Edwin C. Hill talks on various subjects every night on the Columbia
Broadcasting System. One evening he devoted his program to ghost
stories about London that are supposed to be true. They sound very
convincing and have many witnesses. We leave it to the reader whether
to accept them as truth, or discard them as merely hallucinations.
However, they are extremely interesting, nevertheless.
Once, two sailors were roaming around London and came upon an old, but
handsome, mansion.
"Funny no one lives here," said one, "This shack seems too good to be
left vacant."
But the two sailors didn't intend to leave it vacant that night. They
had no money, and thus could not pay for lodging, so they entered the
old house, intending to spend the night there.
After climbing to the second floor and finding a fireplace, they built
a blazing fire with some wood they had secured. Curling up in some old
clothes, they went to sleep beside the roaring fire.
Suddenly, after many hours, one of the sailors awoke, half-conscious
of some noise. There it was again! It sounded like a door being
closed. Yes--that's what it must have been. A few pieces of wood to
bring the dying fire to renewed activity gave him some courage, but he
woke the other sailor anyway.
He had hardly time to explain to his friend the reason for his
disturbance, when the noise was repeated.
"It's the wind," said one, and they accepted that explanation,
preparing to go to sleep again, but instantly their returned with
greater confirmation. Another sound.
Any thoughts but of the supernatural were out of the question. This
time it was footsteps--but what footsteps! Not human--not animal! They
were padded sounds--something like bare feet. Nearer and nearer.
Suddenly they stopped, and the door opened. Slowly--and there was
revealed to their terrified senses the most horrible monstrosity
imaginable. It could not be of this earth!
One crazed sailor jumped past it and flew down the stairs, out of the
house, and screamed in mortal terror into the streets.
He told his story--and the next day the body of his companion was
found mangled on the ground. He had leaped out of a second story
window.
Another story tells the tale of a man walking through a London park at
day-break on the bank of the Thames. While passing a bridge, he spies
a woman jumping into the river, and he takes off his coat preparing to
save her, but a hand touches his shoulder. An officer.
"It's no use," he said, "You could not save her. She is not a living
woman. Return tomorrow at this time and you will see her repeat her
ghastly act."
The bewildered man did so, and the next morning was but a repetition
of the one before.
"You see?" said the officer, "She does that for seven consecutive
mornings each year. Today is the last one this year. She died here a
long time ago."
(This article will be concluded next month.)