WHILST living at a “school house” in a lonely country district, where
my father was a schoolmaster, I was startled one day, when sitting in
my bedroom reading, by someone walking upstairs as though with a
stick. I rushed out and, on finding no one, I ran downstairs to
ascertain whether the rest of the family had heard the same noise.
Everyone paid “No!”
A few months afterwards, my mother happened to be ill, and a maid,
who had lived in the same house when it was occupied by a former
schoolmaster, came to live with us. One afternoon, while the rest of
us were out, mother asked this maid to sit upstairs with her, and,
strange though it may seem, they were both startled by the same noise
as I had heard months before—someone walking upstairs with a stick.
“Oh, it’s quite all right,” said the maid, “that's only Miss S., who
died here a few years ago; she was troubled with fits and always
walked with a stick.”
Funnily enough, this girl said that Miss S. used to place the stick
on the landing on top of the stairs before walking to her bedroom,
which she did (if it really was her “ghost”) on those two occasions.