It was a moment or two before I could tell him, and then he was off in
hot chase—he was going to catch the ghost with his gun. He went and
fetched a chum, and, together, they made enough noise to frighten an
army of ghosts; but they did not catch one.
We all felt a bit eerie, and Mr. P. persuaded his chum to sleep with
him a few nights.
It was just as well that he did, for one night, about two a.m., we
were all awakened by the most blood-curdling screams it is possible
to imagine. My sister and I sat up at once and clung tight to each
other. Mr. P. and his chum were soon hammering on our door asking
were we all right. The landlady was wandering about her landing in a
voluminous dressing gown and night cap, with a candle: a little girl
was sobbing in bed, and a boy slept through the lot. The men were
determined to put an end to the matter, so down the cellar they went
with lamps and pistols, and all over the house, and right up into the
unused attic, but nothing could be discovered.
Should any reader want to think of a reasonable clue, I can only tell
them that the house was built in such a way that no sun could get
into it; it was very old and appeared to have been wedged in to block
up a passage way between the backyard of a grocer’s shop and the
road. The front and back of the house were built away back from the
level of the other houses: the houses on both sides of it seemed to
squeeze the very air out of the house—it was a deadly house.
As soon as I walked into the front door I used to shiver and stare
straight ahead of me, as if expecting things to happen. Even in the
daytime it was always dark as compared to other houses.