I am by nature a thoroughly practical woman. If I had not been, the many
misfortunes of my life would have made me so. Yet, when the library door
closed behind the mayor and I found myself again alone in a spot where I
had not felt comfortable from the first, I experienced an odd sensation
not unlike fear. It left me almost immediately and my full reasoning
powers reasserted themselves; but the experience had been mine and I
could not smile it away.
The result was a conviction, which even reason could not dispel,
that whatever secret tragedy or wrong had signalized this house, its
perpetration had taken place in this very room. It was a fancy, but it
held, and under its compelling if irrational influence, I made a second
and still more minute survey of the room to which this conviction had
imparted so definite an interest.
I found it just as ordinary and unsuggestive as before; an
old-fashioned, square apartment renovated and redecorated to suit modern
tastes. Its furnishings I have already described; they were such as may
be seen in any comfortable abode. I did not linger over them a moment;
besides, they were the property of the present tenant, and wholly
disconnected with the past I was insensibly considering. Only the four
walls and what they held, doors, windows and mantel-piece, remained to
speak of those old days. Of the doors there were two, one opening
into the main hall under the stairs, the other into a cross corridor
separating the library from the dining-room. It was through the
dining-room door Nixon had come when he so startled me by speaking
unexpectedly over my shoulder! The two windows faced the main door,
as did the ancient, heavily carved mantel. I could easily imagine the
old-fashioned shutters hidden behind the modern curtains, and, being
anxious to test the truth of my imaginings, rose and pulled aside one of
these curtains only to see, just as I expected, the blank surface of
a series of unslatted shutters, tightly fitting one to another with
old-time exactitude. A flat hook and staple fastened them. Gently
raising the window, and lifting one, I pulled the shutter open and
looked out. The prospect was just what I had been led to expect from the
location of the room--the long, bare wall of the neighboring house.
I was curious about that house, more curious at this moment than ever
before; for though it stood a good ten feet away from the one I was now
in, great pains had been taken by its occupants to close every opening
which might invite the glances of a prying eye. A door which had once
opened on the alley running between the two houses had been removed and
its place boarded up. So with a window higher up; the half-circle window
near the roof, I could not see from my present point of view.
Drawing back, I reclosed the shutter, lowered the window and started for
my own room. As I passed the first stair-head, I heard a baby’s laugh,
followed by a merry shout, which, ringing through the house, seemed to
dispel all its shadows.
I had touched reality again. Remembering Mayor Packard’s suggestion that
I might through the child find a means of reaching the mother, I paid
a short visit to the nursery where I found a baby whose sweetness must
certainly have won its mother’s deepest love. Letty, the nurse, was of a
useful but commonplace type, a conscientious nurse, that was all.
But I was to have a further taste of the unusual that night and to
experience another thrill before I slept. My room was dark when I
entered it, and, recognizing a condition favorable to the gratification
of my growing curiosity in regard to the neighboring house, I approached
the window and stole a quick look at the gable-end where, earlier in the
evening I had seen peering out at me an old woman’s face. Conceive my
astonishment at finding the spot still lighted and a face looking out,
but not the same face, a countenance as old, one as intent, but
of different conformation and of a much more intellectual type. I
considered myself the victim of an illusion; I tried to persuade myself
that it was the same woman, only in another garb and under a different
state of feeling; but the features were much too dissimilar for such
an hypothesis to hold. The eagerness, the unswerving attitude were
the same, but the first woman had had a weak round face with pinched
features, while this one showed a virile head and long heavy cheeks
and chin, which once must have been full of character, though they now
showed only heaviness of heart and the dull apathy of a fixed idea.
Two women, total strangers to me, united in an unceasing watch upon me
in my room! I own that the sense of mystery which this discovery brought
struck me at the moment as being fully as uncanny and as unsettling
to contemplate as the idea of a spirit haunting walls in which I was
destined for a while to live, breathe and sleep. However, as soon as I
had drawn the shade and lighted the gas, I forgot the whole thing, and
not till I was quite ready for bed, and my light again turned low, did
I feel the least desire to take another peep at that mysterious window.
The face was still there, peering at me through a flood of moonlight.
The effect was ghastly, and for hours I could not sleep, imagining that
face still staring down upon me, illuminated with the unnatural light
and worn with a profitless and unmeaning vigil.
That there was something to fear in this house was evident from the
halting step with which the servants, one and all, passed my door on
their way up to their own beds. I now knew, or thought I knew, what
was in their minds; but the comfort brought by this understanding was
scarcely sufficient to act as antidote to the keen strain to which
my faculties had been brought. Yet nothing happened, and when a clock
somewhere in the house had assured me by its own clear stroke that the
dreaded midnight hour had passed I rose and stole again to the window.
This time both moonlight and face were gone. Contentment came with the
discovery. I crept back to bed with lightened heart and soon was asleep.
Next morning, however, the first face was again at the window, as I at
once saw on raising the blind. I breakfasted alone. Mrs. Packard was not
yet down and the mayor had already left to fulfil an early appointment
down-town. Old Nixon waited on me. As he, like every other member of the
family, with the possible exception of the mayor, was still an unknown
quantity in the problem given me to solve, I allowed a few stray glances
to follow him as he moved decorously about the board anticipating my
wants and showing himself an adept in his appointed task. Once I caught
his eye and I half expected him to speak, but he was too well-trained
for that, and the meal proceeded in the same silence in which it had
begun. But this short interchange of looks had given me an idea. He
showed an eager interest in me quite apart from his duty to me as
waiter. He was nearer sixty, than fifty, but it was not his age which
made his hand tremble as he laid down a plate before me or served me
with coffee and bread. Whether this interest was malevolent or kindly
I found it impossible to judge. He had a stoic’s face with but one
eloquent feature--his eyes; and these he kept studiously lowered after
that one quick glance. Would it help matters for me to address him?
Possibly, but I decided not to risk it. Whatever my immediate loss I
must on no account rouse the least distrust in this evidently watchful
household. If knowledge came naturally, well and good; I must not seem
to seek it.
The result proved my discretion. As I was rising from the table Nixon
himself made this remark:
“Mrs. Packard will be glad to see you in her room up-stairs any time
after ten o’clock. Ellen will show you where.” Then, as I was framing
a reply, he added in a less formal tone: “I hope you were not disturbed
last night. I told the girls not to be so noisy.”
Now they had been very quiet, so I perceived that he simply wanted to
open conversation.
“I slept beautifully,” I assured him. “Indeed, I’m not easily kept
awake. I don’t believe I could keep awake if I knew that a ghost would
stalk through my room at midnight.”
His eyes opened, and he did just what I had intended him to do,--met my
glance directly.
“Ghosts!” he repeated, edging uneasily forward, perhaps with the
intention of making audible his whisper: “Do you believe in ghosts?”
I laughed easily and with a ringing merriment, like the light-hearted
girl I should be and am not.
“No,” said I, “why should I? But I should like to. I really should enjoy
the experience of coming face to face with a wholly shadowless being.”
He stared and now his eyes told nothing. Mechanically I moved to go,
mechanically he stepped aside to give me place. But his curiosity or his
interest would not allow him to see me pass out without making another
attempt to understand me. Stammering in his effort to seem indifferent,
he dropped this quiet observation just as I reached the door.
“Some people say, or at least I have heard it whispered in the
neighborhood, that this house is haunted. I’ve never seen anything,
myself.”
I forced myself to give a tragic start (I was half ashamed of my arts),
and, coming back, turned a purposely excited countenance toward him.
“This house!” I cried. “Oh, how lovely! I never thought I should have
the good fortune of passing the night in a house that is really haunted.
What are folks supposed to see? I don’t know much about ghosts out of
books.”
This nonplussed him. He was entirely out of his element. He glanced
nervously at the door and tried to seem at his ease; perhaps tried to
copy my own manner as he mumbled these words:
“I’ve not given much attention to the matter, Miss. It’s not long since
we came here and Mrs. Packard don’t approve of our gossiping with
the neighbors. But I think the people have mostly been driven away by
strange noises and by lights which no one could explain, flickering
up over the ceilings from the halls below. I don’t want to scare you,
Miss--”
“Oh, you won’t scare me.”
“Mrs. Packard wouldn’t like me to do that. She never listens to a
word from us about these things, and we don’t believe the half of it
ourselves; but the house does have a bad name, and it’s the wonder of
everybody that the mayor will live in it.”
“Sounds?” I repeated. “Lights?”--and laughed again. “I don’t think I
shall bother myself about them!” I went gaily out.
It did seem very puerile to me, save as it might possibly account in
some remote way for Mrs. Packard’s peculiar mental condition.
Up-stairs I found Ellen. She was in a talkative mood, and this time I
humored her till she had told me all she knew about the house and its
ghostly traditions. This all had come from a servant, a nurse who had
lived in the house before. Ellen herself, like the butler, Nixon, had
had no personal experiences to relate, though the amount of extra wages
she received had quite prepared her for them. Her story, or rather the
nurse’s story, was to the following effect.
The house had been built and afterward inhabited for a term of years
by one of the city fathers, a well-known and still widely remembered
merchant. No unusual manifestations had marked it during his occupancy.
Not till it had run to seed and been the home of decaying gentility, and
later of actual poverty, did it acquire a name which made it difficult
to rent, though the neighborhood was a growing one and the house itself
well-enough built to make it a desirable residence. Those who had been
induced to try living within its spacious walls invariably left at
the end of the month. Why, they hesitated to say; yet if pressed would
acknowledge that the rooms were full of terrible sights and sounds which
they could not account for; that a presence other than their own was
felt in the house; and that once (every tenant seemed to be able to
cite one instance) a hand had touched them or a breath had brushed
their cheek which had no visible human source, and could be traced to
no mortal presence. Not much in all this, but it served after a while to
keep the house empty, while its reputation for mystery did not lie idle.
Sounds were heard to issue from it. At times lights were seen glimmering
through this or that chink or rift in the window curtain, but by the
time the door was unlocked and people were able to rush in, the interior
was still and dark and seemingly untouched. Finally the police took
a hand in the matter. They were on the scent just then of a party of
counterfeiters and were suspicious of the sounds and lights in this
apparently unoccupied dwelling. But they watched and waited in vain. One
of them got a scare and that was all. The mystery went unsolved and the
sign “To Let” remained indefinitely on the house-front.
At last a family from the West decided to risk the terrors of this
domicile. The nurse, whose story I was listening to, came with them
and entered upon her duties without prejudice or any sort of belief in
ghosts, general or particular. She held this belief just two weeks. Then
her incredulity began to waver. In fact, she saw the light; almost saw
the ghost, certainly saw the ghost’s penumbra. It was one night, or
rather very early, one morning. She had been sitting up with the baby,
who had been suffering from a severe attack of croup. Hot water was
wanted, and she started for the kitchen for the purpose of making a fire
and putting on the kettle. The gas had not been lit in the hall--they
had all been too busy, and she was feeling her way down the front
stairs with a box of matches in her hand, when suddenly she heard from
somewhere below a sound which she could never describe, and at the same
moment saw a light which spread itself through all the lower hall so
that every object stood out distinctly.
She did not think of the ghost at first, her thoughts were so full of
the child; but when a board creaked in the hall floor, a board that
always creaked when stepped on, she remembered the reputation and what
had been told her about a creaking board and a light that came and went
without human agency. Frightened for a minute, she stood stock-still,
then she rushed down. Whatever it was, natural or supernatural, she went
to see it; but the light vanished before she passed the lower stair, and
only a long-drawn sigh not far from her ear warned her that the space
between her and the real hall was not the solitude she was anxious to
consider it. A sigh! That meant a person. Striking a match, she looked
eagerly down the hall. Something was moving between the two walls.
But when she tried to determine its character, it was swallowed up in
darkness,--the match had gone out. Anxious for the child and determined
to go her way to the kitchen, she now felt about for the gas-fixture and
succeeded in lighting up. The whole hall again burst into view but the
thing was no longer there; the space was absolutely empty. And so were
the other rooms, for she went into every one, lighting the gas as she
went; and so was the cellar when she reached it. For she had to go to
its extreme length for wood and wait about the kitchen till the water
boiled, during which time she searched every nook and cranny. Oh, she
was a brave woman, but she did have this thought as she went upstairs:
If the child died she would know that she had seen a spirit; if the
child got well, that she had been the victim of her own excitement.
And did the child die?
“No, it got well, but the family moved out as soon as it was safe to
leave the house. Her employees did not feel as easy about the matter as
she did.”