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?





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