THE EMPTY LEASH
A CASE OF HAUNTING IN ST. JOHN'S WOOD
I have so often been accused of writing too exclusively about the
horrid types of spirit, such as earth-bound murderers, suicides, and
elements, that I am more than pleased to be able to present to my
readers a case of a different kind. Until quite recently Barcombe
House, St. John's Wood, was haunted by the ghost of a very lovely
little girl, who, it is believed, died of a broken heart because a dog
to which she was very much attached had to be destroyed. I obtained
particulars as to the hauntings from a Mr. John Tyley, whose verbatim
account I will endeavour, as nearly as possible, to reproduce.
"Guy Darnton is a very intimate friend of mine. Some people call us
inseparables, and I suppose we are--though at times, I believe, no two
men could so thoroughly hate one another. Indeed, to such an extremity
has this spirit of execration and dislike been carried that I have
on occasions actually accused him of being my very worst--my most
cruel, and certainly my most subtly destructive--enemy. But even then,
even at the moment when my abhorrence of him has been most acute, I
have always accorded him--reluctantly, I admit--one great redeeming
quality--his affection for and kindness to Ghoul.
"Ghoul was an Irish terrier, just an ordinary-looking Irish
terrier, with all the pugnacious and--as some unkind critics would
add--quarrelsome characteristics of his race. He hated fops, those
little brown Pekinese and King Charles horrors that ladies scent and
comb, and stuff to bursting-point with every imaginable dainty; and
whenever he saw one mincing its way along the street, he would always
block its path and try to bite it.
"Yet he was an idealist. It's all nonsense to say that animals have no
appreciation of beauty. Ghoul had. He was fond of biscuits truly; but
he liked other things more, far more than food. I have known him stand
in front of a rose bush and gaze at it with an expression which no one
but the most unkind and prejudiced sceptic could possibly misinterpret
for anything but sheer, solid admiration; and I used to notice that
whenever he was introduced to several ladies, he always wagged his tail
hardest at the prettiest of them. But most of all Ghoul admired pretty
children--dainty little girls with fluffy yellow curls and big, smiling
eyes. He adored them, and he hated with equal fervour all children
who were in any way physically ill-favoured. I have known him bark
furiously at a boy who squinted, and snarl at and refuse to go near a
girl who had a blotchy, yellow complexion and a cavernous, frog-shaped
mouth.
"But I am speaking as if Ghoul were my property. He was not--at least,
not in the legal sense. Darnton paid for his licence--and housed and
fed him--and so had every apparent right to call himself Ghoul's master.
"In spite of this, however, I knew intuitively that Ghoul regarded
me as his actual master, and I believe the explanation of this
circumstance lay in the superphysical. I am psychic, and I am convinced
that the unknown is nearer, far nearer to me than it is to most people.
Now dogs, at least most dogs, have the faculty of second sight, of
clairvoyance and clairaudience, very acutely developed--you have only
to be in a haunted house with them to see it; and there is nothing
they stand in awe of more--or for which they have a more profound
respect--than the superphysical. Now Ghoul was no exception. He saw
around me what I only felt; and he recognised that I was the magnet. He
respected me as one true psychic respects another.
"One day we were out together. Darnton had gone to the dentist, and
Ghoul, tired of his own company, resolved to pay me a visit. He
wandered in at the wicket gate of my garden just as I was about to set
off for a morning constitutional. I greeted him somewhat boisterously,
for Ghoul, when extra solemn, always excited my risibility, and, after
a brief skirmish with him on behalf of my cat, an extraordinarily ugly
Tom, for whom Ghoul cherished the most inveterate hatred, we set off
together. It was pure accident that led me into the Adelaide Road.
I was half-way along it, thinking of nothing in particular, when
someone whistled behind me, and I turned round. As a rule, one may see
a few pedestrians--one or two at least--at all times of the day in
the Adelaide Road, but oddly enough no one was in sight just at that
moment, and I could see no traces of Ghoul. I called him, and getting
no reply, walked back a little distance. At last I discovered him. He
was in the front garden of Barcombe House, sitting in the centre of
a grass plot, his eyes fixed on space, but with such an expression
of absorbing interest that I was absolutely astounded. Thinking
something, perhaps, was hiding in the bushes, I threw stones and made
a great shooing; but nothing came out, and Ghoul still maintained his
position. The look in his face did not suggest anything antagonistic,
it was indicative rather of something very pleasing to him--something
idealistic--something he adored.
"I shouted 'Ghoul!' He did not take the slightest notice, and when I
caught him by the scruff of the neck, he dug his paws in the ground and
whined piteously. Then I grew alarmed. He must either have hurt himself
or have gone mad. I examined him carefully, and nothing appearing to
be the matter with him, I lifted him up, and, despite his frantic
struggles, carried him out of the garden.
"The moment I set him down he raced back. Then I grew determined. A
taxi was hailed, and Ghoul, driven off in it, speedily found himself a
close prisoner in Darnton's exceedingly unromantic study.
"That afternoon I revisited Barcombe House alone. The premises were to
let, and, judging by their neglected and dilapidated appearance, had
been so for some considerable time. Both front and back garden were
overgrown with a wild profusion of convolvulus, thistles, and other
weeds; and an air of desolation, common to all abandoned houses, hung
about the place. All the same, I could detect nothing unpleasant.
"I was unmistakably aware of some superphysical influence; but that
influence, unlike the majority of those I had hitherto experienced, was
decidedly attractive.
"It seemed to affect everything--the ruddy rays of sunlight that,
falling aslant the paths, turned them into scintillating gold; the
buttercups and dandelions more glorious yellow than I had ever
remembered seeing them; the air--charged to overflowing with the rich,
entrancing perfume of an abnormally generous summer's choicest flowers.
All nature here seemed stimulated, cheered and glorified, and the
longer I lingered the longer I wished to linger. At the far end of the
garden was an arbour overgrown with jasmine and sweet honeysuckle, and
on its moss-covered seat I espied a monstrous Teddy bear adorned with
a piece of faded and mildewy pink ribbon. The sight filled me with
a strange melancholy. The poor Teddy bear, once held so lovingly in
the tight embrace of two little infantile arms, was now abandoned to
the mercies of spiders and wood-lice, and the pitiless spoliation of
decay. How long had it been left, and where was its owner? I looked
at the sunshine, and, in the beams that gilded everything around me,
I felt an answer to my queries. Most haunted places scare me, but it
was otherwise here; and I was so fascinated, so eager to probe the
mystery to its core, that I left the garden and, crossing a tiny stone
yard, approached the back of the house. The premises were quite easy of
access, as the catch of one of the windows was broken, and the shutter
of the coal-house had come off its hinges. One has always supposed
that the basement of any house that has stood empty for a long time
must become cold and musty, but here I could detect neither cold nor
mustiness. Even in the darkest recesses the sun made its influence
felt, and its beams warmed and illuminated walls and flagstones alike.
I now entered a large and lofty apartment, with a daintily tiled floor,
spotlessly clean ceiling, artistically coloured walls, and scrupulously
clean dresser. Here again the devastating hand of decay was nowhere
to be seen, and indeed I thought I had never been in such a pleasant
kitchen.
"I intended waiting there only until I had consumed a sandwich, but
when I rose to go, something held me back, and I tarried on and on,
until the evening set in and dark and strangely formed shadows began to
dim the walls and floor.
"As I was mounting the stairs to explore the upper premises a gentle
gust of wind blew in my face and filled my nostrils with the most
delightful odour of 'cherry-pie.' Intoxicated, I halted, and, leaning
against the banisters, inhaled the perfume to the full extent of
my lungs. Then I listened. The breeze rustling past me down the
stairs rattled the window panes and jarred the doors, and seemed
to disseminate, in its wake, new and even more perplexing shadows.
Presently a door slammed, and I distinctly heard footsteps cross the
hall and begin to ascend the stairs.
"It was now for the first time that terror laid hold of me, but the
fascination of it was so compelling that I lowered my head over the
balustrade to listen. I tried to reason the thing out. Why, I asked
myself, should these footsteps alarm me? What was it that made them
different from other footsteps? Surely there was no difference.
And yet, if that were so, why was I certain that they were not the
footsteps of any trespasser from outside? I debated earnestly,
desperately, but could arrive at no other conclusion than that there
was a difference, and that this difference did not lie in the sounds
themselves, but in the sense of atmosphere they conveyed, an atmosphere
that was peculiarly subtle and quite incompatible with the natural. At
last I knew for certain that the sounds were superphysical, and yet
such was my dread of the Unknown that I fought most frantically against
my convictions.
"The steps had, by this time, so I calculated, reached the first
landing, and I now noticed in them a cautiousness that I had not
remarked before. What should I see? There was still time for
flight, but whither could I go? Behind me were a row of half-open
doors, through which the sun, sinking fast, shone its last rays.
The effect--a sad one--forcibly reminded me of the end of all
things--death; and the sadness of it harmonised well with an air of
silent expectation that seemed suddenly to have filled the whole
house. My fears grew. I was certain that the oncoming footsteps could
only emanate from a phantom of the most startling and terrifying
description, and I bitterly repented of my rashness in coming to the
house alone. With a supreme effort, I averted my gaze and turned to
seek refuge in one mad headlong plunge, should there be no other
haven, through a window; but the power to do so was denied me. I was
paralysed. The steps came nearer, and now, some distance below me,
moving rapidly up the staircase, came something bright. I watched it
pass swiftly round one bend, and then another, and at the moment my
suspense had reached its limit and I felt I was on the border-line of
either death or insanity, it turned the last corner and shot fully into
view. The reaction was then so great that I reeled back against the
wall and burst out laughing. Instead of some distorted semblance of
humanity, instead of some grotesque, semi-animal elemental, something
too grim and devilish for the mind to conceive and survive, I saw--a
child: a girl of about twelve, dressed in the most becoming frock of
soft white satin, high in the waist, and from thence falling in folds
to her feet. She had long bright golden hair hanging in loose curls on
either side of her low white forehead; delicately pencilled eyebrows
that were slightly knit, and wide open blue-grey eyes that were
fixed on me with an expression of the gravest anxiety, mingled with
a something enigmatical, something sorely puzzling and with which I
seemed to be familiar. Again and again I have tried to diagnose it, and
at times the solution has seemed very near; but it has always eluded me
in the end, and the mystery is still as great and as poignant as ever.
The child held a leash in one hand, whilst she stretched out the other
confidingly towards me.
"Always a worshipper of beauty, I was stooping down to kiss her little
hand, when, to my consternation, she abruptly vanished, and I found
myself standing there--alone.
"An intense sadness now seized me, and throwing myself on the floor I
gave way to an attack of utter dejection. The vision I had just seen
was in very deed the embodiment of all my boyhood's dreams, and for
the moment, but only for the moment, my old self, a little pensive boy
adoring heart and soul a girl's fair face, had lived again.
"It was all too cruelly brief; for with the vision my old ego vanished
too; and I felt--I knew it had been wrested from me and hurried to some
far-off place where the like of my present self could not be admitted.
I rose at length chilled and hopeless, and tearing myself away from
the landing with a desperate effort, wandered home. I could not rest.
An intense dissatisfaction with myself, with my whole mode of life,
my surroundings, obsessed me. I longed to alter, to become something
different, something unsophisticated, simple, even elementary. This
change in me brought me into closer sympathy with Ghoul, who, as I
have said, was strangely altered himself. He avoided Darnton with the
most marked persistence, and was always hovering round my doorstep and
lying on the lawn. At last one day I could stand it no longer. 'Ghoul,'
I said, 'the same yearning possesses us both. It's the child--the
child with the lovely eyes. We must see her. You and I are rivals, old
fellow. But never mind! We'll visit the house together and let her take
her choice. Come along!'
"Ghoul's joy on entering the garden of Barcombe House knew no bounds.
He tore in at the gate, capered across the grass, barked, whined,
wagged his tail furiously, and behaved like the veriest of lunatics.
Gaining admittance into the house as easily as before, I quickly made
my way to the third-floor landing, Ghoul darting up the stairs ahead
of me. Without a moment's pause he bolted into a room immediately in
front of us, and springing on to the sill of a large casement window
that was wide open, peered eagerly out, exhibiting, as he did so, the
wildest manifestation of excitement. Following the direction of his
eyes, I looked down into the garden, and there, gazing up at us, her
curls shining gold in the hot summer sun, stood the little ghost. The
moment she saw me, she smiled, and, moving forward with a peculiar
gliding motion, entered the house. Once again a door slammed, and, once
again, there came the patter of ascending footsteps. Ghoul ran to meet
her. She stooped over him, patted his head and fastened the leash to
his collar, whilst I, merely a spectator, felt the bitterest pangs of
jealousy. Then she looked up, and instantly the joy in her face was
converted into pity--pity for me. Without a doubt Ghoul had triumphed.
"Still patting him on the head and urging him forward, she ran past me,
and, mounting the window sill, glanced round at me with a mischievous
smile. Even then I did not comprehend the full significance of her
action. I merely stood and stared--stared as if I would never grow
tired of staring, so fascinated was I by the piquante beauty of that
superhuman little face. I was still staring when she put one foot
through the open window; still staring when the other foot followed;
still staring when she waved her hand gleefully at me and sprang
out--out into the sunny brightness of the hot summer noon. I thought
of Ghoul. He had sprung, too. Sprung barking and whining with a joy
unequalled.
"I ran to look for him. He lay where he had fallen, his neck broken and
his spirit fled.
"Darnton, of course, would not believe me. We had a stormy interview,
and we have never spoken to one another since.
"The house--Barcombe House--is now let, and the occupants inform me
that they have never once been troubled--at least not by ghosts."