A friend of mine, who is a man of letters and a philosopher, said to
me one day, as if between jest and earnest: "Fancy! since we last
met, I have discovered a haunted house in the midst of London."
"Really haunted?--and by what?--ghosts?"
"Well, I can't answer that question; all I know is this: six weeks
ago my wife and I were in search of a furnished apartment. Passing a
quiet street, we saw on the window of one of the houses a bill,
'Apartments, Furnished.' The situation suited us: we entered the
house--liked the rooms--engaged them by the week--and left them the
third day. No power on earth could have reconciled my wife to stay
longer; and I don't wonder at it."
"What did you see?"
"Excuse me--I have no desire to be ridiculed as a superstitious
dreamer--nor, on the other hand, could I ask you to accept on my
affirmation what you would hold to be incredible without the evidence
of your own senses. Let me only say this, it was not so much what we
saw or heard (in which you might fairly suppose that we were the
dupes of our own excited fancy, or the victims of imposture in
others) that drove us away, as it was an undefinable terror which
seized both of us whenever we passed by the door of a certain
unfurnished room, in which we neither saw nor heard anything. And
the strangest marvel of all was, that for once in my life I agreed
with my wife, silly woman though she be--and allowed, after the third
night, that it was impossible to stay a fourth in that house.
Accordingly, on the fourth morning I summoned the woman who kept the
house and attended on us, and told her that the rooms did not quite
suit us, and we would not stay out our week. She said, dryly: 'I
know why; you have stayed longer than any other lodger. Few ever
stayed a second night; none before you a third. But I take it they
have been very kind to you."
"'They--who?' I asked, affecting to smile.
"'Why, they who haunt the house, whoever they are. I don't mind
them; I remember them many years ago, when I lived in this house, not
as a servant; but I know they will be the death of me some day. I
don't care--I'm old, and must die soon anyhow; and then I shall be
with them, and in this house still.' The woman spoke with so dreary
a calmness that really it was a sort of awe that prevented my
conversing with her further. I paid for my week, and too happy were
my wife and I to get off so cheaply."
"You excite my curiosity," said I; "nothing I should like better than
to sleep in a haunted house. Pray give me the address of the one
which you left so ignominiously."
My friend gave me the address; and when we parted, I walked straight
toward the house thus indicated.
It is situated on the north side of Oxford Street, in a dull but
respectable thoroughfare. I found the house shut up--no bill at the
window, and no response to my knock. As I was turning away, a
beer-boy, collecting pewter pots at the neighboring areas, said to
me, "Do you want any one at that house, sir?"
"Yes, I heard it was to be let."
"Let!--why, the woman who kept it is dead--has been dead these three
weeks, and no one can be found to stay there, though Mr. J----
offered ever so much. He offered mother, who chars for him, a pound
a week just to open and shut the windows, and she would not."
"Would not!--and why?"
"The house is haunted; and the old woman who kept it was found dead
in her bed, with her eyes wide open. They say the devil strangled
her."
"Pooh!--you speak of Mr. J----. Is he the owner of the house?"
"Yes."
"Where does he live?"
"In G---- Street, No. --."
"What is he?--in any business?"
"No, sir--nothing particular; a single gentleman."
I gave the pot-boy the gratuity earned by his liberal information,
and proceeded to Mr. J----, in G---- Street, which was close by the
street that boasted the haunted house. I was lucky enough to find
Mr. J---- at home--an elderly man, with intelligent countenance and
prepossessing manners.
I communicated my name and my business frankly. I said I heard the
house was considered to be haunted--that I had a strong desire to
examine a house with so equivocal a reputation--that I should be
greatly obliged if he would allow me to hire it, though only for a
night. I was willing to pay for that privilege whatever he might be
inclined to ask. "Sir," said Mr. J----, with great courtesy, "the
house is at your service, for as short or as long a time as you
please. Rent is out of the question--the obligation will be on my
side should you be able to discover the cause of the strange
phenomena which at present deprive it of all value. I can not let
it, for I can not even get a servant to keep it in order or answer
the door. Unluckily the house is haunted, if I may use that
expression, not only by night, but by day; though at night the
disturbances are of a more unpleasant and sometimes of a more
alarming character. The poor old woman who died in it three weeks
ago was a pauper whom I took out of a workhouse, for in her childhood
she had been known to some of my family, and had once been in such
good circumstances that she had rented that house of my uncle. She
was a woman of superior education and strong mind, and was the only
person I could ever induce to remain in the house. Indeed, since her
death, which was sudden, and the coroner's inquest, which gave it a
notoriety in the neighborhood, I have so despaired of finding any
person to take charge of the house, much more a tenant, that I would
willingly let it rent free for a year to any one who would pay its
rates and taxes."
"How long is it since the house acquired this sinister character?"
"That I can scarcely tell you, but very many years since. The old
woman I spoke of said it was haunted when she rented it between
thirty and forty years ago. The fact is, that my life has been spent
in the East Indies, and in the civil service of the Company. I
returned to England last year, on inheriting the fortune of an uncle,
among whose possessions was the house in question. I found it shut
up and uninhabited. I was told that it was haunted, that no one
would inhabit it. I smiled at what seemed to me so idle a story. I
spent some money in repairing it--added to its old-fashioned
furniture a few modern articles--advertised it, and obtained a lodger
for a year. He was a colonel on half-pay. He came in with his
family, a son and a daughter, and four or five servants: they all
left the house the next day; and, although each of them declared that
he had seen something different from that which had scared the
others, a something still was equally terrible to all. I really
could not in conscience sue, nor even blame, the colonel for breach
of agreement. Then I put in the old woman I have spoken of, and she
was empowered to let the house in apartments. I never had one lodger
who stayed more than three days. I do not tell you their stories--to
no two lodgers have there been exactly the same phenomena repeated.
It is better that you should judge for yourself than enter the house
with an imagination influenced by previous narratives; only be
prepared to see and to hear something or other, and take whatever
precautions you yourself please."
"Have you never had a curiosity yourself to pass a night in that
house?"
"Yes. I passed not a night, but three hours in broad daylight alone
in that house. My curiosity is not satisfied, but it is quenched. I
have no desire to renew the experiment. You can not complain, you
see, sir, that I am not sufficiently candid; and unless your interest
be exceedingly eager and your nerves unusually strong, I honestly
add, that I advise you not to pass a night in that house."
"My interest is exceedingly keen," said I, "and though only a coward
will boast of his nerves in situations wholly unfamiliar to him, yet
my nerves have been seasoned in such variety of danger that I have
the right to rely on them--even in a haunted house."
Mr. J---- said very little more; he took the keys of the house out of
his bureau, gave them to me--and, thanking him cordially for his
frankness, and his urbane concession to my wish, I carried off my
prize.
Impatient for the experiment, as soon as I reached home, I summoned
my confidential servant--a young man of gay spirits, fearless temper,
and as free from superstitious prejudice as any one I could think of.
"F----," said I, "you remember in Germany how disappointed we were at
not finding a ghost in that old castle, which was said to be haunted
by a headless apparition? Well, I have heard of a house in London
which, I have reason to hope, is decidedly haunted. I mean to sleep
there to-night. From what I hear, there is no doubt that something
will allow itself to be seen or to be heard--something, perhaps,
excessively horrible. Do you think, if I take you with me, I may
rely on your presence of mind, whatever may happen?"
"Oh, sir! pray trust me," answered F----, grinning with delight.
"Very well; then here are the keys of the house--this is the address.
Go now--select for me any bedroom you please; and since the house has
not been inhabited for weeks, make up a good fire--air the bed
well--see, of course, that there are candles as well as fuel. Take
with you my revolver and my dagger--so much for my weapons--arm
yourself equally well; and if we are not a match for a dozen ghosts,
we shall be but a sorry couple of Englishmen."
I was engaged for the rest of the day on business so urgent that had
not leisure to think much on the nocturnal adventure to which I had
plighted my honor. I dined alone, and very late, and while dining,
read, as is my habit. I selected one of the volumes of Macaulay's
essays. I thought to myself that I would take the book with me;
there was so much of healthfulness in the style, and practical life
in the subjects, that it would serve as an antidote against the
influences of superstitious fancy.
Accordingly, about half-past nine, I put the book into my pocket, and
strolled leisurely toward the haunted house. I took with me a
favorite dog--an exceedingly sharp, bold, and vigilant
bull-terrier--a dog fond of prowling about strange ghostly corners
and passages at night in search of rats--a dog of dogs for a ghost.
It was a summer night, but chilly, the sky somewhat gloomy and
overcast. Still there was a moon--faint and sickly, but still a
moon--and, if the clouds permitted, after midnight it would be
brighter.
I reached the house, knocked, and my servant opened with a cheerful
smile.
"All right, sir, and very comfortable."
"Oh!" said I, rather disappointed; "have you not seen nor heard
anything remarkable?"
"Well, sir, I must own I have heard something queer."
"What?--what?"
"The sound of feet pattering behind me; and once or twice small
noises like whispers close at my ear--nothing more."
"You are not at all frightened?"
"I! not a bit of it, sir;" and the man's bold look reassured me on
one point--viz.: that happen what might, he would not desert me.
We were in the hall, the street-door closed, and my attention was now
drawn to my dog. He had at first run in eagerly enough, but had
sneaked back to the door, and was scratching and whining to get out.
After patting him on the head, and encouraging him gently, the dog
seemed to reconcile himself to the situation, and followed me and
F---- through the house, but keeping close at my heels instead of
hurrying inquisitively in advance, which was his usual and normal
habit in all strange places. We first visited the subterranean
apartments, the kitchen, and other offices, and especially the
cellars, in which last there were two or three bottles of wine still
left in a bin, covered with cobwebs, and evidently, by their
appearance, undisturbed for many years. It was clear that the ghosts
were not wine-bibbers. For the rest we discovered nothing of
interest. There was a gloomy little back-yard, with very high walls.
The stones of this yard were very damp; and what with the damp, and
what with the dust and smoke-grime on the pavement, our feet left a
slight impression where we passed. And now appeared the first
strange phenomenon witnessed by myself in this strange abode. I saw,
just before me, the print of a foot suddenly form itself, as it were.
I stopped, caught hold of my servant, and pointed to it. In advance
of that footprint as suddenly dropped another. We both saw it. I
advanced quickly to the place; the footprint kept advancing before
me, a small footprint--the foot of a child: the impression was too
faint thoroughly to distinguish the shape, but it seemed to us both
that it was the print of a naked foot.
This phenomenon ceased when we arrived at the opposite wall, nor did
it repeat itself on returning. We remounted the stairs, and entered
the rooms on the ground floor, a dining-parlor, a small back-parlor,
and a still smaller third room that had been probably appropriated to
a footman--all still as death. We then visited the drawing-rooms,
which seemed fresh and new. In the front room I seated myself in an
armchair. F---- placed on the table the candlestick with which he
had lighted us. I told him to shut the door. As he turned to do so,
a chair opposite to me moved from the wall quickly and noiselessly,
and dropped itself about a yard from my own chair, immediately
fronting it.
"Why, this is better than the turning-tables," said I, with a
half-laugh; and as I laughed, my dog put back his head and howled.
F----, coming back, had not observed the movement of the chair. He
employed himself now in stilling the dog. I continued to gaze on the
chair, and fancied I saw on it a pale blue misty outline of a human
figure, but an outline so indistinct that I could only distrust my
own vision. The dog was now quiet.
"Put back that chair opposite to me," said I to F----; "put it back
to the wall."
F---- obeyed. "Was that you, sir?" said he, turning abruptly.
"I!--what?"
"Why, something struck me. I felt it sharply on the shoulder--just
here."
"No," said I. "But we have jugglers present, and though we may not
discover their tricks, we shall catch them before they frighten us."
We did not stay long in the drawing-rooms--in fact, they felt so damp
and so chilly that I was glad to get to the fire upstairs. We locked
the doors of the drawing-rooms--a precaution which, I should observe,
we had taken with all the rooms we had searched below. The bedroom
my servant had selected for me was the best on the floor--a large
one, with two windows fronting the street. The four-posted bed,
which took up no inconsiderable space, was opposite to the fire,
which burnt clear and bright; a door in the wall to the left, between
the bed and the window, communicated with the room which my servant
appropriated to himself. This last was a small room with a sofa-bed,
and had no communication with the landing-place--no other door but
that which conducted to the bedroom I was to occupy. On either side
of my fireplace was a cupboard, without locks, flush with the wall,
and covered with the same dull-brown paper. We examined these
cupboards--only hooks to suspend female dresses--nothing else; we
sounded the walls--evidently solid--the outer walls of the building.
Having finished the survey of these apartments, warmed myself a few
moments, and lighted my cigar, I then, still accompanied by F----,
went forth to complete my reconnoitre. In the landing-place there
was another door; it was closed firmly. "Sir," said my servant, in
surprise, "I unlocked this door with all the others when I first
came; it can not have got locked from the inside, for--"
Before he had finished his sentence, the door, which neither of us
then was touching, opened quietly of itself. We looked at each other
a single instant. The same thought seized both--some human agency
might be detected here. I rushed in first, my servant followed. A
small blank dreary room without furniture--a few empty boxes and
hampers in a corner--a small window--the shutters closed--not even a
fireplace--no other door but that by which we had entered--no carpet
on the floor, and the floor seemed very old, uneven, worm-eaten,
mended here and there, as was shown by the whiter patches on the
wood; but no living being, and no visible place in which a living
being could have hidden. As we stood gazing round, the door by which
we had entered closed as quietly as it had before opened: we were
imprisoned.
For the first time I felt a creep of undefinable horror. Not so my
servant. "Why, they don't think to trap us, sir; I could break that
trumpery door with a kick of my foot."
"Try first if it will open to your hand," said I, shaking off the
vague apprehension that had seized me, "while I unclose the shutters
and see what is without."
I unbarred the shutters--the window looked on the little back-yard I
have before described; there was no ledge without--nothing to break
the sheer descent of the wall. No man getting out of that window
would have found any footing till he had fallen on the stones below.
F----, meanwhile, was vainly attempting to open the door. He now
turned round to me and asked my permission to use force. And I
should here state, in justice to the servant, that, far from evincing
any superstitious terrors, his nerve, composure, and even gaiety amid
circumstances so extraordinary, compelled my admiration, and made me
congratulate myself on having secured a companion in every way fitted
to the occasion. I willingly gave him the permission he required.
But though he was a remarkably strong man, his force was as idle as
his milder efforts; the door did not even shake to his stoutest kick.
Breathless and panting, he desisted. I then tried the door myself,
equally in vain. As I ceased from the effort, again that creep of
horror came over me; but this time it was more cold and stubborn. I
felt as if some strange and ghastly exhalation were rising up from
the chinks of that rugged floor, and filling the atmosphere with a
venomous influence hostile to human life. The door now very slowly
and quietly opened as of its own accord. We precipitated ourselves
into the landing-place. We both saw a large pale light--as large as
the human figure, but shapeless and unsubstantial--move before us,
and ascend the stairs that led from the landing into the attic. I
followed the light, and my servant followed me. It entered to the
right of the landing, a small garret, of which the door stood open.
I entered in the same instant. The light then collapsed into a small
globule, exceedingly brilliant and vivid: rested a moment on a bed in
the corner, quivered, and vanished. We approached the bed and
examined it--a half-tester, such as is commonly found in attics
devoted to servants. On the drawers that stood near it we perceived
an old faded silk kerchief, with the needle still left in a rent half
repaired. The kerchief was covered with dust; probably it had
belonged to the old woman who had last died in that house, and this
might have been her sleeping-room. I had sufficient curiosity to
open the drawers: there were a few odds and ends of female dress, and
two letters tied round with a narrow ribbon of faded yellow. I took
the liberty to possess myself of the letters. We found nothing else
in the room worth noticing--nor did the light reappear; but we
distinctly heard, as we turned to go, a pattering footfall on the
floor--just before us. We went through the other attics (in all
four), the footfall still preceding us. Nothing to be seen--nothing
but the footfall heard. I had the letters in my hand: just as I was
descending the stairs I distinctly felt my wrist seized, and a faint
soft effort made to draw the letters from my clasp. I only held them
the more tightly, and the effort ceased.
We regained the bed-chamber appropriated to myself, and I then
remarked that my dog had not followed us when we had left it. He was
thrusting himself close to the fire, and trembling. I was impatient
to examine the letters; and while I read them, my servant opened a
little box in which he had deposited the weapons I had ordered him to
bring; took them out, placed them on a table close at my bed-head,
and then occupied himself in soothing the dog, who, however, seemed
to heed him very little.
The letters were short--they were dated; the dates exactly
thirty-five years ago. They were evidently from a lover to his
mistress, or a husband to some young wife. Not only the terms of
expression, but a distinct reference to a former voyage, indicated
the writer to have been a seafarer. The spelling and handwriting
were those of a man imperfectly educated, but still the language
itself was forcible. In the expressions of endearment there was a
kind of rough wild love; but here and there were dark unintelligible
hints at some secret not of love--some secret that seemed of crime.
"We ought to love each other," was one of the sentences I remember,
"for how every one else would execrate us if all was known." Again:
"Don't let any one be in the same room with you at night--you talk in
your sleep." And again: "What's done can't be undone; and I tell you
there's nothing against us unless the dead could come to life." Here
there was underlined in a better handwriting (a female's): "They do!"
At the end of the letter latest in date the same female hand had
written these words: "Lost at sea the 4th of June, the same day as--"