I LIVE in an ordinary little suburban house—one of a row of “boxes
with lids on”—the approach to the upper storey being by a flight of
twelve stairs and another flight of four stairs set at right angles
to the first, a small bedroom being in the angle formed by the
junction of the two. One night some six months ago, when passing this
bedroom in the dark, I caught a momentary glimpse of the form of a
man holding an axe in his right hand, his face bearing a highly
malevolent expression. Not being at that time of a nervous
disposition I dismissed the whole thing as imagination, but, on three
separate occasions since, I have seen the same form, and always when
passing that door in the dark I have the impression of having
received a glancing blow on head and shoulder. Now the sequel to this
is strange. I have ascertained that some years ago the then tenant of
the house attacked his wife with an axe as she was descending the
stairs, and she died from her injuries; he was confined in an asylum,
where he died six months ago. The name of the road was then ——— Road;
in consequence of the tragedy it was changed (as was then the common
practice) to the more pretentious ——— Avenue, and only the older
residents of the district recollect anything of the case. Can any of
your readers tell me how to exorcise this “ghost,” for if it troubles
me much more I shall be a fitting candidate for the institution where
my ghostly friend ended his days.