BUDDHAS AND BOGGLE CHAIRS
It was in Paris, at the Hotel Mandeville, that I met the Baroness Paoli,
an almost solitary survivor of the famous Corsican family. I was
introduced to her by John Heroncourt, a friend in common, and the
introduction was typical of his characteristic unorthodoxy.
"Mr Elliott O'Donnell, the Baroness Paoli. Mr Elliott O'Donnell is a
writer on the superphysical. He is unlike the majority of psychical
researchers, inasmuch as he has not based his knowledge on hearsay, but
has actually seen, heard, and felt occult phenomena, both collectively
and individually."
The Baroness smiled.
"Then I am delighted to meet Mr O'Donnell, for I, too, have had
experience with the superphysical."
She extended her hand; the introduction was over.
A man in my line of life has to work hard. My motto is promptness. I
have no time to waste on superfluity of any kind. I come to the point at
once. Consequently, my first remark to the Baroness was direct from the
shoulder:
"Your experiences. Please tell them--they will be both interesting and
useful."
The Baroness gently clasped her hands--truly psychic hands, with slender
fingers and long shapely nails--and, looking at me fixedly, said:
"If you write about it, promise that you will not mention names."
"They shall at all events be unrecognisable," I said. "Please begin."
And without further delay the Baroness commenced her story.
"You must know," she said, "that in my family, as in most historical
families--particularly Corsican--there have been many tragedies. In some
cases merely orthodox tragedies--a smile, a blow, a groan; in other
cases peculiar tragedies--peculiar even in that country and in the
grimness of the mediæval age.
"Since 1316 the headquarters of my branch of the Paolis has been at
Sartoris, once the strongest fortified castle in Corsica, but now, alas!
almost past repair, in fact little better than a heap of crumbling
ruins. As you know, Mr O'Donnell, it takes a vast fortune to keep such a
place merely habitable.
"I lived there with my mother until my marriage two years ago, and
neither she nor I had ever seen or heard any superphysical
manifestations. From time to time some of the servants complained of odd
noises, and there was one room which none of them would pass alone even
in daylight; but we laughed at their fears, merely attributing them to
the superstition which is so common among the Corsican peasants.
"The year after my marriage, my husband, a Mr Vercoe, who was a great
friend of ours, and I, accepted my mother's invitation to spend
Christmas with her, and we all three travelled together to Sartoris.
"It was an ideal season, and the snow--an exceptional sight in my native
town--lay thick in the Castle grounds.
"But to get on with my story--for I see I must not try your patience
with unnecessary detail--I must give you a brief description of the
bedroom in which my husband and I slept. Like all the rooms in the
Castle, it was oak panelled throughout. Floor, ceiling, and walls, all
were of oak, and the bed, also of oak, and certainly of no later date
than the fourteenth century, was superbly carved, and had been recently
valued at £30,000.
"There were two entrances, the one leading into a passage, and the other
into a large reception room, formerly a chapel, at the furthest
extremity of which was a huge barred and bolted door that had not been
opened for more than a hundred years. This door led down a flight of
stone steps to a series of ancient dungeons that occupied the space
underneath our bedroom and the reception room.
"On Christmas Eve we retired to rest somewhat earlier than usual, and,
being tired after a long day's motoring, speedily fell into a deep
sleep. We awoke simultaneously, both querying the time and agreeing that
it must be about five o'clock.
"Whilst we were talking, we suddenly heard, to our utter astonishment,
the sound of footsteps--heavy footsteps--accompanied by a curious
clanging sound, immediately beneath us; and, as if by mutual consent, we
both held our breath and listened.
"The footsteps moved on, and we presently heard them begin to ascend the
stone steps leading to the adjoining room. Up, up, up, they came, until,
having reached the summit, they paused. Then we heard the huge, heavy
bolts of the fast-closed door shoot back with a sonorous clash. So far I
had been rather more puzzled than frightened, and the idea of ghosts had
not entered my mind, but when I heard the door--the door which I knew to
be so securely fastened from the inside--thus opened, a great fear swept
over me, and I prayed Heaven to save us from what might ensue.
"Several people, talking rapidly in gruff voices, now entered the room,
and we distinctly heard the jingling of spurs and the rattling of sword
scabbards coming to us distinctly through the cracks of the door.
"I was so paralysed with fear that I could do nothing. I could neither
speak nor move, and my very soul was concentrated in one great, sickly
dread, one awful anticipation that the intruders would burst into our
room, and, before our very eyes, perform unthinkable horrors.
"To my immeasurable relief, however, this did not happen. The footsteps,
as far as I could judge, advanced into the middle of the room--there was
a ghastly suggestion of a scuffle, of a smothered cry, a gurgle; and the
mailed feet then retired whence they had come, dragging with them some
heavy load which bumped, bumped, bumped down the stairs and into the
cellar. Then a brief silence followed, abruptly broken by the sound of a
girlish voice, which, though beautifully tintinnabulous, was unearthly,
and full of suggestions so sinister and blood-curdling, that the fetters
which had hitherto held me tongue-tied snapped asunder, and I was able
to give vent to my terror in words. The instant I did so the singing
ceased, all was still, and not another sound disturbed us till morning.
"We got up as soon as we dared and found the door at the head of the
dungeon steps barred and bolted as usual, while the heavy and antique
furniture in the apartment showed no sign of having been disturbed.
"On the following night my husband sat up in the room adjoining our
bedroom, to see if there would be a repetition of what had taken place
the night before, but nothing occurred, and we never heard the noises
again.
"That is one experience. The other, though not our own, was almost
coincidental, and happened to our engineer friend, Mr Vercoe. When we
told him about the noises we had heard, he roared with laughter.
"'Well,' he said, 'I always understood you Corsicans were superstitious,
but this beats everything. The regulation stereotype ghost in armour and
clanking chains, eh! Do you know what the sounds were, Baroness? Rats!'
and he smiled odiously.
"Then a sudden idea flashed across me. 'Look here, Mr Vercoe,' I
exclaimed, 'there is one room in our Castle I defy even you--sceptic as
you are--to sleep in. It is the Barceleri Chamber, called after my
ancestor, Barceleri Paoli. He visited China in the fifteenth century,
bringing back with him a number of Chinese curiosities, and a Buddha
which I shrewdly suspect he had stolen from a Canton temple. The room is
much the same as when my ancestor occupied it, for no one has slept in
it since. Moreover, the servants declare that the noises they so
frequently hear come from it. But, of course, you won't mind spending a
night in it?'
"Mr Vercoe laughed. 'He, he, he! Only too delighted. Give me a bottle of
your most excellent vintage, and I defy any ghost that was ever
created!'
"He was as good as his word, Mr O'Donnell, and though he had advised the
contrary, we--that is to say, my mother, my husband, our two old
servants and I--sat up in one of the rooms close at hand.
"Eleven, twelve, one, two, and three o'clock struck, and we were
beginning to wish we had taken his advice and gone to bed, when we heard
the most appalling, agonising, soul-rending screams for help. We rushed
out, and, as we did so, the door of Mr Vercoe's room flew open and
something--something white and glistening--bounded into the
candle-light.
"We were so shocked, so absolutely petrified with terror, that it was a
second or so before we realised that it was Mr Vercoe--not the Mr Vercoe
we knew, but an entirely different Mr Vercoe--a Mr Vercoe without a
stitch of clothing, and with a face metamorphosed into a lurid, solid
block of horror, overspreading which was a suspicion of
something--something too dreadful to name, but which we could have sworn
was utterly at variance with his nature. Close at his heels was the
blurred outline of something small and unquestionably horrid. I cannot
define it. I dare not attempt to diagnose the sensations it produced.
Apart from a deadly, nauseating fear, they were mercifully novel.
"Dashing past us, Mr Vercoe literally hurled himself along the corridor,
and with almost superhuman strides, disappeared downstairs. A moment
later, and the clashing of the hall door told us he was in the open air.
A breathless silence fell on us, and for some seconds we were all too
frightened to move. My husband was the first to pull himself together.
"'Come along!' he cried, gripping one of the trembling servants by the
arm. 'Come along instantly! We must keep him in sight at all costs,'
and, bidding me remain where I was, he raced downstairs.
"After a long search he eventually discovered Mr Vercoe lying at full
length on the grass--insensible.
"For some weeks our friend's condition was critical--on the top of a
violent shock to the system, sufficient in itself to endanger life, he
had taken a severe chill, which resulted in double pneumonia. However,
thanks to a bull-dog constitution, typically English, he recovered, and
we then begged him to give us an account of all that had happened.
"'I cannot!' he said. 'My one desire is to forget everything that
happened on that awful night.'
"He was obdurate, and our curiosity was, therefore, doomed to remain
unsatisfied. Both my husband and I, however, felt quite sure that the
image of Buddha was at the bottom of the mischief, and, as there chanced
just then to be an English doctor staying at a neighbouring chateau, who
was on his way to China, we entrusted the image to him, on the
understanding that he would place it in a Buddhist temple. He deceived
us, and, returning almost immediately to England, took the image with
him. We subsequently learned that within three months this man was
divorced, that he murdered a woman in Clapham Rise, and, in order to
escape arrest, poisoned himself.
"The image then found its way to a pawnbroker's establishment in
Houndsditch, which shortly afterwards was burned to the ground. Where it
is now, I cannot definitely say, but I have been told that an image of
Buddha is the sole occupant of an empty house in the Shepherd's Bush
Road--a house that is now deemed haunted. These are the experiences I
wanted to tell you, Mr O'Donnell. What do you think of them?"
"I think," I said, "they are of absorbing interest. Can you see any
association in the two hauntings--any possible connection between what
you heard and what Mr Vercoe saw?"
A look of perplexity crossed the Baroness's face. "I hardly know," she
said. "What is your opinion on that point?"
"That they are distinct--absolutely distinct. The phenomena you heard
are periodical re-enactions, (either by the earth-bound spirits of the
actual victim and perpetrators, or by impersonating phantoms), of a
crime once committed within the Castle walls. A girl was obviously
murdered in the chapel and her coffin dragged into the dungeons, where,
no doubt, her remains are to be found. I presume it was her spirit you
heard tintinnabulating. Very possibly, if her skeleton were unearthed
and re-interred in an orthodox fashion, the hauntings would cease.
"Now, with regard to your friend's experience. The blurred figure you
saw pursuing the engineer was not the image of Buddha--it was one of Mr
Vercoe's many personalities, extracted from him by the image of Buddha.
We are all, as you are aware, complex creatures, all composed of diverse
selves, each self possessing a specific shape and individuality. The
more animal of these separate selves, the higher spiritual forces
attaching themselves to certain localities and symbols have the power of
drawing out of us, and eventually destroying. The higher spiritual
forces, however, do not associate themselves with all crucifixes and
Buddhas, but only with those moulded by true believers. For instance, a
Buddha fashioned for mere gain, and by a person who was not a genuine
follower of the prophet, would have no power of attraction.
"I have proved all this, experimentally, times without number.
"Mr Vercoe must have had--as indeed many of us have--vices, in all
probability, little suspected. The close proximity of the Buddha acted
on them, and they began to leave his body and form a shape of their own.
Had he allowed them to do so, all might have gone well; they would have
been effectually overcome by the higher spiritual forces attached to the
Buddha. But as soon as he saw a figure beginning to form--and no doubt
it was very dreadful--he lost his head. His shrieks interrupted the
work, the power of the Buddha was, _pro tempus_, at an end, and the
extracted personality commenced at once to re-enter Vercoe. Rushing at
him with that end in view, it so terrified him that he fled from the
room, and it was at that stage that you appeared upon the scene. What
followed is, of course, pure conjecture on my part, but I fear, I
greatly fear, that by the time Mr Vercoe became unconscious the mischief
was done, and the latter's evil personality had once again united with
his other personalities."
"And what would be the after-effect, Mr O'Donnell?" the Baroness
inquired anxiously.
"I fear a serious one," I replied evasively. "In the case of the doctor
you mentioned, who committed murder, an evil ego had doubtless been
expelled, and, receiving a rebuff, had reunited, for after a reunion the
evil personality usually receives a new impetus and grows with amazing
rapidity. Have you heard from Mr Vercoe lately?"
The Baroness shook her head. "Not for several months."
"You will let me know when you do?"
She nodded.
A week later she wrote to me from Rome.
"Isn't it terrible?" she began, "Mr Vercoe committed suicide on
Wednesday--the Birmingham papers--he was a Birmingham man--are full of
it!"
_The Barrowvian_
The description of an adventure Mr Trobas, a friend of mine, had with a
barrowvian in Brittany (and which I omitted to relate when referring to
barrowvians), I now append as nearly as possible in his own words:--
"Night! A sky partially concealed from view by dark, fantastically
shaped clouds, that, crawling along with a slow, stealthy motion,
periodically obscure the moon. The crest of a hill covered with
short-clipped grass, much worn away in places, and in the centre a
Druidical circle broken and incomplete; a few of the stones are erect,
the rest either lie at full length on the sward, close to the mystic
ring, or at some considerable distance from it. Here and there are
distinct evidences of recent digging, and at the base of one of the
horizontal stones is an excavation of no little depth.
"A sudden, but only temporary clearance of the sky reveals the
surrounding landscape; the rugged mountain side, flecked with gleaming
granite boulders and bordered with sturdy hedges (a mixture of mud and
bracken), and beyond them the meadows, traversed by sinuous streams
whose scintillating surfaces sparkle like diamonds in the silvery
moonlight. At rare intervals the scene is variegated, and nature
interrupted, by a mill or a cottage,--toy-like when viewed from such an
altitude,--and then the sweep of meadowland continues, undulating gently
till it finds repose at the foot of some distant ridge of cone-shaped
mountains. Over everything there is a hush, awe-inspiring in its
intensity. Not the cry of a bird, not the howl of a dog, not the rustle
of a leaf; there is nothing, nothing but the silence of the most
profound sleep. In these remote rural districts man retires to rest
early, the physical world accompanying him; and all nature dreams
simultaneously.
"It was shortly after the commencement of this period of universal
slumber, one night in April, that I toiled laboriously to the summit of
the hill in question, and, spreading a rug on one of the fallen stones,
converted it into a seat. Naturally I had not climbed this steep ascent
without a purpose. The reason was this--at eight-thirty that morning I
received a telegram from a friend at Armennes, near Carnac, which ran
thus: 'Am in great difficulty--Ghosts--Come.--KRANTZ.'
"Of course Krantz is not the real name of my friend, but it is one that
answers the purpose admirably in telegrams and on post-cards; and of
course he well knew what he was about when he said 'Come.' Not only I
but everyone has confidence in Krantz, and I was absolutely certain that
when he demanded my presence, the money I should spend on the journey
would not be spent in vain.
"Apart from psychical investigation, I study every phase of human
nature, and am at present, among other things, engaged on a work of
criminology based on impressions derived from face-to-face communication
with notorious criminals.
"The morning I received Krantz's summons was the morning I had set aside
for a special study of S---- M----, whose case has recently commanded so
much public attention; but the moment I read the wire, I changed my
plans, without either hesitation or compunction. Krantz was Krantz, and
his dictum could not be disobeyed.
"Tearing down la rue Saint Denis, and narrowly avoiding collision with a
lady who lives in la rue Saint François, and will persist in wearing
hats and heels that outrage alike every sense of decency and good form,
I hustled into the station, and, rushing down the steps, just succeeded
in catching the Carnac train. After a journey which, for slowness, most
assuredly holds the record, I arrived, boiling over with indignation, at
Armennes, where Krantz met me. After luncheon he led the way to his
study, and, as soon as the servant who handed us coffee had left the
room, began his explanation of the telegram.
"'As you know, Trobas,' he observed, 'it's not all bliss to be a
landlord. Up to the present I have been singularly fortunate, inasmuch
as I have never experienced any difficulty in getting tenants for my
houses. Now, however, there has been a sudden and most alarming change,
and I have just received no less than a dozen notices from tenants
desirous of giving up their habitations at once. Here they are!' And he
handed me a bundle of letters, for the most part written in the
scrawling hand of the illiterate. 'If you look,' he went on, 'you will
see that none of them give any reason for leaving. It is merely--"We
CANNOT POSSIBLY stay here any longer," or "We MUST give up possession
IMMEDIATELY," which they have done, and in every instance before the
quarter was up. Being naturally greatly astonished and perturbed, I made
careful inquiries, and, at length--for the North Country rustic is most
reticent and difficult to "draw"--succeeded in extracting from three of
them the reason for the general exodus. The houses are all HAUNTED!
There was nothing amiss with them, they informed me, till about three
weeks ago, when they all heard all sorts of alarming noises--crashes as
if every atom of crockery they possessed was being broken; bangs on the
panels of doors; hideous groans; diabolical laughs; and blood-curdling
screams. Nor was that all; some of them vowed they had seen
things--horrible hairy hands, with claw-like nails and knotted joints,
that came out of dark corners and grabbed at them; naked feet with
enormous filthy toes; and faces--HORRIBLE faces that peeped at them over
the banisters or through the windows; and sooner than stand any more of
it--sooner than have their wives and bairns frightened out of their
senses, they would sacrifice a quarter's rent and go. "We are sorry, Mr
Krantz," they said in conclusion, "for you have been a most considerate
landlord, but stay we cannot."' Here my friend paused.
"'And have you no explanation of these hauntings?' I asked.
"Krantz shook his head. 'No!' he said, 'the whole thing is a most
profound mystery to me. At first I attributed it to practical jokers,
people dressed up; but a couple of nights' vigil in the haunted district
soon dissipated that theory.'
"'You say district,' I remarked. 'Are the houses close together--in the
same road or valley?'
"'In a valley,' Krantz responded--'the Valley of Dolmen. It is ten miles
from here.'
"'Dolmen!' I murmured, 'why Dolmen?'
"'Because,' Krantz explained, 'in the centre of the valley is a hill, on
the top of which is a Druids' circle.'
"'How far are the houses off the hill?' I queried.
"'Various distances,' Krantz replied; 'one or two very close to the base
of it, and others further away.'
"'But within a radius of a few miles?'
"Krantz nodded. 'Oh yes,' he answered. 'The valley itself is small. I
intend taking you there to-night. I thought we would watch outside one
of the houses.'
"'If you don't mind,' I said, 'I would rather not. Anyway not to-night.
Tell me how to get there and I will go alone.'
"Krantz smiled. 'You are a strange creature, Trobas,' he said, 'the
strangest in the world. I sometimes wonder if you are an elemental. At
all events, you occupy a category all to yourself. Of course go alone,
if you would rather. I shall be far happier here, and if you can find a
satisfactory solution to the mystery and put an end to the hauntings, I
shall be eternally grateful. When will you start, and what will you
take with you?'
"'If that clock of yours is right, Krantz,' I exclaimed, pointing to a
gun-metal timepiece on the mantelshelf, 'in half an hour. As the night
promises to be cold, let me have some strong brandy-and-water, a dozen
oatmeal biscuits, a thick rug, and a lantern. Nothing else!'
"Krantz carried out my instructions to the letter. His motor took me to
Dolmen Valley, and at eight o'clock I began the ascent of the hill. On
reaching the summit, I uttered an exclamation. 'Someone has been
excavating, and quite recently!'
"It was precisely what I had anticipated. Some weeks previously, a
member of the Lyons literary club, to which I belong, had informed me
that a party of geologist friends of his had been visiting the cromlechs
of Brittany, and had committed the most barbarous depredations there.
Hence, the moment Krantz mentioned the 'Druidical circle,' I associated
the spot with the visit of the geologists; and knowing only too well
that disturbances of ancient burial grounds almost always lead to occult
manifestations, I decided to view the place at once.
"That I had not erred in my associations was now only too apparent.
Abominable depredations HAD been committed,--doubtless, by the people to
whom I have alluded--and, unless I was grossly mistaken, herein lay the
clue to the hauntings.
"The air being icy, I had to wrap both my rug and my overcoat tightly
round me to prevent myself from freezing, and every now and then I got
up and stamped my feet violently on the hard ground to restore the
circulation.
"So far there had been nothing in the atmosphere to warn me of the
presence of the superphysical, but, precisely at eleven o'clock, I
detected the sudden amalgamation, with the ether, of that enigmatical,
indefinable SOMETHING, to which I have so frequently alluded in my past
adventures. And now began that period of suspense which 'takes it out of
me' even more than the encounter with the phenomenon itself. Over and
over again I asked myself the hackneyed, but none the less thrilling
question, 'What form will it take? Will it be simply a phantasm of a
dead Celt, or some peculiarly grotesque and awful elemental[1] attracted
to the spot by human remains?'
[1] Either a barrowvian or vagrarian. Vide _Haunted Houses of London_
(published by Eveleigh Nash) and _Ghostly Phenomena_ (published by
Werner Laurie).
"Minute after minute passed, and nothing happened. It is curious, how at
night, especially when the moon is visible, the landscape seems to
undergo a complete metamorphosis. Objects not merely increase in size,
but vary in shape, and become possessed of an animation suggestive of
all sorts of lurking, secretive possibilities. It was so now. The
boulders in front and around me, presented the appearance of grotesque
beasts, whose hidden eyes I could feel following my every movement with
sly interest. The one solitary fir adorning the plateau was a tree no
longer but an ogre, _pro tempus_, concealing the grim terrors of its
spectral body beneath its tightly folded limbs. The stones of the
circle opposite were ghoulish, hump-backed things that crouched and
squatted in all kinds of fantastic attitudes and tried to read my
thoughts. The shadows, too, that, swarming from the silent tarns and
meadows, ascended with noiseless footsteps the rugged sides of the hill,
and, taking cover of even the smallest obstacles, stalked me with
unremitting persistency, were no mere common shadows, but intangible,
pulpy things that breathed the spirit of the Great Unknown. Yet nothing
specified came to frighten me. The stillness was so emphatic that each
time I moved, the creaking of my clothes and limbs created echoes. I
yawned, and from on all sides of me came a dozen other yawns. I sighed,
and the very earth beneath me swayed with exaggerated sympathy.
"The silence irritated me. I grew angry; I coughed, laughed, whistled;
and from afar off, from the distant lees, and streams, and spinneys,
came a repetition of the noises.
"Then the blackest of clouds creeping slowly over the moor crushed the
sheen out of the valley and smothered everything in sable darkness. The
silence of death supervened, and my anger turned to fear. Around me
there was now--NOTHING--only a void. Black ether and space! Space! a
sanctuary from fear, and yet composed of fear itself. It was the space,
the nameless, bottomless SOMETHING spreading limitless all around me,
that, filling me with vague apprehensions, confused me with its terrors.
What was it? Whence came it? I threw out my arms and Something,
Something which I intuitively knew to be there, but which I cannot
explain, receded. I drew them in again, and the same SOMETHING instantly
oppressed me with its close--its very close proximity.
"I gasped for breath and tried to move my arms again--I could not. A
sudden rigor held me spellbound, and fixed my eyes on the darkness
directly ahead of me. Then, from somewhere in my rear, came a
laugh--hoarse, malignant, and bestial, and I was conscious that the
SOMETHING had materialised and was creeping stealthily towards me.
Nearer, nearer and nearer it came, and all the time I wondered what,
WHAT in the name of God it was like! My anticipations became unbearable,
the pulsations of my heart and the feverish throbbing of my temples
warning me that, if the climax were postponed much longer, I should
either die where I sat, or go mad. That I did neither, was due to a
divine inspiration which made me suddenly think of a device that I had
once seen on a Druidical stone in Brittany--the sun, a hand with the
index and little fingers pointing downwards, and a sprig of mistletoe.
The instant I saw them in my mind's eye, the cords that held me
paralytic slackened.
"I sprang up, and there, within a yard of where I had sat, was a
figure--the luminous nude figure of a creature, half man and half ape.
Standing some six feet high, it had a clumsy, thick-set body, covered in
places with coarse, bristly hair, arms of abnormal length and girth,
legs swelling with huge muscles and much bowed, and a very large and
long dark head. The face was DREADFUL!--it was the face of something
long since dead; and out of the mass of peeling, yellow skin and
mouldering tissues gleamed two lurid and wholly malevolent eyes. Our
glances met, and, as they did so, a smile of hellish glee suffused its
countenance. Then, crouching down in cat-like fashion on its disgusting
hands, it made ready to spring. Again the device of the sun and
mistletoe arose before me. My fingers instinctively closed on my pocket
flashlight. I pressed the button and, as the brilliant, white ray shot
forth, the satanical object before me VANISHED. Then I turned tail, and
never ceased running till I had arrived at the spot on the high-road
where Krantz's motor awaited me.
* * * * *
"After breakfast next morning, Krantz listened to my account of the
midnight adventure in respectful silence.
"'Then!' he said, when I had finished, 'you attribute the hauntings in
the valley to the excavations of the geologist Leblanc and his party, at
the cromlech six weeks ago?'
"'Entirely,' I replied.
"'And you think, if Leblanc and Cie were persuaded to restore and
re-inter the remains they found and carted away, that the disturbances
would cease?'
"'I am sure of it!' I said.
"'Then,' Krantz exclaimed, banging his clenched fist on the table, 'I
will approach them on the subject at once!'
"He did so, and, after much correspondence, eventually received per
goods train, a Tate's sugar cube-box, containing a number of bones of
the missing link pattern, which he at once had taken to the Druids'
circle. As soon as they were buried and the marks of the recent
excavations obliterated, the hauntings in the houses ceased."
_Boggle Chairs_
"Killington Grange," near Northampton, was once haunted, so my friend Mr
Pope informs me, by a chair, and the following is Mr Pope's own
experience of the hauntings, as nearly as possible as he related it to
me:--
"Some years ago, shortly before Christmas, I received an invitation from
my old friend, William Achrow.
"'Killington Grange,
'Northampton.
"'DEAR POPE' (he wrote)--'My wife and I are entertaining a few guests
here this Christmas, and are most anxious to include you among them.
"'When I tell you that Sir Charles and Lady Kirlby are coming, and that
we can offer you something startling in the way of a ghost, you will, I
know, need no further inducement to join our party.--Yours, etc.,
"'W. ACHROW.'
"Achrow was a cunning fellow; he knew I would go a thousand miles to
meet the Kirlbys, who had been my greatest friends in Ireland, and that
ghosts invariably drew me like magnets. At that time I was a bachelor; I
had no one to think about but myself, and as I felt pretty sure of a
fresh theatrical engagement in the early spring, I was happily careless
with regard to expenditure--and to people of limited incomes like
myself, staying in country houses means expenditure, a great deal more
expenditure than a week or so at an ordinary hotel.
"However, as I have observed, I felt pretty secure just then; I could
afford a couple of 'fivers,' and would gladly get rid of them to see
once more my dear old friends, Sir Charles and Lady K----. Accordingly,
I accepted Achrow's invitation, and the afternoon of December 23rd saw
me snugly ensconced in a first-class compartment _en route_ for Castle
Street, Northampton. Now, although I am, not unnaturally, perhaps,
prejudiced in favour of Ireland and everything that is Irish, I must say
I do not think the Emerald Isle shows her best in winter, when the banks
of fair Killarney are shorn of their vivid colouring, and the whole
country from north to south, and east to west, is carpeted with mud. No,
the palm of wintry beauty must assuredly be given to the English
Midlands--the Midlands with their stolid and richly variegated
woodlands, and their pretty undulating meadows, clad in fleecy garments
of the purest, softest, and most glittering snow. It was a typical
Midland Christmas when I got to Northampton and took my place in the
luxurious closed carriage Achrow had sent to meet me.
"Killington Grange lies at the extremity of the village. It stands in
its own grounds of some hundred or so acres, and is approached by a long
avenue that winds its way from the lodge gates through endless rows of
giant oaks and elms, and slender, silver birches. On either side, to
the rear of the trees, lay broad stretches of undulating pasture land,
that in one place terminated in the banks of a large lake, now
glittering with ice and wrapped in the silence of death.
"The crunching of the carriage wheels on gravel, the termination of the
trees, and a great blaze of light announced the close proximity of the
house, and in a few seconds I was standing on the threshold of an
imposing entrance.
"A footman took my valise, and before I had crossed the spacious hall, I
was met by my host and kind old friends, whose combined and hearty
greetings were a happy forecast of what was to come. Indeed, at a
merrier dinner party I have never sat down, though in God's truth I have
dined in all kinds of places, and with all sorts of people: with
Princesses of the Royal blood, aflame with all the hauteur of their
race; with earls and counts; with blood-thirsty anarchists; with bishops
and Salvationists, miners and policemen, Dagos and Indians (Red and
Brown); with Japs, Russians, and Poles; and, in short, with the _élite_
and the rag-tag and bobtail of all climes. But, as I have already said,
I had seldom if ever enjoyed a dinner as I enjoyed this one.
"Possibly the reason was not far to find--there was little or no
formality; we were all old friends; we had one cause in common--love of
Ireland; we hadn't met for years, and we knew not if we should ever meet
again, for our paths in life were not likely to converge.
"But Christmas is no season for prigs and dullards, and, possibly, this
rare enjoyment was, in no small measure, due to the delightful snugness
and, at the same time, artistic nature of our surroundings, and to the
excellence, the surpassing excellence of the vintage, which made our
hearts mellow and our tongues loose.
"Long did our host, Sir Charles, and I sit over the dessert table, after
the ladies had left us, filling and refilling our glasses; and it was
close on ten before we repaired to the drawing-room.
"'Lady Kirlby,' I said, seating myself next her on a divan, 'I want to
hear about the ghost. Up to the present I confess I have been so taken
up with more material and, may I add'--casting a well-measured glance of
admiration at her beautifully moulded features and lovely eyes--lovely,
in spite of the cruel hand of time which had streaked her chestnut hair
with grey--'infinitely more pleasing subjects, that I have not even
thought about the superphysical. William, however, informs me that there
is a ghost here--he has, of course, told you.'
"But at this very psychological moment Mrs Achrow interrupted: 'Now, no
secrets, you two,' she said laughingly, leaning over the back of the
divan and tapping Lady Kirlby playfully on the arm. 'There must be no
mention of ghosts till it is close on bedtime, and the lights are low.'
"Lady Kirlby gave me a pitying look, but it was of no avail; the word of
our hostess was paramount, and I did not learn what was in store for me
until it was too late to retreat. At half-past eleven William Achrow
turned out the gas, and when we were all seated round the fire, he
suggested we should each relate in turn, the most thrilling ghost tale
we had ever heard. The idea, being approved of generally, was carried
out, and when we had been thrilled, as assuredly we had never been
thrilled before, William coolly proclaimed that he had put me in the
haunted room.
"'I am sure,' he said, amid a roar of the most unfeeling laughter, in
which all but the tender-hearted Lady Kirlby joined, 'that your nerves
are now in the most suitable state for psychical investigation, and that
it won't be your fault if you don't see the ghost. And a very horrible
one it is, at least so I am told, though I cannot say I have ever seen
it myself. No! I won't tell you anything about it now--I want to hear
your version of it first.'
"With a few more delicate insinuations, made, as he candidly confessed,
in the fervent hope of frightening me still more, on the stroke of
midnight my friend conducted me to my quarters. 'You will have it all to
yourself,' he said, as we traversed a tremendously long and gloomy
corridor that connected the two wings of the house, 'for all the rooms
on this side are at present unoccupied, and those immediately next to
yours haven't been slept in for years--there is something about them
that doesn't appeal to my guests. What it is I can't say--I leave that
to you. Here we are!' and, as he spoke, he threw open a door. A current
of icy cold air slammed it to and blew out my light, and as I groped for
the door-handle, I heard my host's footsteps retreating hurriedly down
the corridor, whilst he wished me a rather nervous good-night.
"Relighting my candle and shutting the window--Achrow is one of those
open-air fiends who never had a bronchial cold in his life, and expects
everyone else to be equally immune--I found myself in a room that was
well calculated to strike even the most hardened ghost-hunter with awe.
"It was coffin-shaped, large, narrow, and lofty; and floor, panelling,
and furniture were of the blackest oak.
"The bedstead, a four-poster of the most funereal type, stood near the
fireplace, from which a couple of thick pine logs sent out a ruddy
glare; and directly opposite the foot of the bed, with its back to the
wall, stood an ebony chair, which, although in a position that should
have necessitated its receiving a generous share of the fire's rays, was
nevertheless shrouded in such darkness that I could only discern its
front legs--a phenomenon that did not strike me as being peculiar till
afterwards.
"Between the chair and the ingle, was a bay window overlooking one angle
of the lawn, a side path connecting the back premises of the house with
the drive, and a dense growth of evergreens, poplars, limes, and copper
beeches, the branches of which were now weighed down beneath layer upon
layer of snow.
"The room, as I have stated, was long, but I did not realise how long
until I was in the act of getting into bed, when my eyes struggled in
vain to reach the remote corners of the chamber and the recesses of the
vaulted and fretted ceiling, which were fast presenting the startling
appearance of being overhung with an impenetrable pall, such a pall as
forms the gloomy coverlet of a hearse; the similarity being increased by
waving plume-like shadows that suddenly appeared--from God knows
where!--on the floor and wall.
"That the room was genuinely haunted I had not now the slightest doubt,
for the atmosphere was charged to the very utmost with superphysical
impressions--the impressions of a monstrous hearse, with all the sickly
paraphernalia of black flowing drapery and scented pine wood.
"I was annoyed with William Achrow. I had wanted to see him; I had
wanted to meet the Kirlbys; but a ghost--no! Honestly, candidly--no! I
had not slept well for nights, and after the good things I had eaten at
dinner and that excellent vintage, I had been looking forward to a
sound, an unusually sound sleep. Now, however, my hopes were dashed on
the head--the room was haunted--haunted by something gloomily, damnably
evil, evil with an evilness that could only have originated in hell.
Such were my impressions when I got into bed. Contrary to my
expectations, I soon fell asleep. I was awakened by a creak, the loud
but unmistakable creak of a chair. Now, the creaking of furniture is no
uncommon thing. There are few of us who have not at some time or other
heard an empty chair creak, and attributed that creaking either to
expansion of the wood through heat, or to some other equally physical
cause. But are we always right? May not that creaking be sometimes due
to an invisible presence in the chair? Why not? The laws that govern
the superphysical are not known to us at present. We only know from our
own experiences and from the compiled testimony of various reputable
Research Societies that there is a superphysical, and that the
superphysical is a fact which is acknowledged by several of the greatest
scientists of the day.
"But to continue. The creaking of a chair roused me from my sleep. I sat
up in bed, and as my eyes wandered involuntarily to the ebony chair to
which I have already alluded, I again heard the creaking.
"My sense of hearing now became painfully acute, and, impelled by a
fascination I could not resist, I held my breath and listened. As I did
so, I distinctly heard the sound of stealthy respiration. Either the
chair or something in it was breathing, breathing with a subtle
gentleness.
"The fire had now burned low; only a glimmer, the very faintest
perceptible glimmer, came from the logs; hence I had to depend for my
vision on the soft white glow that stole in through the trellised
window-panes.
"The chair creaked again, and at the back of it, and at a distance of
about four feet from the ground, I encountered the steady glare of two
long, pale, and wholly evil eyes, that regarded me with a malevolency
that held me spellbound; my terror being augmented by my failure to
detect any other features saving the eyes, and only a vague Something
which I took for a body.
"I remained in a sitting posture for many minutes without being able to
remove my gaze, and when I did look away, I instinctively felt that the
eyes were still regarding me, and that the Something, of which the eyes
were a part, was waiting for an opportunity to creep from its
hiding-place and pounce upon me.
"This is, I think, what would have happened had it not been for the very
opportune arrival of the Killington Waits, who, bursting out with a
terrific and discordant version of 'The Mistletoe Bough,' which, by the
way, is somewhat inexplicably regarded as appropriate to the festive
season, effectually broke the superphysical spell, and when I looked
again at the chair, the eyes had gone.
"Feeling quite secure now, I lay down, and, in spite of the many
interruptions, managed to secure a tolerably good night's sleep.
"At breakfast everyone was most anxious to know if I had seen the ghost,
but I held my tongue. The spirit of adventure had been rekindled in me,
my sporting instinct had returned, and I was ready and eager to see the
phenomena again; but until I had done so, and had put it to one or two
tests, I decided to say nothing about it.
"The day passed pleasantly--how could it be otherwise in William
Achrow's admirably appointed household?--and the night found me once
again alone in my sepulchral bed-chamber.
"This time I did not get into bed, but took my seat in an easy-chair by
the fire (which I took care was well replenished with fuel), my face
turned in the direction of the spot where the eyes had appeared. The
weather was inclined to be boisterous, and frequent gusts of wind,
rumbling and moaning through the long and gloomy aisle of the avenue,
plundered the trees of the loose-hanging snow and hurled it in fleecy
clouds against the walls and windows.
"I had been sitting there about an hour when I suddenly felt I was no
longer alone; a peculiarly cold tremor, that was not, I feel sure, due
to any actual fall in the temperature of the room, ran through me, and
my teeth chattered. As on the previous occasion, however, my senses were
abnormally alive, and as I watched--instinct guiding my eyes to the
ebony chair--I heard a creak, and the sound of Something breathing. The
antagonistic Presence was once again there. I essayed to speak, to
repeat the form of address I had constantly rehearsed, to say and do
something that would tempt the unknown into some form of communication.
I could do nothing. I was lip-bound, powerless to move; and then from
out of the superphysical darkness there gleamed the eyes, lidless,
lurid, bestial. A shape was there, too: a shape which, although still
vague, dreadfully so, was nevertheless more pronounced than on the
former occasion, and I felt that it only needed time, time and an
enforced, an involuntary amount of scrutiny on my part, to see that
shape materialise into something satanical and definite.
"I waited--I was obliged to wait--when, even as before--Heaven be
praised!--the arrival of the gallant waits, (I say, gallant, for the
night had fast become a white inferno) loosened my fetters, and as I
sprang towards the chair, the eyes vanished.
"I then got into bed and slept heavily till the morning.
"To their great disappointment, the clamorous breakfasters learned
nothing--I kept the adventure rigidly to myself, and that night,
Christmas night, found me, for the third time, listening for the sounds
from the mysterious, the hideously, hellishly mysterious, high-backed,
ebony chair.
"There had been a severe storm during the day, and the wind had howled
with cyclonic force around the house; but there was silence now, an
almost preternatural silence; and the lawn, lavishly bestrewn with huge
heaps of driven snow, and broken, twisted branches, presented the
appearance of a titanic battlefield. In marked contrast to the disturbed
condition of the ground, the sky was singularly serene, and broad beams
of phosphorescent light poured in through the diamond window-panes on to
the bed, in which I was sitting, bolt upright.
"One o'clock struck, and ere the hollow-sounding vibrations had ceased,
the vague form once again appeared behind the chair, and the malignant,
evil eyes met mine in a diabolical stare; whilst, as before, on trying
to speak or move, I found myself tongue-tied and paralysed. As the
moments slowly glided away, the shape of the Thing became more and more
distinct; a dark and sexless face appeared, surmounted with a straggling
mass of black hair, the ends of which melted away into mist. I saw no
trunk, but I descried two long and bony arms, ebony as the chair, with
crooked, spidery, misty fingers. As I watched its development with
increasing horror, hoping and praying for the arrival of the
never-again-to-be-despised waits, I suddenly realised with a fresh grip
of terror that the chair had moved out of the corner, and that the Thing
behind it was slowly creeping towards me.
"As it approached, the outlines of its face and limbs became clearer. I
knew that it was something repulsively, diabolically grotesque, but
whether the phantasm of man, or woman, or hellish elemental, I couldn't
for the life of me say; and this uncertainty, making my fear all the
more poignant, added to my already sublime sufferings, those of the
damned.
"It passed the chair on which my dress-shirt flashed whiter than the
snow in the moonlight; it passed the tomb-like structure constituting
the foot-board of the bed; and as in my frantic madness I strained and
strained at the cruel cords that held me paralytic, it crept on to the
counterpane and wriggled noiselessly towards me.
"Even then, though its long, pale eyes were close to mine, and the ends
of its tangled hair curled around me, and its icy corpse-tainted breath
scoured my cheeks, even then--I could not see its body nor give it a
name.
"Clawing at my throat with its sable fingers, it thrust me backwards,
and I sank gasping, retching, choking on to the pillow, where I
underwent all the excruciating torments of strangulation; strangulation
by something tangible, yet intangible, something that could create
sensation without being itself sensitive; something detestably,
abominably wicked and wholly hostile, madly hostile in its attitude
towards mankind.
"What I suffered is indescribable, and it was to me interminable. Days,
months, years, seemed to pass, and I was still being suffocated, still
feeling the inexorable crunch of those fingers, still peering into the
livid depths of those gloating, fiendish eyes. And then--then, as I was
on the eve of abandoning all hope, a thousand and one tumultuous noises
buzzed in my ears, my eyes swam blood, and I lost consciousness. When I
recovered, the dawn was breaking and all evidences of the superphysical
had disappeared.
"I did not tell Achrow what I had experienced, but expressed, instead,
the greatest astonishment that anyone should have thought the room was
haunted. 'Haunted indeed!' I said. 'Nonsense! If anything haunts it, it
is the ghost of some philanthropist, for I never slept sounder in my
life. I am, as you know, William, extremely sensitive to the
superphysical, but in this instance, I can assure you, I was
disappointed, greatly disappointed, so much so that I am going home at
once; it would be mere waste of my valuable time to stay any longer in
the vain hope of investigating, when there is NOTHING to investigate.
How came you to get hold of such a crazy idea?'
"'Well,' William replied, a puzzled expression on his face, 'you noticed
an ebony chair in the room?'
"I nodded.
"'I bought it in Bruges, and there are two stories current in connection
with it. The one is to the effect that a very wicked monk, named
Gaboni, died in it (and, indeed, the man who sold me the chair was
actually afraid to keep it any longer in his house, as he assured me
Gaboni's spirit had amalgamated with the wood); and the other story,
which I learned from a different source, namely, from someone who, on
finding out where I bought the chair, told me he knew the whole history
of it, is to the effect that it was of comparatively modern make, and
had been designed by W----, the famous nineteenth-century Belgian
painter, who specialised, as you may know, in the most weird and
fantastic subjects. W---- kept the chair in his studio, and my informant
half laughingly, half seriously remarked that no doubt the chair was
thoroughly saturated with the wave-thoughts from W----'s luridly fertile
brain. Of course, I do not know which story is true, or if, indeed,
either story is true, but the fact remains that, up to now, everyone who
has slept in the room with that chair has complained of having had the
most unpleasant sensations. I own that after all that was told me, I was
afraid to experiment with it myself, but after your experience, or
rather lack of experience, I shall not hesitate to have it in my own
bedroom. Both my wife and I have always admired it--it is such a
uniquely beautiful piece of furniture.'
"Of course I agreed with my friend, and, after congratulating him most
effusively on his good luck in having been able to secure so unique a
treasure, I again thanked him for his hospitality and bade him
good-bye."
INDEX
Adventure in Chicago, 143-145.
of Hans and Carl with a were-wolf, 121-129.
with pixies near Bray, 71.
Æneas, story of, 69-70.
All-Hallows E'en, 158-159.
_Anglo-Saxon Church, The_, 158.
Arundels, White Owl of the, 137, 139, 151.
Ash trees, 74-75.
Aspens, 73.
Assam, haunted tree in, 64-67.
Assiut, 42.
Attendant spirits, 142-145.
Automatic writing, 190.
Baldearg, the, 178.
Banshee, the, 137, 147-149.
Barrowvians, 78, 220-230.
Bay of the Departed, 205.
Bears, phantasms of, 79.
Birthmarks, 178.
Bloody Hand of Ulster, 176.
Blue hand, phantasm of a, 79.
Boggle chairs, 230-243.
_Book of Days_, 90.
Brampton, haunted ash tree of, 74.
_British Goblins_, Book of, 91, 151.
Buddhas, 210-220.
Candles, warnings by, 132.
Castle on Dinas, 78.
Cats, phantasms of, 97-108.
Charley, T., 134.
Charms and checks against ghosts, 192-197.
Childermass Day, 160.
Ching Kang and the Fox-woman, story of, 129-131.
Clairvoyance, 189.
Clanogrians, 37, 137.
Complex hauntings and occult bestialities, 80.
Complex hauntings by phantasms of one person, 81.
Corpse-candles, 134-137.
Count Daniel O'Donnell, 167.
Crystal-gazing, 166-167.
D., Lady, 7.
Dalmatian dog, phantasm of, 83.
Davis, Rev. Mr, 135.
De B., Mrs, 6.
Dean Combe Ghost, 89.
Death warnings, 132-140.
Death-Watch, 138.
Demon of Stockwell, 48.
of Tedworth, 48.
Dogs, spirits of, 79, 81, 83-91.
Dowsers, 76.
Drummer of the Airlies, 137-150.
Dyer's _Ghost World_, 89.
Earl of Lincoln and the ash tree, 75.
Elementals, 5.
Ellyllon, the, 151.
English family ghosts, 150.
Ennemoser, works by Jos., 110.
Epworth, hauntings at, 48.
Evil eye, the, 168-170.
Exorcism, 195-196.
Eye, phantasm of, 82.
Fire-coffins, 138.
Forbes du Barry, Mrs, 86.
Fortune-telling, 161.
Fox-women, 119-131.
_Frazer's Journal_, 135.
Gabriel's hounds, 91.
Ghost of Black Lion Lane, 48.
Gluttony, 29.
Grandfather clocks, hauntings by, 35.
Gwyllgi, the, 91.
Hacon, Rev. Henry, 42.
Hand of Glory, 176.
Hands, 162-164.
Hartz mountains, vampirism in the, 114-115.
Haunted trees, 60-70.
in Caucasus, 68.
in Slavonic mythology, 68.
seas, 198-206.
Hauntings on Wicklow nets, 83-85.
Headless dogs, 85, 87-88.
History of magic, 112.
Horses, phantasms of, 79, 108.
Howard, phantasm of Lady, 89.
Hunt, works of Mr, 205-206.
Hydromancy, 165.
Idiots and vampirism, 113-114.
Intuition, 187-188.
Land's End, 6.
Looking-glasses, 157.
Luck of Edenhall, 168.
Lyons family, 168.
Mandrake, the, 76.
Manias, 28-34.
for buttons, 38.
of manual workers, 30.
of women for dogs, 33.
Mauthe dog, the, 90.
Mermaids, 141.
Midsummer eve, 161.
Mines, hauntings of, 58.
Monomaniac musician, 33.
Mummy of Met-Om-Karema, haunted, 42-46.
Nature's devil signals, 179.
New year's eve, 160, 166.
_News from the Invisible World_, 134.
North, recitations of Miss Lilian, 86.
Numbers, climacteric, 177.
Oak chests, haunted, 38.
Obsession and possession, 28.
Occult hooligans, 47-55.
Occult in shadows, 21.
Owls, 139.
Palm tree, 77.
Palmistry, 162.
Paul, vampirism of Arnauld, 110.
Phantasms of living, 184-186.
of pigs, 108.
of sailors, 81.
of wild animals, 108.
Phantom rowers, 150.
ships, 198-201.
white hares, 151.
world, 110.
Pixies, 70.
Plutarch's account of satyrs, 67.
Poltergeists, 47-50.
and Professor Schuppart, 48-50.
in Norwood, 50.
Polydorus, story of, 70.
Poor in Hyde Park, 25.
Pre-existence, 179-184.
Premature burial, 2-18.
Primitive trees, visions of, 56-57.
Projection, 184-186.
Psychic days, 158.
faculty, 186.
Pyromancy, 165.
"Radiant Boy of Corby," the, 151.
Ravens, 140.
River ghosts, 206-207.
Romances of West of England, 205-206.
St Blaise's Day, 160.
St Catherine's Day, 161.
St Lawrence's Day, 161.
St Mark's Day, 161.
St Martin's Day, 160.
Sargasso Sea, 201-205.
Satyrs and fawns, 67.
Scottish ghosts, 149-150.
Séances, 191-192.
Second sight, 187.
Seventh son, the, 177.
Shadow on the Downs, the, 22-23.
in Hyde Park, 26.
of a tree, 24.
Shuck, the, 90.
Sinclair, Miss, 63.
Sirens, 207-209.
Soames, work of Mr, 158.
South's tale of a vampire, Mrs, 116-121.
Spells, 159-161.
Spilling salt, 157.
Stuker, the, 90.
Suggestion, 186.
Superstitions and fortunes, 153.
Sycamore, the, 77.
Sylvan horrors, 56-79.
Table-turning, 191-192.
Talismans and amulets, 167.
Telepathy, 186.
Thirteen at table, 153-157.
Timbs, John, 74, 138, 161.
"Trash," 90.
Tree of life, the, 77.
Trees, haunted, 60-70.
Tristam and Yseult, legend of, 69.
"Unknown depths," the, 20.
Vampires, 110-121.
Wandering Jew, the, 141-142.
Welsh ghosts, 151.
Were-wolves, 121-129.
Wirt Sikes, work by, 91, 151.
Witches, 171-175.
Worthing, 22, 86-88.
X., phantasm of murderer, 91-97.
"Yellow Boy," the, 151.
[Transcriber's Note:
The following corrections were made:
p. 23: extra comma removed (after "time" in "but the next time I visited
the spot")
p. 32: sensualty to sensuality (sensuality sometimes venial)
p. 34: thought germ to thought-germ to match other instances (how
extraordinary the thought-germ)
p. 34: later-day to latter-day (even latter-day)
p. 67: extra comma removed (after "degree" in "in the slightest degree
what the monstrosity meant")
p. 88: Du to du to match other instances (Mrs du Barry)
p. 90: Haviland to Harland (Harland and Wilkinson)
p. 91: Wyhr to Wybr (Cwn y Wybr), to match cited source
p. 110: missing period added (Jos. Ennemoser)
pp. 110, 112, and 244 (Index): Ennemoses to Ennemoser
p. 116: pretentions to pretensions (hypocritical pretensions)
p. 129: Thanking to Thinking (Thinking that the animal was ill)
p. 140: syrens to sirens (nymphs, sirens, and pixies)
p. 154: ont he to on the (on the couch)
p. 176: he to the (badge of the O'Neills)
p. 222: added missing single close quote (Here they are!')
p. 224: double close quote to single close quote (one of the houses.')
p. 225: had to has ('Someone has been excavating, and quite recently!')
p. 245: missing periods added after several Index entries (Gluttony,
29.; Haunted Trees ... in Caucasus, 68.)
On page 110, the author refers to Jos. Ennemoser as the author of _The
Phantom World_. In fact, the cited passage comes from a work by
Augustine Calmet, which was translated into English by William Howitt as
_The Phantom World_; Ennemoser quotes from it in his book _The History
of Magic_. This error has not been corrected.
Irregularities in hyphenation and capitalization have not been
corrected. Antiquated or misspelled place names have been left as in the
original.
For the plain text version, oe ligatures have been changed to oe.]
End of Project Gutenberg's Byways of Ghost-Land, by Elliott O'Donnell