
Indeed, since her death, which was sudden, and the coroner's
inquest, which gave it a notoriety in the neighborhood, I have so
despaired of finding any person to take charge of the house, much
more a tenant, that I would willingly let it rent free for a year
to anyone who would pay its rates and taxes."
"How long is it since the house acquired this sinister character?"
"That I can scarcely tell you, but very many years since. The old
woman I spoke of, said it was haunted when she rented it between
thirty and forty years ago. The fact is, that my life has been
spent in the East Indies, and in the civil service of the Company.
I returned to England last year, on inheriting the fortune of an
uncle, among whose possessions was the house in question. I found
it shut up and uninhabited. I was told that it was haunted, that
no one would inhabit it. I smiled at what seemed to me so idle a
story. I spent some money in repairing it, added to its old-
fashioned furniture a few modern articles,--advertised it, and
obtained a lodger for a year. He was a colonel on half pay. He
came in with his family, a son and a daughter, and four or five
servants: they all left the house the next day; and, although each
of them declared that he had seen something different from that
which had scared the others, a something still was equally terrible
to all. I really could not in conscience sue, nor even blame, the
colonel for breach of agreement. Then I put in the old woman I
have spoken of, and she was empowered to let the house in
apartments. I never had one lodger who stayed more than three
days. I do not tell you their stories,--to no two lodgers have
there been exactly the same phenomena repeated. It is better that
you should judge for yourself, than enter the house with an
imagination influenced by previous narratives; only be prepared to
see and to hear something or other, and take whatever precautions
you yourself please."
"Have you never had a curiosity yourself to pass a night in that
house?"
"Yes. I passed not a night, but three hours in broad daylight
alone in that house. My curiosity is not satisfied, but it is
quenched. I have no desire to renew the experiment. You cannot
complain, you see, sir, that I am not sufficiently candid; and
unless your interest be exceedingly eager and your nerves unusually
strong, I honestly add, that I advise you NOT to pass a night in
that house.
"My interest IS exceedingly keen," said I; "and though only a
coward will boast of his nerves in situations wholly unfamiliar to
him, yet my nerves have been seasoned in such variety of danger
that I have the right to rely on them,--even in a haunted house."
Mr. J---- said very little more; he took the keys of the house out
of his bureau, gave them to me,--and, thanking him cordially for
his frankness, and his urbane concession to my wish, I carried off
my prize.
Impatient for the experiment, as soon as I reached home, I summoned
my confidential servant,--a young man of gay spirits, fearless
temper, and as free from superstitious prejudice as anyone I could
think of.
F----," said I, "you remember in Germany how disappointed we were
at not finding a ghost in that old castle, which was said to be
haunted by a headless apparition? Well, I have heard of a house in
London which, I have reason to hope, is decidedly haunted. I mean
to sleep there to-night. From what I hear, there is no doubt that
something will allow itself to be seen or to be heard,--something,
perhaps, excessively horrible. Do you think if I take you with me,
I may rely on your presence of mind, whatever may happen?"
"Oh, sir, pray trust me," answered F----, grinning with delight.
"Very well; then here are the keys of the house,--this is the
address. Go now,--select for me any bedroom you please; and since
the house has not been inhabited for weeks, make up a good fire,
air the bed well,--see, of course, that there are candles as well
as fuel. Take with you my revolver and my dagger,--so much for my
weapons; arm yourself equally well; and if we are not a match for a
dozen ghosts, we shall be but a sorry couple of Englishmen.
I was engaged for the rest of the day on business so urgent that I
had not leisure to think much on the nocturnal adventure to which I
had plighted my honor. I dined alone, and very late, and while
dining, read, as is my habit. I selected one of the volumes of
Macaulay's Essays. I thought to myself that I would take the book
with me; there was so much of healthfulness in the style, and
practical life in the subjects, that it would serve as an antidote
against the influences of superstitious fancy.
Accordingly, about half-past nine, I put the book into my pocket,
and strolled leisurely toward the haunted house. I took with me a
favorite dog: an exceedingly sharp, bold, and vigilant bull
terrier,--a dog fond of prowling about strange, ghostly corners and
passages at night in search of rats; a dog of dogs for a ghost.
I reached the house, knocked, and my servant opened with a cheerful
smile.
We did not stay long in the drawing-rooms,--in fact, they felt so
damp and so chilly that I was glad to get to the fire upstairs. We
locked the doors of the drawing-rooms,--a precaution which, I
should observe, we had taken with all the rooms we had searched
below. The bedroom my servant had selected for me was the best on
the floor,--a large one, with two windows fronting the street. The
four-posted bed, which took up no inconsiderable space, was
opposite to the fire, which burned clear and bright; a door in the
wall to the left, between the bed and the window, communicated with
the room which my servant appropriated to himself. This last was a
small room with a sofa bed, and had no communication with the
landing place,--no other door but that which conducted to the
bedroom I was to occupy. On either side of my fireplace was a
cupboard without locks, flush with the wall, and covered with the
same dull-brown paper. We examined these cupboards,--only hooks to
suspend female dresses, nothing else; we sounded the walls,--
evidently solid, the outer walls of the building. Having finished
the survey of these apartments, warmed myself a few moments, and
lighted my cigar, I then, still accompanied by F----, went forth to
complete my reconnoiter. In the landing place there was another
door; it was closed firmly. "Sir," said my servant, in surprise,
"I unlocked this door with all the others when I first came; it
cannot have got locked from the inside, for--"
Before he had finished his sentence, the door, which neither of us
then was touching, opened quietly of itself. We looked at each
other a single instant. The same thought seized both,--some human
agency might be detected here. I rushed in first, my servant
followed. A small, blank, dreary room without furniture; a few
empty boxes and hampers in a corner; a small window; the shutters
closed; not even a fireplace; no other door but that by which we
had entered; no carpet on the floor, and the floor seemed very old,
uneven, worm-eaten, mended here and there, as was shown by the
whiter patches on the wood; but no living being, and no visible
place in which a living being could have hidden. As we stood
gazing round, the door by which we had entered closed as quietly as
it had before opened; we were imprisoned.
For the first time I felt a creep of indefinable horror. Not so my
servant. "Why, they don't think to trap us, sir; I could break
that trumpery door with a kick of my foot."
"Try first if it will open to your hand," said I, shaking off the
vague apprehension that had seized me, "while I unclose the
shutters and see what is without."
I unbarred the shutters,--the window looked on the little back yard
I have before described; there was no ledge without,--nothing to
break the sheer descent of the wall. No man getting out of that
window would have found any footing till he had fallen on the
stones below.
F----, meanwhile, was vainly attempting to open the door. He now
turned round to me and asked my permission to use force. And I
should here state, in justice to the servant, that, far from
evincing any superstitious terrors, his nerve, composure, and even
gayety amidst circumstances so extraordinary, compelled my
admiration, and made me congratulate myself on having secured a
companion in every way fitted to the occasion. I willingly gave
him the permission he required. But though he was a remarkably
strong man, his force was as idle as his milder efforts; the door
did not even shake to his stoutest kick. Breathless and panting,
he desisted. I then tried the door myself, equally in vain. As I
ceased from the effort, again that creep of horror came over me;
but this time it was more cold and stubborn. I felt as if some
strange and ghastly exhalation were rising up from the chinks of
that rugged floor, and filling the atmosphere with a venomous
influence hostile to human life. The door now very slowly and
quietly opened as of its own accord. We precipitated ourselves
into the landing place. We both saw a large, pale light--as large
as the human figure, but shapeless and unsubstantial--move before
us, and ascend the stairs that led from the landing into the
attics. I followed the light, and my servant followed me. It
entered, to the right of the landing, a small garret, of which the
door stood open. I entered in the same instant. The light then
collapsed into a small globule, exceedingly brilliant and vivid,
rested a moment on a bed in the corner, quivered, and vanished. We
approached the bed and examined it,--a half-tester, such as is
commonly found in attics devoted to servants. On the drawers that
stood near it we perceived an old faded silk kerchief, with the
needle still left in a rent half repaired. The kerchief was
covered with dust; probably it had belonged to the old woman who
had last died in that house, and this might have been her sleeping
room. I had sufficient curiosity to open the drawers: there were a
few odds and ends of female dress, and two letters tied round with
a narrow ribbon of faded yellow. I took the liberty to possess
myself of the letters. We found nothing else in the room worth
noticing,--nor did the light reappear; but we distinctly heard, as
we turned to go, a pattering footfall on the floor, just before us.
We went through the other attics (in all four), the footfall still
preceding us. Nothing to be seen,--nothing but the footfall heard.
I had the letters in my hand; just as I was descending the stairs I
distinctly felt my wrist seized, and a faint, soft effort made to
draw the letters from my clasp. I only held them the more tightly,
and the effort ceased.
We regained the bedchamber appropriated to myself, and I then
remarked that my dog had not followed us when we had left it. He
was thrusting himself close to the fire, and trembling. I was
impatient to examine the letters; and while I read them, my servant
opened a little box in which he had deposited the weapons I had
ordered him to bring, took them out, placed them on a table close
at my bed head, and then occupied himself in soothing the dog, who,
however, seemed to heed him very little.
The letters were short,--they were dated; the dates exactly thirty-
five years ago. They were evidently from a lover to his mistress,
or a husband to some young wife. Not only the terms of expression,
but a distinct reference to a former voyage, indicated the writer
to have been a seafarer. The spelling and handwriting were those
of a man imperfectly educated, but still the language itself was
forcible. In the expressions of endearment there was a kind of
rough, wild love; but here and there were dark unintelligible hints
at some secret not of love,--some secret that seemed of crime. "We
ought to love each other," was one of the sentences I remember,
"for how everyone else would execrate us if all was known." Again:
"Don't let anyone be in the same room with you at night,--you talk
in your sleep." And again: "What's done can't be undone; and I
tell you there's nothing against us unless the dead could come to
life." Here there was underlined in a better handwriting (a
female's), "They do!" At the end of the letter latest in date the
same female hand had written these words: "Lost at sea the 4th of
June, the same day as--"