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The Inextinguishable Candle Of The Old White House






There was once a house, known as The Old White House, that used to
stand by the side of the road, close to where you say the horse first
took fright. Some people of the name of Holkitt, relations of dear old
Sir Arthur Holkitt, and great friends of ours, used to live there. The
house, it was popularly believed, had been built on the site of an
ancient burial-ground. Every one used to say it was haunted, and the
Holkitts had great trouble in getting servants. The appearance of the
haunted house did not belie its reputation, for its grey walls, sombre
garden, gloomy hall, dark passages and staircase, and sinister-looking
attics could not have been more thoroughly suggestive of all kinds of
ghostly phenomena. Moreover, the whole atmosphere of the place, no
matter how hot and bright the sun, was cold and dreary, and it was a
constant source of wonder to every one how Lady Holkitt could live
there. She was, however, always cheerful, and used to tell me that
nothing would induce her to leave a spot dear to so many generations
of her family, and associated with the happiest recollections in her
life. She was very fond of company, and there was scarcely a week in
the year in which she had not some one staying with her. I can only
remember her as widow, her husband, a major in the Gordon Highlanders,
having died in India before I was born. She had two daughters,
Margaret and Alice, both considered very handsome, but some years
older than I. This difference in age, however, did not prevent our
being on very friendly terms, and I was constantly invited to their
house--in the summer to croquet and archery, in the winter to balls.
Like most elderly ladies of that period, Lady Holkitt was very fond of
cards, and she and my mother used frequently to play bezique and
cribbage, whilst the girls and I indulged in something rather more
frivolous. On those occasions the carriage always came for us at ten,
since my mother, for some reason or other--I had a shrewd suspicion it
was on account of the alleged haunting--would never return home after
that time. When she accepted an invitation to a ball, it was always
conditionally that Lady Holkitt would put us both up for the night,
and the carriage used, then, to come for us the following day, after
one o'clock luncheon. I shall never forget the last time I went to a
dance at The Old White House, though it is now rather more than
fifty years ago. My mother had not been very well for some weeks,
having, so she thought, taken cold internally. She had not had a
doctor, partly because she did not feel ill enough, and partly because
the only medical man near us was an apothecary, of whose skill she had
a very poor opinion. My mother had quite made up her mind to accompany
me to the ball, but at the last moment, the weather being appalling,
she yielded to advice, and my aunt Norah, who happened to be staying
with us at the time, chaperoned me instead. It was snowing when we
set out, and as it snowed all through the night and most of the next
day, the roads were completely blocked, and we had to remain at The
Old White House from Monday evening till the following Thursday. Aunt
Norah and I occupied separate bedrooms, and mine was at the end of a
long passage away from everybody else's. Prior to this my mother and I
had always shared a room--the only really pleasant one, so I thought,
in the house--overlooking the front lawn. But on this occasion there
being a number of visitors, belated like ourselves, we had to squeeze
in wherever we could; and as my aunt and I were to have separate rooms
(my aunt liking a room to herself), it was natural that she should be
allotted the largest and most comfortable. Consequently, she was
domiciled in the wing where all the other visitors slept, whilst I was
forced to retreat to a passage on the other side of the house, where,
with the exception of my apartment, there were none other but
lumber-rooms. All went smoothly and happily, and nothing interrupted
the harmony of our visit, till the night before we returned home. We
had had supper--our meals were differently arranged in those days--and
Margaret and I were ascending the staircase on our way to bed, when
Alice, who had run upstairs ahead of us, met us with a scared face.

Oh, do come to my room! she cried. Something has happened to Mary.
(Mary was one of the housemaids.)

We both accompanied her, and, on entering her room, found Mary seated
on a chair, sobbing hysterically. One only had to glance at the girl
to see that she was suffering from some very severe shock. Though
normally red-cheeked and placid, in short, a very healthy, stolid
creature, and the last person to be easily perturbed, she was now
without a vestige of colour, whilst the pupils of her eyes were
dilated with terror, and her entire body, from the crown of her head
to the soles of her feet, shook as if with ague. I was immeasurably
shocked to see her.

Why, Mary, Margaret exclaimed, whatever is the matter? What has
happened?

It's the candle, miss, the girl gasped, the candle in Miss Trevor's
room. I can't put it out.

You can't put it out, why, what nonsense! Margaret said. Are you
mad?

It is as true as I sit here, miss, Mary panted. I put the candle on
the mantelpiece while I set the room to rights, and when I had
finished and came to blow it out, I couldn't. I blew, and blew, and
blew, but it hadn't any effect, and then I grew afraid, miss, horribly
afraid, and here she buried her face in her hands, and shuddered.
I've never been frightened like this before, miss, she returned
slowly, and I've come away and left the candle burning.

How absurd of you, Margaret scolded. We must go and put it out at
once. I have a good mind to make you come with us, Mary--but there!
Stay where you are, and for goodness' sake stop crying, or every one
in the house will hear you.

So saying, Margaret hurried off,--Alice and I accompanying her,--and
on arriving outside my room, the door of which was wide open, we
perceived the lighted candle standing in the position Mary had
described. I looked at the girls, and perceived, in spite of my
endeavours not to perceive it, the unmistakable signs of a great
fear--fear of something they suspected but dared not name--lurking in
the corners of their eyes.

Who will go first? Margaret demanded. No one spoke.

Well then, she continued, I will, and, suiting the action to the
word, she stepped over the threshold. The moment she did so, the door
began to close. This is curious! she cried. Push!

We did; we all three pushed; but, despite our efforts, the door came
resolutely to, and we were shut out. Then before we had time to
recover from our astonishment, it flew open; but before we could cross
the threshold, it came violently to in the same manner as before. Some
unseen force held it against us.

Let us make one more effort, Margaret said, and if we don't
succeed, we will call for help.

Obeying her instructions, we once again pushed. I was nearest the
handle, and in some manner,--how, none of us could ever explain,--just
as the door opened of its own accord, I slipped and fell inside. The
door then closed immediately with a bang, and, to my unmitigated
horror, I found myself alone in the room. For some seconds I was
spellbound, and could not even collect my thoughts sufficiently to
frame a reply to the piteous entreaties of the Holkitts, who kept
banging on the door, and imploring me to tell them what was happening.
Never in the hideous excitement of nightmare had I experienced such a
terror as the terror that room conveyed to my mind. Though nothing was
to be seen, nothing but the candle, the light of which was peculiarly
white and vibrating, I felt the presence of something inexpressibly
menacing and horrible. It was in the light, the atmosphere, the
furniture, everywhere. On all sides it surrounded me, on all sides I
was threatened--threatened in a manner that was strange and deadly.
Something suggesting to me that the source of evil originated in the
candle, and that if I could succeed in extinguishing the light I
should free myself from the ghostly presence, I advanced towards the
mantelpiece, and, drawing in a deep breath, blew--blew with the
energy born of desperation. It had no effect. I repeated my efforts; I
blew frantically, madly, but all to no purpose; the candle still
burned--burned softly and mockingly. Then a fearful terror seized me,
and, flying to the opposite side of the room, I buried my face against
the wall, and waited for what the sickly beatings of my heart warned
me was coming. Constrained to look, I slightly, only very, very
slightly, moved round, and there, there, floating stealthily towards
me through the air, came the candle, the vibrating, glowing, baleful
candle. I hid my face again, and prayed God to let me faint. Nearer
and nearer drew the light; wilder and wilder the wrenches at the door.
Closer and closer I pressed myself to the wall. And then, then when
the final throes of agony were more than human heart and brain could
stand, there came the suspicion, the suggestion of a touch--of a touch
so horrid that my prayers were at last answered, and I fainted. When I
recovered, I was in Margaret's room, and half a dozen well-known forms
were gathered round me. It appears that with the collapse of my body
on the floor, the door, that had so effectually resisted every effort
to turn the handle, immediately flew open, and I was discovered lying
on the ground with the candle--still alight--on the ground beside me.
My aunt experienced no difficulty in blowing out the refractory
candle, and I was carried with the greatest tenderness into the other
wing of the house, where I slept that night. Little was said about the
incident next day, but all who knew of it expressed in their faces the
utmost anxiety--an anxiety which, now that I had recovered, greatly
puzzled me. On our return home, another shock awaited me; we found to
our dismay that my mother was seriously ill, and that the doctor, who
had been sent for from Perth the previous evening, just about the time
of my adventure with the candle, had stated that she might not survive
the day. His warning was fulfilled--she died at sunset. Her death, of
course, may have had nothing at all to do with the candle episode, yet
it struck me then as an odd coincidence, and seems all the more
strange to me after hearing your account of the bogle that touched
your dear father in the road, so near the spot where the Holkitts'
house once stood. I could never discover whether Lady Holkitt or her
daughters ever saw anything of a superphysical nature in their house;
after my experience they were always very reticent on that subject,
and naturally I did not like to press it. On Lady Holkitt's death,
Margaret and Alice sold the house, which was eventually pulled down,
as no one would live in it, and I believe the ground on which it stood
is now a turnip field. That, my dear, is all I can tell you.

* * * * *

Now, Mr. O'Donnell, Miss Macdonald added, having heard our
experiences, my mother's and mine, what is your opinion? Do you think
the phenomenon of the candle was in any way connected with the bogle
both you and I have seen, or are the hauntings of 'The Old White
House' entirely separate from those of the road?





Next: The Top Attic In Pringle's Mansion Edinburgh

Previous: The Death Bogle Of The Cross Roads And The Inextinguishable Candle Of The Old White House Pitlochry



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