VIEW THE MOBILE VERSION of www.scarystories.ca Informational Site Network Informational
Privacy

Home Ghost Stories Categories Authors Books Search

Ghost Stories

The Spectre Bridegroom
Long, long ago a farmer named Lenine lived in Bosc...

Cottage 1 Interior Arrangement
The main body of this cottage is 1812 feet, with a...

Farm House 5 Grounds Plantations And Surroundings
A house of this kind should never stand in vulgar and f...

What The Professor Saw
This story is not so painful as the one entitled "_Wh...

In Tavistock Place {93}
"In the latter part of the autumn of 1878, between half...

The Devil Of Hjalta-stad {246}
The sheriff writes: "The Devil at Hjalta-stad was outs...

The Vision And The Portrait
Mrs. M. writes (December 15, 1891) that before her visi...

My Gillie's Father's Story
Fishing in Sutherland, I had a charming companion in th...

The Subterranean Traveller Or Ghost And No Ghost
The following record is copied verbatim from an old n...

Farm House
Design I. We here present a farm house of the simp...





The Other Lodgers






"In order to take that train," said Colonel Levering, sitting in the
Waldorf-Astoria hotel, "you will have to remain nearly all night in
Atlanta. That is a fine city, but I advise you not to put up at the
Breathitt House, one of the principal hotels. It is an old wooden
building in urgent need of repairs. There are breaches in the walls
that you could throw a cat through. The bedrooms have no locks on
the doors, no furniture but a single chair in each, and a bedstead
without bedding--just a mattress. Even these meager accommodations
you cannot be sure that you will have in monopoly; you must take
your chance of being stowed in with a lot of others. Sir, it is a
most abominable hotel.

"The night that I passed in it was an uncomfortable night. I got in
late and was shown to my room on the ground floor by an apologetic
night-clerk with a tallow candle, which he considerately left with
me. I was worn out by two days and a night of hard railway travel
and had not entirely recovered from a gunshot wound in the head,
received in an altercation. Rather than look for better quarters I
lay down on the mattress without removing my clothing and fell
asleep.

"Along toward morning I awoke. The moon had risen and was shining
in at the uncurtained window, illuminating the room with a soft,
bluish light which seemed, somehow, a bit spooky, though I dare say
it had no uncommon quality; all moonlight is that way if you will
observe it. Imagine my surprise and indignation when I saw the
floor occupied by at least a dozen other lodgers! I sat up,
earnestly damning the management of that unthinkable hotel, and was
about to spring from the bed to go and make trouble for the night-
clerk--him of the apologetic manner and the tallow candle--when
something in the situation affected me with a strange indisposition
to move. I suppose I was what a story-writer might call 'frozen
with terror.' For those men were obviously all dead!

"They lay on their backs, disposed orderly along three sides of the
room, their feet to the walls--against the other wall, farthest from
the door, stood my bed and the chair. All the faces were covered,
but under their white cloths the features of the two bodies that lay
in the square patch of moonlight near the window showed in sharp
profile as to nose and chin.

"I thought this a bad dream and tried to cry out, as one does in a
nightmare, but could make no sound. At last, with a desperate
effort I threw my feet to the floor and passing between the two rows
of clouted faces and the two bodies that lay nearest the door, I
escaped from the infernal place and ran to the office. The night-
clerk was there, behind the desk, sitting in the dim light of
another tallow candle--just sitting and staring. He did not rise:
my abrupt entrance produced no effect upon him, though I must have
looked a veritable corpse myself. It occurred to me then that I had
not before really observed the fellow. He was a little chap, with a
colorless face and the whitest, blankest eyes I ever saw. He had no
more expression than the back of my hand. His clothing was a dirty
gray.

"'Damn you!' I said; 'what do you mean?'

"Just the same, I was shaking like a leaf in the wind and did not
recognize my own voice.

"The night-clerk rose, bowed (apologetically) and--well, he was no
longer there, and at that moment I felt a hand laid upon my shoulder
from behind. Just fancy that if you can! Unspeakably frightened, I
turned and saw a portly, kind-faced gentleman, who asked:

"'What is the matter, my friend?'

"I was not long in telling him, but before I made an end of it he
went pale himself. 'See here,' he said, 'are you telling the
truth?'

"I had now got myself in hand and terror had given place to
indignation. 'If you dare to doubt it,' I said, 'I'll hammer the
life out of you!'

"'No,' he replied, 'don't do that; just sit down till I tell you.
This is not a hotel. It used to be; afterward it was a hospital.
Now it is unoccupied, awaiting a tenant. The room that you mention
was the dead-room--there were always plenty of dead. The fellow
that you call the night-clerk used to be that, but later he booked
the patients as they were brought in. I don't understand his being
here. He has been dead a few weeks.'

"'And who are you?' I blurted out.

"'Oh, I look after the premises. I happened to be passing just now,
and seeing a light in here came in to investigate. Let us have a
look into that room,' he added, lifting the sputtering candle from
the desk.

"'I'll see you at the devil first!' said I, bolting out of the door
into the street.

"Sir, that Breathitt House, in Atlanta, is a beastly place! Don't
you stop there."

"God forbid! Your account of it certainly does not suggest comfort.
By the way, Colonel, when did all that occur?"

"In September, 1864--shortly after the siege."





Next: The Thing At Nolan

Previous: The Spook House



Add to del.icio.us Add to Reddit Add to Digg Add to Del.icio.us Add to Google Add to Twitter Add to Stumble Upon
Add to Informational Site Network
Report
Privacy
SHAREADD TO EBOOK