BUDDHAS AND BOGGLE CHAIRS

It was in Paris, at the Hotel Mandeville, that I met the Baroness Paoli, an almost solitary survivor of the famous Corsican family. I was introduced to her by John Heroncourt, a friend in common, and the introduction was typical of his characteristic unorthodoxy.

“Mr Elliott O’Donnell, the Baroness Paoli. Mr Elliott O’Donnell is a writer on the superphysical. He is unlike the majority of psychical researchers, inasmuch as he has not based his knowledge on hearsay, but has actually seen, heard, and felt occult phenomena, both collectively and individually.”

The Baroness smiled.

“Then I am delighted to meet Mr O’Donnell, for I, too, have had experience with the superphysical.”

She extended her hand; the introduction was over.

A man in my line of life has to work hard. My motto is promptness. I have no time to waste on superfluity of any kind. I come to the point at once. Consequently, my first remark to the Baroness was direct from the shoulder:

“Your experiences. Please tell them-they will be both interesting and useful.”

The Baroness gently clasped her hands-truly psychic hands, with slender fingers and long shapely nails-and, looking at me fixedly, said:

“If you write about it, promise that you will not mention names.”

“They shall at all events be unrecognisable,” I said. “Please begin.”

And without further delay the Baroness commenced her story.

“You must know,” she said, “that in my family, as in most historical families-particularly Corsican-there have been many tragedies. In some cases merely orthodox tragedies-a smile, a blow, a groan; in other cases peculiar tragedies-peculiar even in that country and in the grimness of the mediaeval age.

“Since 1316 the headquarters of my branch of the Paolis has been at Sartoris, once the strongest fortified castle in Corsica, but now, alas! almost past repair, in fact little better than a heap of crumbling ruins. As you know, Mr O’Donnell, it takes a vast fortune to keep such a place merely habitable.

“I lived there with my mother until my marriage two years ago, and neither she nor I had ever seen or heard any superphysical manifestations. From time to time some of the servants complained of odd noises, and there was one room which none of them would pass alone even in daylight; but we laughed at their fears, merely attributing them to the superstition which is so common among the Corsican peasants.

“The year after my marriage, my husband, a Mr Vercoe, who was a great friend of ours, and I, accepted my mother’s invitation to spend Christmas with her, and we all three travelled together to Sartoris.

“It was an ideal season, and the snow-an exceptional sight in my native town-lay thick in the Castle grounds.

“But to get on with my story-for I see I must not try your patience with unnecessary detail-I must give you a brief description of the bedroom in which my husband and I slept. Like all the rooms in the Castle, it was oak panelled throughout. Floor, ceiling, and walls, all were of oak, and the bed, also of oak, and certainly of no later date than the fourteenth century, was superbly carved, and had been recently valued at L30,000.

“There were two entrances, the one leading into a passage, and the other into a large reception room, formerly a chapel, at the furthest extremity of which was a huge barred and bolted door that had not been opened for more than a hundred years. This door led down a flight of stone steps to a series of ancient dungeons that occupied the space underneath our bedroom and the reception room.

“On Christmas Eve we retired to rest somewhat earlier than usual, and, being tired after a long day’s motoring, speedily fell into a deep sleep. We awoke simultaneously, both querying the time and agreeing that it must be about five o’clock.

“Whilst we were talking, we suddenly heard, to our utter astonishment, the sound of footsteps-heavy footsteps-accompanied by a curious clanging sound, immediately beneath us; and, as if by mutual consent, we both held our breath and listened.

“The footsteps moved on, and we presently heard them begin to ascend the stone steps leading to the adjoining room. Up, up, up, they came, until, having reached the summit, they paused. Then we heard the huge, heavy bolts of the fast-closed door shoot back with a sonorous clash. So far I had been rather more puzzled than frightened, and the idea of ghosts had not entered my mind, but when I heard the door-the door which I knew to be so securely fastened from the inside-thus opened, a great fear swept over me, and I prayed Heaven to save us from what might ensue.

“Several people, talking rapidly in gruff voices, now entered the room, and we distinctly heard the jingling of spurs and the rattling of sword scabbards coming to us distinctly through the cracks of the door.

“I was so paralysed with fear that I could do nothing. I could neither speak nor move, and my very soul was concentrated in one great, sickly dread, one awful anticipation that the intruders would burst into our room, and, before our very eyes, perform unthinkable horrors.

“To my immeasurable relief, however, this did not happen. The footsteps, as far as I could judge, advanced into the middle of the room-there was a ghastly suggestion of a scuffle, of a smothered cry, a gurgle; and the mailed feet then retired whence they had come, dragging with them some heavy load which bumped, bumped, bumped down the stairs and into the cellar. Then a brief silence followed, abruptly broken by the sound of a girlish voice, which, though beautifully tintinnabulous, was unearthly, and full of suggestions so sinister and blood-curdling, that the fetters which had hitherto held me tongue-tied snapped asunder, and I was able to give vent to my terror in words. The instant I did so the singing ceased, all was still, and not another sound disturbed us till morning.

“We got up as soon as we dared and found the door at the head of the dungeon steps barred and bolted as usual, while the heavy and antique furniture in the apartment showed no sign of having been disturbed.

“On the following night my husband sat up in the room adjoining our bedroom, to see if there would be a repetition of what had taken place the night before, but nothing occurred, and we never heard the noises again.

“That is one experience. The other, though not our own, was almost coincidental, and happened to our engineer friend, Mr Vercoe. When we told him about the noises we had heard, he roared with laughter.

“‘Well,’ he said, ’I always understood you Corsicans were superstitious, but this beats everything. The regulation stereotype ghost in armour and clanking chains, eh! Do you know what the sounds were, Baroness? Rats!’ and he smiled odiously.

“Then a sudden idea flashed across me. ‘Look here, Mr Vercoe,’ I exclaimed, ’there is one room in our Castle I defy even you-sceptic as you are-to sleep in. It is the Barceleri Chamber, called after my ancestor, Barceleri Paoli. He visited China in the fifteenth century, bringing back with him a number of Chinese curiosities, and a Buddha which I shrewdly suspect he had stolen from a Canton temple. The room is much the same as when my ancestor occupied it, for no one has slept in it since. Moreover, the servants declare that the noises they so frequently hear come from it. But, of course, you won’t mind spending a night in it?’

“Mr Vercoe laughed. ’He, he, he! Only too delighted. Give me a bottle of your most excellent vintage, and I defy any ghost that was ever created!’

“He was as good as his word, Mr O’Donnell, and though he had advised the contrary, we-that is to say, my mother, my husband, our two old servants and I-sat up in one of the rooms close at hand.

“Eleven, twelve, one, two, and three o’clock struck, and we were beginning to wish we had taken his advice and gone to bed, when we heard the most appalling, agonising, soul-rending screams for help. We rushed out, and, as we did so, the door of Mr Vercoe’s room flew open and something-something white and glistening-bounded into the candle-light.

“We were so shocked, so absolutely petrified with terror, that it was a second or so before we realised that it was Mr Vercoe-not the Mr Vercoe we knew, but an entirely different Mr Vercoe-a Mr Vercoe without a stitch of clothing, and with a face metamorphosed into a lurid, solid block of horror, overspreading which was a suspicion of something-something too dreadful to name, but which we could have sworn was utterly at variance with his nature. Close at his heels was the blurred outline of something small and unquestionably horrid. I cannot define it. I dare not attempt to diagnose the sensations it produced. Apart from a deadly, nauseating fear, they were mercifully novel.

“Dashing past us, Mr Vercoe literally hurled himself along the corridor, and with almost superhuman strides, disappeared downstairs. A moment later, and the clashing of the hall door told us he was in the open air. A breathless silence fell on us, and for some seconds we were all too frightened to move. My husband was the first to pull himself together.

“‘Come along!’ he cried, gripping one of the trembling servants by the arm. ‘Come along instantly! We must keep him in sight at all costs,’ and, bidding me remain where I was, he raced downstairs.

“After a long search he eventually discovered Mr Vercoe lying at full length on the grass-insensible.

“For some weeks our friend’s condition was critical-on the top of a violent shock to the system, sufficient in itself to endanger life, he had taken a severe chill, which resulted in double pneumonia. However, thanks to a bull-dog constitution, typically English, he recovered, and we then begged him to give us an account of all that had happened.

“‘I cannot!’ he said. ’My one desire is to forget everything that happened on that awful night.’

“He was obdurate, and our curiosity was, therefore, doomed to remain unsatisfied. Both my husband and I, however, felt quite sure that the image of Buddha was at the bottom of the mischief, and, as there chanced just then to be an English doctor staying at a neighbouring chateau, who was on his way to China, we entrusted the image to him, on the understanding that he would place it in a Buddhist temple. He deceived us, and, returning almost immediately to England, took the image with him. We subsequently learned that within three months this man was divorced, that he murdered a woman in Clapham Rise, and, in order to escape arrest, poisoned himself.

“The image then found its way to a pawnbroker’s establishment in Houndsditch, which shortly afterwards was burned to the ground. Where it is now, I cannot definitely say, but I have been told that an image of Buddha is the sole occupant of an empty house in the Shepherd’s Bush Road-a house that is now deemed haunted. These are the experiences I wanted to tell you, Mr O’Donnell. What do you think of them?”

“I think,” I said, “they are of absorbing interest. Can you see any association in the two hauntings-any possible connection between what you heard and what Mr Vercoe saw?”

A look of perplexity crossed the Baroness’s face. “I hardly know,” she said. “What is your opinion on that point?”

“That they are distinct-absolutely distinct. The phenomena you heard are periodical re-enactions, (either by the earth-bound spirits of the actual victim and perpetrators, or by impersonating phantoms), of a crime once committed within the Castle walls. A girl was obviously murdered in the chapel and her coffin dragged into the dungeons, where, no doubt, her remains are to be found. I presume it was her spirit you heard tintinnabulating. Very possibly, if her skeleton were unearthed and re-interred in an orthodox fashion, the hauntings would cease.

“Now, with regard to your friend’s experience. The blurred figure you saw pursuing the engineer was not the image of Buddha-it was one of Mr Vercoe’s many personalities, extracted from him by the image of Buddha. We are all, as you are aware, complex creatures, all composed of diverse selves, each self possessing a specific shape and individuality. The more animal of these separate selves, the higher spiritual forces attaching themselves to certain localities and symbols have the power of drawing out of us, and eventually destroying. The higher spiritual forces, however, do not associate themselves with all crucifixes and Buddhas, but only with those moulded by true believers. For instance, a Buddha fashioned for mere gain, and by a person who was not a genuine follower of the prophet, would have no power of attraction.

“I have proved all this, experimentally, times without number.

“Mr Vercoe must have had-as indeed many of us have-vices, in all probability, little suspected. The close proximity of the Buddha acted on them, and they began to leave his body and form a shape of their own. Had he allowed them to do so, all might have gone well; they would have been effectually overcome by the higher spiritual forces attached to the Buddha. But as soon as he saw a figure beginning to form-and no doubt it was very dreadful-he lost his head. His shrieks interrupted the work, the power of the Buddha was, pro tempus, at an end, and the extracted personality commenced at once to re-enter Vercoe. Rushing at him with that end in view, it so terrified him that he fled from the room, and it was at that stage that you appeared upon the scene. What followed is, of course, pure conjecture on my part, but I fear, I greatly fear, that by the time Mr Vercoe became unconscious the mischief was done, and the latter’s evil personality had once again united with his other personalities.”

“And what would be the after-effect, Mr O’Donnell?” the Baroness inquired anxiously.

“I fear a serious one,” I replied evasively. “In the case of the doctor you mentioned, who committed murder, an evil ego had doubtless been expelled, and, receiving a rebuff, had reunited, for after a reunion the evil personality usually receives a new impetus and grows with amazing rapidity. Have you heard from Mr Vercoe lately?”

The Baroness shook her head. “Not for several months.”

“You will let me know when you do?”

She nodded.

A week later she wrote to me from Rome.

“Isn’t it terrible?” she began, “Mr Vercoe committed suicide on Wednesday-the Birmingham papers-he was a Birmingham man-are full of it!”

The Barrowvian

The description of an adventure Mr Trobas, a friend of mine, had with a barrowvian in Brittany (and which I omitted to relate when referring to barrowvians), I now append as nearly as possible in his own words:-

“Night! A sky partially concealed from view by dark, fantastically shaped clouds, that, crawling along with a slow, stealthy motion, periodically obscure the moon. The crest of a hill covered with short-clipped grass, much worn away in places, and in the centre a Druidical circle broken and incomplete; a few of the stones are erect, the rest either lie at full length on the sward, close to the mystic ring, or at some considerable distance from it. Here and there are distinct evidences of recent digging, and at the base of one of the horizontal stones is an excavation of no little depth.

“A sudden, but only temporary clearance of the sky reveals the surrounding landscape; the rugged mountain side, flecked with gleaming granite boulders and bordered with sturdy hedges (a mixture of mud and bracken), and beyond them the meadows, traversed by sinuous streams whose scintillating surfaces sparkle like diamonds in the silvery moonlight. At rare intervals the scene is variegated, and nature interrupted, by a mill or a cottage,-toy-like when viewed from such an altitude,-and then the sweep of meadowland continues, undulating gently till it finds repose at the foot of some distant ridge of cone-shaped mountains. Over everything there is a hush, awe-inspiring in its intensity. Not the cry of a bird, not the howl of a dog, not the rustle of a leaf; there is nothing, nothing but the silence of the most profound sleep. In these remote rural districts man retires to rest early, the physical world accompanying him; and all nature dreams simultaneously.

“It was shortly after the commencement of this period of universal slumber, one night in April, that I toiled laboriously to the summit of the hill in question, and, spreading a rug on one of the fallen stones, converted it into a seat. Naturally I had not climbed this steep ascent without a purpose. The reason was this-at eight-thirty that morning I received a telegram from a friend at Armennes, near Carnac, which ran thus: ‘Am in great difficulty-Ghosts-Come.-KRANTZ.’

“Of course Krantz is not the real name of my friend, but it is one that answers the purpose admirably in telegrams and on post-cards; and of course he well knew what he was about when he said ‘Come.’ Not only I but everyone has confidence in Krantz, and I was absolutely certain that when he demanded my presence, the money I should spend on the journey would not be spent in vain.

“Apart from psychical investigation, I study every phase of human nature, and am at present, among other things, engaged on a work of criminology based on impressions derived from face-to-face communication with notorious criminals.

“The morning I received Krantz’s summons was the morning I had set aside for a special study of S- M-, whose case has recently commanded so much public attention; but the moment I read the wire, I changed my plans, without either hesitation or compunction. Krantz was Krantz, and his dictum could not be disobeyed.

“Tearing down la rue Saint Denis, and narrowly avoiding collision with a lady who lives in la rue Saint Francois, and will persist in wearing hats and heels that outrage alike every sense of decency and good form, I hustled into the station, and, rushing down the steps, just succeeded in catching the Carnac train. After a journey which, for slowness, most assuredly holds the record, I arrived, boiling over with indignation, at Armennes, where Krantz met me. After luncheon he led the way to his study, and, as soon as the servant who handed us coffee had left the room, began his explanation of the telegram.

“‘As you know, Trobas,’ he observed, ’it’s not all bliss to be a landlord. Up to the present I have been singularly fortunate, inasmuch as I have never experienced any difficulty in getting tenants for my houses. Now, however, there has been a sudden and most alarming change, and I have just received no less than a dozen notices from tenants desirous of giving up their habitations at once. Here they are!’ And he handed me a bundle of letters, for the most part written in the scrawling hand of the illiterate. ‘If you look,’ he went on, ’you will see that none of them give any reason for leaving. It is merely-“We CANNOT POSSIBLY stay here any longer,” or “We MUST give up possession IMMEDIATELY,” which they have done, and in every instance before the quarter was up. Being naturally greatly astonished and perturbed, I made careful inquiries, and, at length-for the North Country rustic is most reticent and difficult to “draw”-succeeded in extracting from three of them the reason for the general exodus. The houses are all HAUNTED! There was nothing amiss with them, they informed me, till about three weeks ago, when they all heard all sorts of alarming noises-crashes as if every atom of crockery they possessed was being broken; bangs on the panels of doors; hideous groans; diabolical laughs; and blood-curdling screams. Nor was that all; some of them vowed they had seen things-horrible hairy hands, with claw-like nails and knotted joints, that came out of dark corners and grabbed at them; naked feet with enormous filthy toes; and faces-HORRIBLE faces that peeped at them over the banisters or through the windows; and sooner than stand any more of it-sooner than have their wives and bairns frightened out of their senses, they would sacrifice a quarter’s rent and go. “We are sorry, Mr Krantz,” they said in conclusion, “for you have been a most considerate landlord, but stay we cannot."’ Here my friend paused.

“‘And have you no explanation of these hauntings?’ I asked.

“Krantz shook his head. ‘No!’ he said, ’the whole thing is a most profound mystery to me. At first I attributed it to practical jokers, people dressed up; but a couple of nights’ vigil in the haunted district soon dissipated that theory.’

“‘You say district,’ I remarked. ’Are the houses close together-in the same road or valley?’

“‘In a valley,’ Krantz responded-’the Valley of Dolmen. It is ten miles from here.’

“‘Dolmen!’ I murmured, ‘why Dolmen?’

“‘Because,’ Krantz explained, ’in the centre of the valley is a hill, on the top of which is a Druids’ circle.’

“‘How far are the houses off the hill?’ I queried.

“‘Various distances,’ Krantz replied; ’one or two very close to the base of it, and others further away.’

“‘But within a radius of a few miles?’

“Krantz nodded. ‘Oh yes,’ he answered. ’The valley itself is small. I intend taking you there to-night. I thought we would watch outside one of the houses.’

“‘If you don’t mind,’ I said, ’I would rather not. Anyway not to-night. Tell me how to get there and I will go alone.’

“Krantz smiled. ‘You are a strange creature, Trobas,’ he said, ’the strangest in the world. I sometimes wonder if you are an elemental. At all events, you occupy a category all to yourself. Of course go alone, if you would rather. I shall be far happier here, and if you can find a satisfactory solution to the mystery and put an end to the hauntings, I shall be eternally grateful. When will you start, and what will you take with you?’

“‘If that clock of yours is right, Krantz,’ I exclaimed, pointing to a gun-metal timepiece on the mantelshelf, ’in half an hour. As the night promises to be cold, let me have some strong brandy-and-water, a dozen oatmeal biscuits, a thick rug, and a lantern. Nothing else!’

“Krantz carried out my instructions to the letter. His motor took me to Dolmen Valley, and at eight o’clock I began the ascent of the hill. On reaching the summit, I uttered an exclamation. ’Someone has been excavating, and quite recently!’

“It was precisely what I had anticipated. Some weeks previously, a member of the Lyons literary club, to which I belong, had informed me that a party of geologist friends of his had been visiting the cromlechs of Brittany, and had committed the most barbarous depredations there. Hence, the moment Krantz mentioned the ‘Druidical circle,’ I associated the spot with the visit of the geologists; and knowing only too well that disturbances of ancient burial grounds almost always lead to occult manifestations, I decided to view the place at once.

“That I had not erred in my associations was now only too apparent. Abominable depredations HAD been committed,-doubtless, by the people to whom I have alluded-and, unless I was grossly mistaken, herein lay the clue to the hauntings.

“The air being icy, I had to wrap both my rug and my overcoat tightly round me to prevent myself from freezing, and every now and then I got up and stamped my feet violently on the hard ground to restore the circulation.

“So far there had been nothing in the atmosphere to warn me of the presence of the superphysical, but, precisely at eleven oclock, I detected the sudden amalgamation, with the ether, of that enigmatical, indefinable SOMETHING, to which I have so frequently alluded in my past adventures. And now began that period of suspense which takes it out of me even more than the encounter with the phenomenon itself. Over and over again I asked myself the hackneyed, but none the less thrilling question, What form will it take? Will it be simply a phantasm of a dead Celt, or some peculiarly grotesque and awful elemental attracted to the spot by human remains?’

“Minute after minute passed, and nothing happened. It is curious, how at night, especially when the moon is visible, the landscape seems to undergo a complete metamorphosis. Objects not merely increase in size, but vary in shape, and become possessed of an animation suggestive of all sorts of lurking, secretive possibilities. It was so now. The boulders in front and around me, presented the appearance of grotesque beasts, whose hidden eyes I could feel following my every movement with sly interest. The one solitary fir adorning the plateau was a tree no longer but an ogre, pro tempus, concealing the grim terrors of its spectral body beneath its tightly folded limbs. The stones of the circle opposite were ghoulish, hump-backed things that crouched and squatted in all kinds of fantastic attitudes and tried to read my thoughts. The shadows, too, that, swarming from the silent tarns and meadows, ascended with noiseless footsteps the rugged sides of the hill, and, taking cover of even the smallest obstacles, stalked me with unremitting persistency, were no mere common shadows, but intangible, pulpy things that breathed the spirit of the Great Unknown. Yet nothing specified came to frighten me. The stillness was so emphatic that each time I moved, the creaking of my clothes and limbs created echoes. I yawned, and from on all sides of me came a dozen other yawns. I sighed, and the very earth beneath me swayed with exaggerated sympathy.

“The silence irritated me. I grew angry; I coughed, laughed, whistled; and from afar off, from the distant lees, and streams, and spinneys, came a repetition of the noises.

“Then the blackest of clouds creeping slowly over the moor crushed the sheen out of the valley and smothered everything in sable darkness. The silence of death supervened, and my anger turned to fear. Around me there was now-NOTHING-only a void. Black ether and space! Space! a sanctuary from fear, and yet composed of fear itself. It was the space, the nameless, bottomless SOMETHING spreading limitless all around me, that, filling me with vague apprehensions, confused me with its terrors. What was it? Whence came it? I threw out my arms and Something, Something which I intuitively knew to be there, but which I cannot explain, receded. I drew them in again, and the same SOMETHING instantly oppressed me with its close-its very close proximity.

“I gasped for breath and tried to move my arms again-I could not. A sudden rigor held me spellbound, and fixed my eyes on the darkness directly ahead of me. Then, from somewhere in my rear, came a laugh-hoarse, malignant, and bestial, and I was conscious that the SOMETHING had materialised and was creeping stealthily towards me. Nearer, nearer and nearer it came, and all the time I wondered what, WHAT in the name of God it was like! My anticipations became unbearable, the pulsations of my heart and the feverish throbbing of my temples warning me that, if the climax were postponed much longer, I should either die where I sat, or go mad. That I did neither, was due to a divine inspiration which made me suddenly think of a device that I had once seen on a Druidical stone in Brittany-the sun, a hand with the index and little fingers pointing downwards, and a sprig of mistletoe. The instant I saw them in my mind’s eye, the cords that held me paralytic slackened.

“I sprang up, and there, within a yard of where I had sat, was a figure-the luminous nude figure of a creature, half man and half ape. Standing some six feet high, it had a clumsy, thick-set body, covered in places with coarse, bristly hair, arms of abnormal length and girth, legs swelling with huge muscles and much bowed, and a very large and long dark head. The face was DREADFUL!-it was the face of something long since dead; and out of the mass of peeling, yellow skin and mouldering tissues gleamed two lurid and wholly malevolent eyes. Our glances met, and, as they did so, a smile of hellish glee suffused its countenance. Then, crouching down in cat-like fashion on its disgusting hands, it made ready to spring. Again the device of the sun and mistletoe arose before me. My fingers instinctively closed on my pocket flashlight. I pressed the button and, as the brilliant, white ray shot forth, the satanical object before me VANISHED. Then I turned tail, and never ceased running till I had arrived at the spot on the high-road where Krantz’s motor awaited me.

“After breakfast next morning, Krantz listened to my account of the midnight adventure in respectful silence.

“‘Then!’ he said, when I had finished, ’you attribute the hauntings in the valley to the excavations of the geologist Leblanc and his party, at the cromlech six weeks ago?’

“‘Entirely,’ I replied.

“’And you think, if Leblanc and Cie were persuaded to restore and re-inter the remains they found and carted away, that the disturbances would cease?’

“‘I am sure of it!’ I said.

“‘Then,’ Krantz exclaimed, banging his clenched fist on the table, ’I will approach them on the subject at once!’

“He did so, and, after much correspondence, eventually received per goods train, a Tate’s sugar cube-box, containing a number of bones of the missing link pattern, which he at once had taken to the Druids’ circle. As soon as they were buried and the marks of the recent excavations obliterated, the hauntings in the houses ceased.”

Boggle Chairs

Killington Grange, near Northampton, was once haunted, so my friend Mr Pope informs me, by a chair, and the following is Mr Popes own experience of the hauntings, as nearly as possible as he related it to me:-

“Some years ago, shortly before Christmas, I received an invitation from my old friend, William Achrow.

“’Killington Grange,
’Northampton.

“‘DEAR POPE’ (he wrote)-’My wife and I are entertaining a few guests here this Christmas, and are most anxious to include you among them.

“’When I tell you that Sir Charles and Lady Kirlby are coming, and that we can offer you something startling in the way of a ghost, you will, I know, need no further inducement to join our party.-Yours, etc.,

“‘W. ACHROW.’

“Achrow was a cunning fellow; he knew I would go a thousand miles to meet the Kirlbys, who had been my greatest friends in Ireland, and that ghosts invariably drew me like magnets. At that time I was a bachelor; I had no one to think about but myself, and as I felt pretty sure of a fresh theatrical engagement in the early spring, I was happily careless with regard to expenditure-and to people of limited incomes like myself, staying in country houses means expenditure, a great deal more expenditure than a week or so at an ordinary hotel.

“However, as I have observed, I felt pretty secure just then; I could afford a couple of ‘fivers,’ and would gladly get rid of them to see once more my dear old friends, Sir Charles and Lady K . Accordingly, I accepted Achrow’s invitation, and the afternoon of December 23rd saw me snugly ensconced in a first-class compartment en route for Castle Street, Northampton. Now, although I am, not unnaturally, perhaps, prejudiced in favour of Ireland and everything that is Irish, I must say I do not think the Emerald Isle shows her best in winter, when the banks of fair Killarney are shorn of their vivid colouring, and the whole country from north to south, and east to west, is carpeted with mud. No, the palm of wintry beauty must assuredly be given to the English Midlands-the Midlands with their stolid and richly variegated woodlands, and their pretty undulating meadows, clad in fleecy garments of the purest, softest, and most glittering snow. It was a typical Midland Christmas when I got to Northampton and took my place in the luxurious closed carriage Achrow had sent to meet me.

“Killington Grange lies at the extremity of the village. It stands in its own grounds of some hundred or so acres, and is approached by a long avenue that winds its way from the lodge gates through endless rows of giant oaks and elms, and slender, silver birches. On either side, to the rear of the trees, lay broad stretches of undulating pasture land, that in one place terminated in the banks of a large lake, now glittering with ice and wrapped in the silence of death.

“The crunching of the carriage wheels on gravel, the termination of the trees, and a great blaze of light announced the close proximity of the house, and in a few seconds I was standing on the threshold of an imposing entrance.

“A footman took my valise, and before I had crossed the spacious hall, I was met by my host and kind old friends, whose combined and hearty greetings were a happy forecast of what was to come. Indeed, at a merrier dinner party I have never sat down, though in God’s truth I have dined in all kinds of places, and with all sorts of people: with Princesses of the Royal blood, aflame with all the hauteur of their race; with earls and counts; with blood-thirsty anarchists; with bishops and Salvationists, miners and policemen, Dagos and Indians (Red and Brown); with Japs, Russians, and Poles; and, in short, with the elite and the rag-tag and bobtail of all climes. But, as I have already said, I had seldom if ever enjoyed a dinner as I enjoyed this one.

“Possibly the reason was not far to find-there was little or no formality; we were all old friends; we had one cause in common-love of Ireland; we hadn’t met for years, and we knew not if we should ever meet again, for our paths in life were not likely to converge.

“But Christmas is no season for prigs and dullards, and, possibly, this rare enjoyment was, in no small measure, due to the delightful snugness and, at the same time, artistic nature of our surroundings, and to the excellence, the surpassing excellence of the vintage, which made our hearts mellow and our tongues loose.

“Long did our host, Sir Charles, and I sit over the dessert table, after the ladies had left us, filling and refilling our glasses; and it was close on ten before we repaired to the drawing-room.

“‘Lady Kirlby,’ I said, seating myself next her on a divan, ’I want to hear about the ghost. Up to the present I confess I have been so taken up with more material and, may I add’-casting a well-measured glance of admiration at her beautifully moulded features and lovely eyes-lovely, in spite of the cruel hand of time which had streaked her chestnut hair with grey-’infinitely more pleasing subjects, that I have not even thought about the superphysical. William, however, informs me that there is a ghost here-he has, of course, told you.’

“But at this very psychological moment Mrs Achrow interrupted: ’Now, no secrets, you two,’ she said laughingly, leaning over the back of the divan and tapping Lady Kirlby playfully on the arm. ’There must be no mention of ghosts till it is close on bedtime, and the lights are low.’

“Lady Kirlby gave me a pitying look, but it was of no avail; the word of our hostess was paramount, and I did not learn what was in store for me until it was too late to retreat. At half-past eleven William Achrow turned out the gas, and when we were all seated round the fire, he suggested we should each relate in turn, the most thrilling ghost tale we had ever heard. The idea, being approved of generally, was carried out, and when we had been thrilled, as assuredly we had never been thrilled before, William coolly proclaimed that he had put me in the haunted room.

“‘I am sure,’ he said, amid a roar of the most unfeeling laughter, in which all but the tender-hearted Lady Kirlby joined, ’that your nerves are now in the most suitable state for psychical investigation, and that it won’t be your fault if you don’t see the ghost. And a very horrible one it is, at least so I am told, though I cannot say I have ever seen it myself. No! I won’t tell you anything about it now-I want to hear your version of it first.’

“With a few more delicate insinuations, made, as he candidly confessed, in the fervent hope of frightening me still more, on the stroke of midnight my friend conducted me to my quarters. ’You will have it all to yourself,’ he said, as we traversed a tremendously long and gloomy corridor that connected the two wings of the house, ’for all the rooms on this side are at present unoccupied, and those immediately next to yours haven’t been slept in for years-there is something about them that doesn’t appeal to my guests. What it is I can’t say-I leave that to you. Here we are!’ and, as he spoke, he threw open a door. A current of icy cold air slammed it to and blew out my light, and as I groped for the door-handle, I heard my host’s footsteps retreating hurriedly down the corridor, whilst he wished me a rather nervous good-night.

“Relighting my candle and shutting the window-Achrow is one of those open-air fiends who never had a bronchial cold in his life, and expects everyone else to be equally immune-I found myself in a room that was well calculated to strike even the most hardened ghost-hunter with awe.

“It was coffin-shaped, large, narrow, and lofty; and floor, panelling, and furniture were of the blackest oak.

“The bedstead, a four-poster of the most funereal type, stood near the fireplace, from which a couple of thick pine logs sent out a ruddy glare; and directly opposite the foot of the bed, with its back to the wall, stood an ebony chair, which, although in a position that should have necessitated its receiving a generous share of the fire’s rays, was nevertheless shrouded in such darkness that I could only discern its front legs-a phenomenon that did not strike me as being peculiar till afterwards.

“Between the chair and the ingle, was a bay window overlooking one angle of the lawn, a side path connecting the back premises of the house with the drive, and a dense growth of evergreens, poplars, limes, and copper beeches, the branches of which were now weighed down beneath layer upon layer of snow.

“The room, as I have stated, was long, but I did not realise how long until I was in the act of getting into bed, when my eyes struggled in vain to reach the remote corners of the chamber and the recesses of the vaulted and fretted ceiling, which were fast presenting the startling appearance of being overhung with an impenetrable pall, such a pall as forms the gloomy coverlet of a hearse; the similarity being increased by waving plume-like shadows that suddenly appeared-from God knows where!-on the floor and wall.

“That the room was genuinely haunted I had not now the slightest doubt, for the atmosphere was charged to the very utmost with superphysical impressions-the impressions of a monstrous hearse, with all the sickly paraphernalia of black flowing drapery and scented pine wood.

“I was annoyed with William Achrow. I had wanted to see him; I had wanted to meet the Kirlbys; but a ghost-no! Honestly, candidly-no! I had not slept well for nights, and after the good things I had eaten at dinner and that excellent vintage, I had been looking forward to a sound, an unusually sound sleep. Now, however, my hopes were dashed on the head-the room was haunted-haunted by something gloomily, damnably evil, evil with an evilness that could only have originated in hell. Such were my impressions when I got into bed. Contrary to my expectations, I soon fell asleep. I was awakened by a creak, the loud but unmistakable creak of a chair. Now, the creaking of furniture is no uncommon thing. There are few of us who have not at some time or other heard an empty chair creak, and attributed that creaking either to expansion of the wood through heat, or to some other equally physical cause. But are we always right? May not that creaking be sometimes due to an invisible presence in the chair? Why not? The laws that govern the superphysical are not known to us at present. We only know from our own experiences and from the compiled testimony of various reputable Research Societies that there is a superphysical, and that the superphysical is a fact which is acknowledged by several of the greatest scientists of the day.

“But to continue. The creaking of a chair roused me from my sleep. I sat up in bed, and as my eyes wandered involuntarily to the ebony chair to which I have already alluded, I again heard the creaking.

“My sense of hearing now became painfully acute, and, impelled by a fascination I could not resist, I held my breath and listened. As I did so, I distinctly heard the sound of stealthy respiration. Either the chair or something in it was breathing, breathing with a subtle gentleness.

“The fire had now burned low; only a glimmer, the very faintest perceptible glimmer, came from the logs; hence I had to depend for my vision on the soft white glow that stole in through the trellised window-panes.

“The chair creaked again, and at the back of it, and at a distance of about four feet from the ground, I encountered the steady glare of two long, pale, and wholly evil eyes, that regarded me with a malevolency that held me spellbound; my terror being augmented by my failure to detect any other features saving the eyes, and only a vague Something which I took for a body.

“I remained in a sitting posture for many minutes without being able to remove my gaze, and when I did look away, I instinctively felt that the eyes were still regarding me, and that the Something, of which the eyes were a part, was waiting for an opportunity to creep from its hiding-place and pounce upon me.

“This is, I think, what would have happened had it not been for the very opportune arrival of the Killington Waits, who, bursting out with a terrific and discordant version of ‘The Mistletoe Bough,’ which, by the way, is somewhat inexplicably regarded as appropriate to the festive season, effectually broke the superphysical spell, and when I looked again at the chair, the eyes had gone.

“Feeling quite secure now, I lay down, and, in spite of the many interruptions, managed to secure a tolerably good night’s sleep.

“At breakfast everyone was most anxious to know if I had seen the ghost, but I held my tongue. The spirit of adventure had been rekindled in me, my sporting instinct had returned, and I was ready and eager to see the phenomena again; but until I had done so, and had put it to one or two tests, I decided to say nothing about it.

“The day passed pleasantly-how could it be otherwise in William Achrow’s admirably appointed household?-and the night found me once again alone in my sepulchral bed-chamber.

“This time I did not get into bed, but took my seat in an easy-chair by the fire (which I took care was well replenished with fuel), my face turned in the direction of the spot where the eyes had appeared. The weather was inclined to be boisterous, and frequent gusts of wind, rumbling and moaning through the long and gloomy aisle of the avenue, plundered the trees of the loose-hanging snow and hurled it in fleecy clouds against the walls and windows.

“I had been sitting there about an hour when I suddenly felt I was no longer alone; a peculiarly cold tremor, that was not, I feel sure, due to any actual fall in the temperature of the room, ran through me, and my teeth chattered. As on the previous occasion, however, my senses were abnormally alive, and as I watched-instinct guiding my eyes to the ebony chair-I heard a creak, and the sound of Something breathing. The antagonistic Presence was once again there. I essayed to speak, to repeat the form of address I had constantly rehearsed, to say and do something that would tempt the unknown into some form of communication. I could do nothing. I was lip-bound, powerless to move; and then from out of the superphysical darkness there gleamed the eyes, lidless, lurid, bestial. A shape was there, too: a shape which, although still vague, dreadfully so, was nevertheless more pronounced than on the former occasion, and I felt that it only needed time, time and an enforced, an involuntary amount of scrutiny on my part, to see that shape materialise into something satanical and definite.

“I waited-I was obliged to wait-when, even as before-Heaven be praised!-the arrival of the gallant waits, (I say, gallant, for the night had fast become a white inferno) loosened my fetters, and as I sprang towards the chair, the eyes vanished.

“I then got into bed and slept heavily till the morning.

“To their great disappointment, the clamorous breakfasters learned nothing-I kept the adventure rigidly to myself, and that night, Christmas night, found me, for the third time, listening for the sounds from the mysterious, the hideously, hellishly mysterious, high-backed, ebony chair.

“There had been a severe storm during the day, and the wind had howled with cyclonic force around the house; but there was silence now, an almost preternatural silence; and the lawn, lavishly bestrewn with huge heaps of driven snow, and broken, twisted branches, presented the appearance of a titanic battlefield. In marked contrast to the disturbed condition of the ground, the sky was singularly serene, and broad beams of phosphorescent light poured in through the diamond window-panes on to the bed, in which I was sitting, bolt upright.

“One o’clock struck, and ere the hollow-sounding vibrations had ceased, the vague form once again appeared behind the chair, and the malignant, evil eyes met mine in a diabolical stare; whilst, as before, on trying to speak or move, I found myself tongue-tied and paralysed. As the moments slowly glided away, the shape of the Thing became more and more distinct; a dark and sexless face appeared, surmounted with a straggling mass of black hair, the ends of which melted away into mist. I saw no trunk, but I descried two long and bony arms, ebony as the chair, with crooked, spidery, misty fingers. As I watched its development with increasing horror, hoping and praying for the arrival of the never-again-to-be-despised waits, I suddenly realised with a fresh grip of terror that the chair had moved out of the corner, and that the Thing behind it was slowly creeping towards me.

“As it approached, the outlines of its face and limbs became clearer. I knew that it was something repulsively, diabolically grotesque, but whether the phantasm of man, or woman, or hellish elemental, I couldn’t for the life of me say; and this uncertainty, making my fear all the more poignant, added to my already sublime sufferings, those of the damned.

“It passed the chair on which my dress-shirt flashed whiter than the snow in the moonlight; it passed the tomb-like structure constituting the foot-board of the bed; and as in my frantic madness I strained and strained at the cruel cords that held me paralytic, it crept on to the counterpane and wriggled noiselessly towards me.

“Even then, though its long, pale eyes were close to mine, and the ends of its tangled hair curled around me, and its icy corpse-tainted breath scoured my cheeks, even then-I could not see its body nor give it a name.

“Clawing at my throat with its sable fingers, it thrust me backwards, and I sank gasping, retching, choking on to the pillow, where I underwent all the excruciating torments of strangulation; strangulation by something tangible, yet intangible, something that could create sensation without being itself sensitive; something detestably, abominably wicked and wholly hostile, madly hostile in its attitude towards mankind.

“What I suffered is indescribable, and it was to me interminable. Days, months, years, seemed to pass, and I was still being suffocated, still feeling the inexorable crunch of those fingers, still peering into the livid depths of those gloating, fiendish eyes. And then-then, as I was on the eve of abandoning all hope, a thousand and one tumultuous noises buzzed in my ears, my eyes swam blood, and I lost consciousness. When I recovered, the dawn was breaking and all evidences of the superphysical had disappeared.

“I did not tell Achrow what I had experienced, but expressed, instead, the greatest astonishment that anyone should have thought the room was haunted. ‘Haunted indeed!’ I said. ’Nonsense! If anything haunts it, it is the ghost of some philanthropist, for I never slept sounder in my life. I am, as you know, William, extremely sensitive to the superphysical, but in this instance, I can assure you, I was disappointed, greatly disappointed, so much so that I am going home at once; it would be mere waste of my valuable time to stay any longer in the vain hope of investigating, when there is NOTHING to investigate. How came you to get hold of such a crazy idea?’

“‘Well,’ William replied, a puzzled expression on his face, ’you noticed an ebony chair in the room?’

“I nodded.

“’I bought it in Bruges, and there are two stories current in connection with it. The one is to the effect that a very wicked monk, named Gaboni, died in it (and, indeed, the man who sold me the chair was actually afraid to keep it any longer in his house, as he assured me Gaboni’s spirit had amalgamated with the wood); and the other story, which I learned from a different source, namely, from someone who, on finding out where I bought the chair, told me he knew the whole history of it, is to the effect that it was of comparatively modern make, and had been designed by W-, the famous nineteenth-century Belgian painter, who specialised, as you may know, in the most weird and fantastic subjects. W- kept the chair in his studio, and my informant half laughingly, half seriously remarked that no doubt the chair was thoroughly saturated with the wave-thoughts from W-’s luridly fertile brain. Of course, I do not know which story is true, or if, indeed, either story is true, but the fact remains that, up to now, everyone who has slept in the room with that chair has complained of having had the most unpleasant sensations. I own that after all that was told me, I was afraid to experiment with it myself, but after your experience, or rather lack of experience, I shall not hesitate to have it in my own bedroom. Both my wife and I have always admired it-it is such a uniquely beautiful piece of furniture.’

“Of course I agreed with my friend, and, after congratulating him most effusively on his good luck in having been able to secure so unique a treasure, I again thanked him for his hospitality and bade him good-bye.”