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?
I WELL remember when I was a schoolgirl, my father taking an old farm
which had been uninhabited for years. It was a quaint old house with
three stairways, and the best bedroom had queer little knobs and
ornamentations all over the ceiling, and the date 1643 or 83 let into
the wall—I forget exactly, it was so long ago.
It was pleasantly situated, but bore a bad reputation, for it was
said that the old lady who owned it in bygone days had come by it
through fraudulently altering a will; then, towards the end of her
days, it was unlawfully wrested from her for some paltry debt. This
preyed on her mind and she died soon after, vowing that she would
haunt the spot, so it was said, and anyone who took it would rue it.
My mother was very averse to taking it and so was my grandmother,
who, indeed, begged and prayed father to have nothing to do with it,
saying there was a curse on the place, and no good would come of it.
However, father, not being at all superstitious, but an honest,
God-fearing man, laughed at such predictions. He had the farm put in
repair, and we went there to live.
From that day our modest prosperity vanished; we lost money steadily.
In a few months my father was brought home seriously ill. He got up at
last from his bed a wreck of his former self, only to linger for two
years a semi-invalid, then a recurrence of his illness took him from
us within a few days.
My mother’s mind broke down under the shock and worry, and she had to
be taken away, and we girls were left fatherless, as bad as
motherless, and penniless into the bargain. Our home was sold up, we
paid our debts and got out of that disastrous house as soon as we
could. As for our uncanny experiences there—we were awakened more than
once by sounds as if all the heavy furniture we possessed downstairs
was being dragged about, also by footsteps coming up the flagged path
that led to the front door, and by raps at the window.
Also, one evening, I remember distinctly we four girls were all
sitting quietly sewing, when, all at once, we jumped nearly out of
our skins at a loud rat-tat-tat at the front door. “Whoever can that
be at this time of night?” we said. My eldest sister snatched up a
light and ran to answer, and came back saying: “There's no one
there.” At this moment, our dog, chained in the back yard, snapped
his chain and ran round the house howling piteously.
Who it was, or what it was, I know not; we saw nothing, but I don’t
think anyone would have played a trick on us at such a time when we
were in deep trouble. Then, too, it was a lonely place, and the house
stood back from the road enclosed with high garden hedges, and in
those days country folk were not wont to travel the dark lanes at
nine or ten at night to frighten their neighbours or, indeed, for any
purpose unless necessity compelled them.
Only once during our stay there did we see anything. One night my
second sister was awakened by the feeling that someone or something
was in the room, and was horrified to see the figure of an old woman,
with thin grey wisps of hair, bending over the bed. As she lay, too
frightened to call to the rest of us, the figure gradually retreated
in the direction of the door, which led into the best bedroom.
I don’t care to recall these things, for even after the lapse of many
years their remembrance both saddens and terrifies. Was there some
sinister influence surrounding this spot? Or were our misfortunes
just the chances and changes of this mortal life which might have
occurred anywhere? Who can rightly say? What happened to the next
tenant (if there was one) I do not know. We removed to a distant
county, and I have long lost touch with any I used to know who might
give me news of it.