At Four o'Clock
The game grew more absorbing. Most of the party managed to store up
enough courage by day to last well into the darker and more mysterious
hours. It was at four in the morning that manifestations were oftenest
noticed. At that hour vague moanings and rustlings were reported by one
or another of the interested investigators, but no human agency was found
to account for these.
Many plans were tried for discovering the secret of the Room with the
Tassels, but all scrutiny failed to show any secret panel or concealed
entrance. Indeed, their measurings and soundings proved there could not
possibly be any entrance to that room save the door from the hall.
Eve and Norma believed thoroughly in the actual haunt of the woman who
had poisoned her husband. They had no difficulty in swallowing whole all
the strange noises or sights and attributing them to supernatural causes.
Not so Gifford Bruce. He still held that it was all trickery, cleverly
done by some of the party, but as this was so clearly impossible, his
opinion carried no weight.
Professor Hardwick was open-minded, but exceedingly alert of observation
and ready to suspect anybody who would give him the slightest reason to
do so. Nobody did, however, and the weird sounds continued at intervals.
The other men were noncommittal, saying they hadn't yet sufficient data
to base conclusions on.
Milly was nervous and hysterical, but controlled her feelings at Landon's
plea, and awaited developments with the rest. Vernie was merely an
excited child, gay with youthful spirits and ready to believe or
disbelieve whatever the others did.
Soon after Eve's experience, which no one, unless Gifford Bruce, doubted,
Professor Hardwick slept in the haunted room. He had no results of
interest to report. He said he had lain awake for a few hours and then
fell asleep not to waken until daylight. If the Shawled Woman prowled
about, he did not see or hear her. This was disappointing, but Tracy
tried with little better success. In the morning, after a wakeful but
uneventful night, the clergyman found the old battered brass candlestick
in the room.
It had not been there the night before, and he had locked the door as the
others had done. This was inexplicable, but of slight interest compared
to a real haunting.
"You might have made up a ghost story," Braye reproached him, "as Uncle
Gifford did, and as Miss Carnforth--didn't!"
The last word was distinctly teasing and Eve frowned gaily at him, but
did not defend herself. She knew her experience had occurred just as she
had told it, and, deeply mystified, she was earnestly and eagerly
awaiting more light.
One day Braye found it necessary to go down to New York for a couple of
days on some business matters. Before leaving, he made Vernie promise she
would not sleep alone in the haunted room while he was gone.
"I forbid it, child," he said. "Uncle Gif is so easy-going that I've no
doubt you could wheedle permission out of him, but I beg of you not to.
You're too young to risk a nerve shock of that sort. If you want to try
it with Miss Carnforth or Miss Cameron, all right, but not alone. Promise
me, Flapper, and I'll bring you a pretty present from town day after
to-morrow."
Vernie laughingly gave the required promise, but it did not weigh heavily
on her conscience, for no sooner had Braye really gone, than she confided
to Mr. Tracy her indecision regarding the keeping of her word.
"Of course you'll keep your promise," and Tracy regarded her seriously.
"Nice people consider a spoken word inviolable. I know you, Vernie; you
like to talk at random, but I think you've an honourable nature."
So Vernie said nothing more to him, but she confided in Eve Carnforth her
intention of sleeping in the Tasseled Room that very night.
Eve did not discourage her, and promised to tell no one.
The plan was easily carried out. As it was understood no one was sleeping
in the haunted room, no special precautions were taken, save the usual
locking up against outside intruders. And after the great locks and bolts
were fastened on doors and windows, it would have been a clever burglar
indeed who could have effected an entrance to Black Aspens.
The evening had been pleasantly spent. Some trials of the Ouija board, a
favourite diversion, had produced no interesting results, and rather
early they all retired.
At midnight, Vernie softly rose, and went downstairs alone in the
darkness. A night lamp in the upper hall gave a faint glimmer below
stairs, but after the girl turned into the great hall the dark was almost
impenetrable.
Feeling her way, she came to the door of the room, softly entered it and
walked in. Passing her hands along the walls and the familiar furnishings
she found the bed and lay down upon it. Her heart beat fast with
excitement but not with fear. She felt thrills of hope that the ghost
would appear and thrills of apprehension lest it should!
She had left the door to the hall open, and though it could scarcely be
called light, there was a mitigation of the darkness near the door. A not
unpleasant drowsiness overcame her, and she half slept, waking every time
the clock struck in the hall.
At three, she smiled to herself, realizing that she was there, in the
Room with the Tassels, and felt no fear. "I hope something comes at
four,----" she thought sleepily, and closed her eyes again.
One--two--three--four--boomed the hall clock.
Vernie opened her eyes, only half conscious, and yet able to discern a
strange chill in the air. Between her and the open door stood a tall
gaunt shape, merely a shadow, for it was too dark to discern details. Her
calm forsook her; she shivered violently, unable to control her muscles.
Her teeth chattered, her knees knocked together, and her hair seemed to
rise from her head.
Yet she could make no sound. Vainly she tried to scream, to shriek,--but
her dry throat was constricted as with an iron band.
Her eyes burned in their sockets, yet she was powerless to shut them.
They seemed suddenly to possess an uncanny ability to pierce the
darkness, and she saw the shape draw slowly nearer to her.
Clutching the bedclothing, she tried to draw it over her head, but her
paralyzed arms refused to move. Nearer, slowly nearer, the thing came,
and horror reached its climax at sight of the face beneath the sheltering
shawl. It was the face of a skull! The hollow eye-sockets glared at her,
and lifting a deathlike hand, with long white fingers, the spectre told
off one, two, three, four! on the digits. There was no sound, but a final
pointing of the fearsome index finger at the stricken girl, seemed a
death warrant for herself.
The thing disappeared. Slowly, silently, as it had come, so it went. From
nowhere to nowhere,--it evolved from the darkness and to the darkness
returned.
Vernie didn't faint, but she suffered excruciatingly; her head was on
fire, her flesh crept and quivered, she was bathed in a cold
perspiration, and her heart beat madly, wildly, as if it would burst.
The vision, though gone, remained etched on her brain, and she knew that
until that faded she could not move or speak.
It seemed to her hours, but at last the tension lessened a little. The
first move was agony, but by degrees she changed her position a trifle
and moistened her dry lips.
With the first faint glimmer of dawn, she dragged herself upstairs and
crept into bed beside Eve Carnforth.
"Tell me," begged Eve, and Vernie told her.
"It was a warning," said the child, solemnly. "It means I shall die at
four o'clock some morning."
"Nonsense, Kiddie! Now you've come through so bravely, and have such an
experience to tell, don't spoil it all by such croaking."
"But it's true, Eve. I could see that awful thing's face, and it counted
four, and then beckoned,--sort of shook its finger, you know, and pointed
at me. And--oh, I hardly noticed at the time, but it carried a glass in
its hand--it seemed to have two glasses----"
"Oh, come now, dearie, you're romancing. How could it have two glasses,
when it was shaking its hand at you?"
"But it did, Eve. It had two little glasses, both in the same hand. I
remember distinctly. Oh, every bit of it is printed on my brain forever!
I wish I hadn't done it! Rudolph told me not to!"
A flood of tears came and Vernie gave way to great racking sobs, as she
buried her face in the pillow.
"Yes, he was right, too, Vernie; but you know, he only wanted you not to
try it because he feared it would upset your nerves. Now if you're going
to square yourself with Mr. Braye, you can only do it, by not letting
your nerves be upset. So brace up and control them. Cry, dear, cry all
you can. That's a relief, and will do you a heap of good. Then we'll talk
it over, and by breakfast time you'll be ready to tell them all about it,
and you'll be the heroine of the whole crowd. It's wonderful, Vernie,
what you've got to tell, and you must be careful to tell it truly and not
exaggerate or forget anything. Cry away, honey, here's a fresh
handkerchief."
Eve's calm voice and matter-of-fact manner did much to restore Vernie's
nerves, and as she looked around the rational, familiar room, bright with
sunlight, her spirits revived, and she began to appreciate her rôle of
heroine.
Her story was received with grave consideration. It was impossible to
believe the honest, earnest child capable of falsehood or deceit. Her
description was too realistic, her straightforward narrative too
unshakable, her manner too impressively true, to be doubted in the least
degree or detail.
Gifford Bruce laughed and complimented her on her pluck. Mr. Tracy
reproved her for breaking her word to her cousin, but as he was in no way
responsible for Vernie's behaviour, he said very little.
Landon scolded her roundly, while Milly said nothing at all.
The whole affair cast rather a gloom over them all, for it seemed as if
the spectre had at last really manifested itself in earnest. An undoubted
appearance to an innocent child was far more convincing than to a grown
person of avowed psychic tendencies. Eve Carnforth might have imagined
much of the story she told; her 'expectant attention' might have
exaggerated the facts; but Vernie's mind was like a page of white paper,
on which the scene she passed through had left a clear imprint.
That night Vernie herself got out the Ouija board and asked Eve to help
her try it.
"No," was the reply. "I'm too broken up. And, too, the people don't
believe _me_. Get your uncle or Mr. Tracy or some truthful and honourable
person to help you."
It embittered Eve that her earnestness and her implicit belief in the
supernatural made it more difficult for the others to look upon her as
entirely disingenuous. She resented this, and was a little morose in
consequence. Norma Cameron, herself an avowed 'sensitive,' had had no
spiritistic visitant in the haunted room, and Eve thought Norma had
doubted her word.
At last after trying all the others that she wanted, Vernie persuaded
good-natured Mr. Tracy to move Ouija with her, and the two sat down with
the board between them.
Few and flippant messages were forthcoming, until, just as Vernie had
laughingly declared she would throw the old thing out of the window, a
startling sentence formed itself from the erratic dartings of the
heart-shaped toy, and Vernie turned pale.
"Stop it!" ordered Tracy, "I refuse to touch it again!"
He removed his hands and sat back, but Vernie, glaring at the letters,
held it a moment longer. "To-morrow! it says to-morrow!" she cried. "Oh,
Eve, I told you so!"
"What, Vernie? What is it, dear?" and Eve Carnforth came over to the
excited child.
"Ouija, Eve! Ouija said that to-morrow at four, two of us are to die! Oh,
Eve, you know every death in this house has occurred at four o'clock in
the morning! Mr. Stebbins said so. And now, two of us are to die
to-morrow!"
"Nonsense!" cried Mr. Tracy, "don't listen to that rubbish! The Ouija ran
off its track. Maybe Vernie pushed it,--maybe I did."
"Now, Mr. Tracy, I _didn't_ push it, and you needn't try to make anybody
think _you_ did! You never'd push it to say a thing like that! Why, it
spelled it all out as plain as day! Uncle Gifford, do you hear! Two of us
to die to-morrow!" Vernie's voice rose to a hysterical shriek.
"Hush, Vernie! Hush, child. I'll take you away from here to-morrow. We
ought never to have brought you," and Gifford Bruce glowered at the
others as he clasped the sobbing child in his arms, and took her from the
room.
"You're right," agreed Mr. Tracy, "and Braye was right. He said a fright
or shock would upset that child's nerves completely. But she must have
pushed the board herself. It flew round like lightning, and spelled out
the message, just as she said. I tried to steer it off, but she urged
against me. I felt her doing so. I don't mean she made up the message to
create a sensation, but I think the ghost last night affected her as a
warning, and her mind is so full of it, that she unconsciously or
subconsciously worked up that 'message.' At any rate, I've had about
enough of this, if she's to be here. It isn't right to frighten a child
so, and Vernie is little more than a child."
"That's so," said Norma, thoughtfully. "I've had enough, too. If the rest
of you want to stay on, I'll go down to New York to-morrow, and take
Vernie to stay with me for a while. We'll go to the seashore, and I'll
see to it that she has no psychic or supernatural experiences."
"Why, Norma," and Eve looked surprised, "I thought you were so interested
in these things."
"So I am, but not to the extent of so affecting the nervous system of a
sweet, innocent child, that it may result in permanent injury."
"She's all right," said Gifford Bruce, returning, alone. "It's hysteria.
I think I'll take her back to town to-morrow or next day. There's
something uncanny up here, that's certain. I didn't take any stock in the
experiences of you people, but I can't disbelieve Vernie's story."
The party broke up and all went to their rooms. There was no volunteer to
sleep in the haunted room that night, and every one felt a shivering
dread of what might happen at four o'clock the next morning.
Not one admitted it, but every one secretly shuddered at thought of
Ouija's message.
And when, as the hall clock rung out its four strokes the next morning,
and nothing untoward happened, every one drew a long breath and soon went
to sleep again, relieved, as of a heavy burden.
Gaily they gathered at breakfast, daylight and good cheer reviving their
spirits.
"But Ouija is henceforth taboo," said Mr. Tracy, shaking his finger at
the now laughing Vernie.
"For little girls, anyway," supplemented Eve.
"Little girls are taboo, also," declared Gifford Bruce. "I can't get off
to-day, for I want to see Rudolph on his return, but to-morrow, I pack up
my Vernie child and take her back to our own little old Chicago on the
lake. These Aspens are too black for us!"
"Now, Uncle, I don't want to go," and Vernie pouted prettily. "And sumpum
tells me I won't go," she added with a roguish glance at her uncle, whom
she usually twisted round her rosy little finger.
But he gave her a grave smile in return, and the subject was dropped for
the moment.
Soon after noon, Braye came up from the city, and listened, frowning, to
the tales that were told him.
"You promised me, Vernie," he said, reproachfully.
"I know it, Cousin Rudolph, but you see, I've never kept a promise in my
whole life,--and I didn't want to break my record!"
"Naughty Flapper! I won't give you the present I brought for you."
"Oh, yes you will," and so wheedlesome was the lovely face, and so
persuasive the soft voice, that Vernie, after a short argument, seized
upon a small jeweller's packet and unwrapped a pretty little ring.
"Angel Cousin," she observed, "you're just about the nicest cousin I
possess,--beside being the only one!"
"Doubtful compliment!" laughed Braye. "Any way, you're the prettiest and
naughtiest cousin _I_ own! As a punishment for your disobedience I
challenge you to a round with old Ouija to-night! I'll bet I can make it
say something more cheerful than you wormed out of it last evening."
"All right, we'll try it," and Vernie danced gaily away to tease her
uncle not to take her home.
A little later, Milly, as housekeeper, discovered some serious shortage
in the commissariat department, and Braye offered to drive her over to
East Dryden, marketing.
They started off, Milly calling back to Eve to preside at the tea-table,
if she didn't return in time.
"All right," agreed Eve, though Vernie vociferously announced her
intention of playing hostess in Milly's absence.
The shoppers had not returned when old Thorpe brought in the tea-tray.
"You can pour, Eve, and I'll pass the cakies," said Vernie, who was in
high spirits, for she had partially persuaded her uncle to remain longer
at Black Aspens. He was just phrasing certain strong stipulations on
which his permission was to be based, when the tea things arrived.
They were, as usual, in the hall, for though they sometimes suggested the
plan of having tea out of doors, there was no cheerful terrace, or
pleasant porch. The hall, though sombre and vast, had become more or less
homelike by virtue of usage, so there they took their tea.
Mr. Tracy, always graceful in social matters, helped pass the cups and
plates, for no one liked to have the old Thorpes about unnecessarily.
"No tea for me, please," declared Norma; "I think it upsets my
nerves,----"
"And that is not the thing to do in _this_ house," laughed Landon. "This
is mighty good tea, though,--didn't know anybody could brew it as well as
Milly. Congratulations, Eve."
"Thank you," and Eve's long lashes swept upward as she gave him a
coquettish glance.
"Referring to that matter of which we were talking, Hardwick," Gifford
Bruce began, "I----"
Even as he spoke, the clock chimed four, and, as always, they paused to
count the long, slow strokes.
Then Bruce began again: "I think, myself----"
A strange change passed over his face. His jaw fell, his eyes stared, and
then, his teacup fell from his hand, and he slumped down in an awful--a
terrifying heap!
Landon sprang to his assistance, Norma ran to him, while Tracy, with a
quick glance at Vernie, flew to the child's side.
"What is it?" he cried to her, "what's the matter, Vernie?" He slipped an
arm round her, just as, with a wild look and a ringing shriek, the girl's
head fell back and her eyes closed.
"Oh," cried Eve, "_what_ has happened?"
"I don't know," and Tracy's voice shook. "Help me, Miss Carnforth--let us
lay her on this sofa."
Between them they carried the girl, for she was past muscular effort, and
as they placed her gently on the sofa her eyes fluttered, she gave a
gasping sigh, and fell back, inert.
"Oh," cried Eve, "she isn't--she _isn't_--_oh_, it's just four o'clock!"
Landon ran to Vernie's side and felt of her heart.
"She is dead," he said, solemnly, his face white, his voice shaking; "and
Gifford Bruce is dead, too. It is four o'clock!"