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The Haunted And The Haunters: Or The House And The Brain

Scary Books: The Haunters & The Haunted

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 these questions--all I know is this--six weeks ago

I and my wife 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 a 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

farther. I paid for my week, and too happy were I and my wife 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

towards 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 neighbouring areas, said to me, "Do you

want anyone in that house, sir?"

"Yes, I heard it was to 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, L1 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?"


"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


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 cannot let it, for I cannot 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


"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 neighbourhood, I have so

despaired of finding any person to take charge of it, much more a

tenant, that I would willingly let it rent free for a year to anyone 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, amongst 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

repainting and roofing it--added to its old-fashioned furniture a few

modern articles--advertised it, and obtained a lodger for a year. He was

a colonel retired 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 they deponed that they had all seen something

different, that something was equally terrible to all. I really could

not in conscience sue, or even blame, the colonel for breach of


"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 cannot 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 anyone 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 I had

not leisure to think much on the nocturnal adventure to which I had

plighted my honour. I dined alone, and very late, and while dining,

read, as is my habit. The volume I selected was one 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 towards the haunted house. I took with me a favourite

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


"All right, sir, and very comfortable."

"Oh!" said I, rather disappointed; "have you not seen nor heard anything


"Well, sir, I must own I have heard something queer."


"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 ran 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 backyard, 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 parlour, a small back-parlour, 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 now was 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.


"Why, something struck me. I felt it sharply on the shoulder--just


"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 burned 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, flushed 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 cannot have got locked from the inside, for it is


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 around, 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 open the shutters and see what

is without."

I unbarred the shutters--the window looked on the little backyard I have

before described; there was no ledge without--nothing but sheer descent.

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 amidst

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 attics. 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 bedchamber 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 everyone else would execrate us if all

was known." Again: "Don't let anyone 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


I put down the letters, and began to muse over their contents.

Fearing, however, that the train of thought into which I fell might

unsteady my nerves, I fully determined to keep my mind in a fit state to

cope with whatever of marvellous the advancing night might bring forth.

I roused myself--laid the letters on the table--stirred up the fire,

which was still bright and cheering--and opened my volume of Macaulay. I

read quietly enough till about half-past eleven. I then threw myself

dressed upon the bed, and told my servant he might retire to his own

room, but must keep himself awake. I bade him leave open the door

between the two rooms. Thus alone, I kept two candles burning on the

table by my bed-head. I placed my watch beside the weapons, and calmly

resumed my Macaulay.

Opposite to me the fire burned clear; and on the hearth-rug, seemingly

asleep, lay the dog. In about twenty minutes I felt an exceedingly cold

air pass by my cheek, like a sudden draught. I fancied the door to my

right, communicating with the landing-place, must have got open; but

no--it was closed. I then turned my glance to my left, and saw the flame

of the candles violently swayed as by a wind. At the same moment the

watch beside the revolver softly slid from the table--softly, softly--no

visible hand--it was gone. I sprang up, seizing the revolver with the

one hand, the dagger with the other; I was not willing that my weapons

should share the fate of the watch. Thus armed, I looked round the

floor--no sign of the watch. Three slow, loud, distinct knocks were now

heard at the bed-head; my servant called out, "Is that you, sir?"

"No; be on your guard."

The dog now roused himself and sat on his haunches, his ears moving

quickly backwards and forwards. He kept his eyes fixed on me with a look

so strange that he concentrated all my attention on himself. Slowly he

rose up, all his hair bristling, and stood perfectly rigid, and with the

same wild stare. I had no time, however, to examine the dog. Presently

my servant emerged from his room; and if ever I saw horror in the human

face, it was then. I should not have recognised him had we met in the

streets, so altered was every lineament. He passed by me quickly, saying

in a whisper that seemed scarcely to come from his lips, "Run--run! it

is after me!" He gained the door to the landing, pulled it open, and

rushed forth. I followed him into the landing involuntarily, calling him

to stop; but, without heeding me, he bounded down the stairs, clinging

to the balusters, and taking several steps at a time. I heard, where I

stood, the street door open--heard it again clap to. I was left alone in

the haunted house.

It was but for a moment that I remained undecided whether or not to

follow my servant; pride and curiosity alike forbade so dastardly a

flight. I re-entered my room, closing the door after me, and proceeded

cautiously into the interior chamber. I encountered nothing to justify

my servant's terror. I again carefully examined the walls, to see if

there were any concealed door. I could find no trace of one--not even a

seam in the dull-brown paper with which the room was hung. How, then,

had the Thing, whatever it was, which had so scared him, obtained

ingress except through my own chamber?

I returned to my room, shut and locked the door that opened upon the

interior one, and stood on the hearth, expectant and prepared. I now

perceived that the dog had slunk into an angle of the wall, and was

pressing himself close against it, as if literally trying to force his

way into it. I approached the animal and spoke to it; the poor brute was

evidently beside itself with terror. It showed all its teeth, the slaver

dropping from its jaws, and would certainly have bitten me if I had

touched it. It did not seem to recognise me. Whoever has seen at the

Zoological Gardens a rabbit fascinated by a serpent, cowering in a

corner, may form some idea of the anguish which the dog exhibited.

Finding all efforts to soothe the animal in vain, and fearing that his

bite might be as venomous in that state as if in the madness of

hydrophobia, I left him alone, placed my weapons on the table beside the

fire, seated myself, and recommenced my Macaulay.

Perhaps in order not to appear seeking credit for a courage, or rather a

coolness, which the reader may conceive I exaggerate, I may be pardoned

if I pause to indulge in one or two egotistical remarks.

As I hold presence of mind, or what is called courage, to be precisely

proportioned to familiarity with the circumstance that lead to it, so I

should say that I had been long sufficiently familiar with all

experiments that appertain to the Marvellous. I had witnessed many very

extraordinary phenomena in various parts of the world--phenomena that

would be either totally disbelieved if I stated them, or ascribed to

supernatural agencies. Now, my theory is that the Supernatural is the

Impossible, and that what is called supernatural is only a something in

the laws of nature of which we have been hitherto ignorant. Therefore,

if a ghost rise before me, I have not the right to say, "So, then, the

supernatural is possible," but rather, "So, then, the apparition of a

ghost is, contrary to received opinion, within the laws of

nature--_i.e._ not supernatural."

Now, in all that I had hitherto witnessed, and indeed in all the wonders

which the amateurs of mystery in our age record as facts, a material

living agency is always required. On the Continent you will find still

magicians who assert that they can raise spirits. Assume for the moment

that they assert truly, still the living material form of the magician

is present; and he is the material agency by which from some

constitutional peculiarities, certain strange phenomena are represented

to your natural senses.

Accept again, as truthful, the tales of Spirit Manifestation in

America--musical or other sounds--writings on paper, produced by no

discernible hand--articles of furniture moved without apparent human

agency--or the actual sight and touch of hands, to which no bodies seem

to belong--still there must be found the _medium_ or living being, with

constitutional peculiarities capable of obtaining these signs. In fine,

in all such marvels, supposing even that there is no imposture, there

must be a human being like ourselves, by whom, or through whom, the

effects presented to human beings are produced. It is so with the now

familiar phenomena of mesmerism or electro-biology; the mind of the

person operated on is affected through a material living agent. Nor,

supposing it true that a mesmerised patient can respond to the will or

passes of a mesmeriser a hundred miles distant, is the response less

occasioned by a material being; it may be through a material fluid--call

it Electric, call it Odic, call it what you will--which has the power of

traversing space and passing obstacles, that the material effect is

communicated from one to the other.

Hence all that I had hitherto witnessed, or expected to witness, in this

strange house, I believed to be occasioned through some agency or medium

as mortal as myself; and this idea necessarily prevented the awe with

which those who regard as supernatural things that are not within the

ordinary operations of nature, might have been impressed by the

adventures of that memorable night.

As, then, it was my conjecture that all that was presented, or would be

presented, to my senses, must originate in some human being gifted by

constitution with the power so to present them, and having some motive

so to do, I felt an interest in my theory which, in its way, was rather

philosophical than superstitious. And I can sincerely say that I was in

as tranquil a temper for observation as any practical experimentalist

could be in awaiting the effects of some rare though perhaps perilous

chemical combination. Of course, the more I kept my mind detached from

fancy, the more the temper fitted for observation would be obtained; and

I therefore riveted eye and thought on the strong daylight sense in the

page of my Macaulay.

I now became aware that something interposed between the page and the

light--the page was overshadowed; I looked up, and I saw what I shall

find it very difficult, perhaps impossible, to describe.

It was a Darkness shaping itself out of the air in very undefined

outline. I cannot say it was of a human form, and yet it had more

resemblance to a human form, or rather shadow, than anything else. As it

stood, wholly apart and distinct from the air and the light around it,

its dimensions seemed gigantic, the summit nearly touching the ceiling.

While I gazed, a feeling of intense cold seized me. An iceberg before me

could not more have chilled me; nor could the cold of an iceberg have

been more purely physical. I feel convinced that it was not the cold

caused by fear. As I continued to gaze, I thought--but this I cannot say

with precision--that I distinguished two eyes looking down on me from

the height. One moment I seemed to distinguish them clearly, the next

they seemed gone; but still two rays of a pale-blue light frequently

shot through the darkness, as from the height on which I half-believed,

half-doubted, that I had encountered the eyes.

I strove to speak--my voice utterly failed me; I could only think to

myself, "Is this fear? it is _not_ fear!" I strove to rise--in vain; I

felt as if weighed down by an irresistible force. Indeed, my impression

was that of an immense and overwhelming Power opposed to my volition;

that sense of utter inadequacy to cope with a force beyond men's, which

one may feel _physically_ in a storm at sea, in a conflagration, or when

confronting some terrible wild beast, or rather, perhaps, the shark of

the ocean, I felt _morally_. Opposed to my will was another will, as far

superior to its strength as storm, fire, and shark are superior in

material force to the force of men.

And now, as this impression grew on me, now came, at last,

horror--horror to a degree that no words can convey. Still I retained

pride, if not courage; and in my own mind I said, "This is horror, but

it is not fear; unless I fear, I cannot be harmed; my reason rejects

this thing; it is an illusion--I do not fear." With a violent effort I

succeeded at last in stretching out my hand towards the weapon on the

table; as I did so, on the arm and shoulder I received a strange shock,

and my arm fell to my side powerless. And now, to add to my horror, the

light began slowly to wane from the candles--they were not, as it were,

extinguished, but their flame seemed very gradually withdrawn; it was

the same with the fire--the light was extracted from the fuel; in a few

minutes the room was in utter darkness.

The dread that came over me, to be thus in the dark with that dark

Thing, whose power was so intensely felt, brought a reaction of nerve.

In fact, terror had reached that climax, that either my senses must have

deserted me, or I must have burst through the spell. I did burst through

it. I found voice, though the voice was a shriek. I remember that I

broke forth with words like these--"I do not fear, my soul does not

fear"; and at the same time I found the strength to rise. Still in that

profound gloom I rushed to one of the windows--tore aside the

curtain--flung open the shutters; my first thought was--LIGHT.

And when I saw the moon high, clear, and calm, I felt a joy that almost

compensated for the previous terror. There was the moon, there was also

the light from the gas-lamps in the deserted slumberous street. I turned

to look back into the room; the moon penetrated its shadow very palely

and partially--but still there was light. The dark Thing, whatever it

might be, was gone--except that I could yet see a dim shadow which

seemed the shadow of that shade, against the opposite wall.

My eye now rested on the table, and from under the table (which was

without cloth or cover--an old mahogany round table) there rose a hand,

visible as far as the wrist. It was a hand, seemingly, as much of flesh

and blood as my own, but the hand of an aged person--lean, wrinkled,

small too--a woman's hand.

That hand very softly closed on the two letters that lay on the table:

hand and letters both vanished. There then came the same three loud

measured knocks I had heard at the bed-head before this extraordinary

drama had commenced.

As those sounds slowly ceased, I felt the whole room vibrate sensibly;

and at the far end there rose, as from the floor, sparks or globules

like bubbles of light, many-coloured--green, yellow, fire-red, azure. Up

and down, to and fro, hither, thither, as tiny will-o'-the-wisps, the

sparks moved, slow or swift, each at its own caprice. A chair (as in the

drawing-room below) was now advanced from the wall without apparent

agency, and placed at the opposite side of the table. Suddenly, as forth

from the chair, there grew a shape--a woman's shape. It was distinct as

a shape of life--ghastly as a shape of death. The face was that of

youth, with a strange mournful beauty; the throat and shoulders were

bare, the rest of the form in a loose robe of cloudy white. It began

sleeking its long yellow hair, which fell over its shoulders; its eyes

were not turned towards me, but to the door; it seemed listening,

watching, waiting. The shadow of the shade in the background grew

darker; and again I thought I beheld the eyes gleaming out from the

summit of the shadow--eyes fixed upon that shape.

As if from the door, though it did not open, there grew out another

shape equally distinct, equally ghastly--a man's shape--a young man's.

It was in the dress of the last century, or rather in a likeness of such

dress; for both the male shape and the female, though defined, were

evidently unsubstantial, impalpable--simulacra--phantasms; and there was

something incongruous, grotesque, yet fearful, in the contrast between

the elaborate finery, the courtly precision of that old-fashioned garb,

with its ruffles and lace and buckles, and the corpse-like aspect and

ghost-like stillness of the flitting wearer. Just as the male shape

approached the female, the dark Shadow started from the wall, all three

for a moment wrapped in darkness. When the pale light returned, the two

phantoms were as if in the grasp of the Shadow that towered between

them; and there was a bloodstain on the breast of the female; and the

phantom-male was leaning on its phantom-sword, and blood seemed

trickling fast from the ruffles, from the lace; and the darkness of the

intermediate Shadow swallowed them up--they were gone. And again the

bubbles of light shot, and sailed, and undulated, growing thicker and

thicker and more wildly confused in their movements.

The closet-door to the right of the fireplace now opened, and from the

aperture there came the form of a woman, aged. In her hand she held

letters--the very letters over which I had seen _the_ Hand close; and

behind her I heard a footstep. She turned round as if to listen, then

she opened the letters and seemed to read; and over her shoulder I saw a

livid face, the face as of a man long drowned--bloated,

bleached--seaweed tangled in its dripping hair; and at her feet lay a

form as of a corpse and beside the corpse there cowered a child, a

miserable, squalid child, with famine in its cheeks and fear in its

eyes. And as I looked in the old woman's face, the wrinkles and lines

vanished, and it became a face of youth--hard-eyed, stony, but still

youth; and the Shadow darted forth, and darkened over these phantoms as

it had darkened over the last.

Nothing now was left but the Shadow, and on that my eyes were intently

fixed, till again eyes grew out of the Shadow--malignant, serpent eyes.

And the bubbles of light again rose and fell, and in their disordered,

irregular, turbulent maze, mingled with the wan moonlight. And now from

these globules themselves as from the shell of an egg, monstrous things

burst out; the air grew filled with them; larvae so bloodless and so

hideous that I can in no way describe them except to remind the reader

of the swarming life which the solar microscope brings before his eyes

in a drop of water--things transparent, supple, agile, chasing each

other, devouring each other--forms like nought ever beheld by the naked

eye. As the shapes were without symmetry, so their movements were

without order. In their very vagrancies there was no sport; they came

round me and round, thicker and faster and swifter, swarming over my

head, crawling over my right arm, which was outstretched in involuntary

command against all evil beings.

Sometimes I felt myself touched, but not by them; invisible hands

touched me. Once I felt the clutch as of cold soft fingers at my throat.

I was still equally conscious that if I gave way to fear I should be in

bodily peril; and I concentrated all my faculties in the single focus of

resisting, stubborn will. And I turned my sight from the Shadow--above

all, from those strange serpent eyes--eyes that had now become

distinctly visible. For there, though in nought else around me, I was

aware that there was a _will_, and a will of intense, creative, working

evil, which might crush down my own.

The pale atmosphere in the room began now to redden as if in the air of

some near conflagration. The larvae grew lurid as things that live in

fire. Again the room vibrated; again were heard the three measured

knocks; and again all things were swallowed up in the darkness of the

dark Shadow, as if out of that darkness all had come, into that darkness

all returned.

As the gloom receded, the Shadow was wholly gone. Slowly as it had been

withdrawn, the flame grew again into the candles on the table, again

into the fuel in the grate. The whole room came once more calmly,

healthfully into sight.

The two doors were still closed, the door communicating with the

servants' room still locked. In the corner of the wall, into which he

had so convulsively niched himself, lay the dog. I called to him--no

movement; I approached--the animal was dead; his eyes protruded; his

tongue out of his mouth; the froth gathered round his jaws. I took him

in my arms; I brought him to the fire; I felt acute grief for the loss

of my poor favourite--acute self-reproach; I accused myself of his

death; I imagined he had died of fright. But what was my surprise on

finding that his neck was actually broken--actually twisted out of the

vertebrae. Had this been done in the dark?--must it not have been by a

hand human as mine?--must there not have been a human agency all the

while in that room? Good cause to suspect it. I cannot tell. I cannot do

more than state the fact fairly; the reader may draw his own inference.

Another surprising circumstance--my watch was restored to the table from

which it had been so mysteriously withdrawn; but it had stopped at the

very moment it was so withdrawn; nor, despite all the skill of the

watchmaker, has it ever gone since--that is, it will go in a strange

erratic way for a few hours, and then comes to a dead stop--it is


Nothing more chanced for the rest of the night. Nor, indeed, had I long

to wait before the dawn broke. Not till it was broad daylight did I quit

the haunted house. Before I did so, I revisited the little blind room in

which my servant and myself had been for a time imprisoned. I had a

strong impression--for which I could not account--that from that room

had originated the mechanism of the phenomena--if I may use the

term--which had been experienced in my chamber. And though I entered it

now in the clear day, with the sun peering through the filmy window, I

still felt, as I stood on its floor, the creep of the horror which I had

first there experienced the night before, and which had been so

aggravated by what had passed in my own chamber. I could not, indeed,

bear to stay more than half a minute within those walls. I descended the

stairs, and again I heard the footfall before me; and when I opened the

street door, I thought I could distinguish a very low laugh. I gained my

own home, expecting to find my runaway servant there. But he had not

presented himself; nor did I hear more of him for three days, when I

received a letter from him, dated from Liverpool, to this effect:--

"HONOURED SIR,--I humbly entreat your pardon, though I

can scarcely hope that you will think I deserve it,

unless--which Heaven forbid!--you saw what I did. I feel that

it will be years before I can recover myself; and as to being

fit for service, it is out of the question. I am therefore

going to my brother-in-law at Melbourne. The ship sails

to-morrow. Perhaps the long voyage may set me up. I do nothing

now but start and tremble, and fancy It is behind me. I humbly

beg you, honoured sir, to order my clothes, and whatever wages

are due to me, to be sent to my mother's, at Walworth--John

knows her address."

The letter ended with additional apologies, somewhat incoherent, and

explanatory details as to effects that had been under the writer's


This flight may perhaps warrant a suspicion that the man wished to go to

Australia, and had been somehow or other fraudulently mixed up with the

events of the night. I say nothing in refutation of that conjecture;

rather, I suggest it as one that would seem to many persons the most

probable solution of improbable occurrences. My own theory remained

unshaken. I returned in the evening to the house, to bring away in a

hack cab the things I had left there, with my poor dog's body. In this

task I was not disturbed, nor did any incident worth note befall me,

except that still, on ascending, and descending the stairs I heard the

same footfall in advance. On leaving the house, I went to Mr J----'s. He

was at home. I returned him the keys, told him that my curiosity was

sufficiently gratified, and was about to relate quickly what had passed,

when he stopped me, and said, though with much politeness, that he had

no longer any interest in a mystery which none had ever solved.

I determined at least to tell him of the two letters I had read, as well

as of the extraordinary manner in which they had disappeared, and I then

inquired if he thought they had been addressed to the woman who had died

in the house, and if there were anything in her early history which

could possibly confirm the dark suspicions to which the letters gave

rise. Mr J---- seemed startled, and, after musing a few moments,

answered, "I know but little of the woman's earlier history, except, as

I before told you, that her family were known to mine. But you revive

some vague reminiscences to her prejudice. I will make inquiries, and

inform you of their result. Still, even if we could admit the popular

superstition that a person who had been either the perpetrator or the

victim of dark crimes in life could revisit, as a restless spirit, the

scene in which those crimes had been committed, I should observe that

the house was infested by strange sights and sounds before the old woman

died--you smile--what would you say?"

"I would say this, that I am convinced, if we could get to the bottom of

these mysteries, we should find a living human agency."

"What! you believe it is all an imposture? For what object?"

"Not an imposture in the ordinary sense of the word. If suddenly I were

to sink into a deep sleep, from which you could not awake me, but in

that sleep could answer questions with an accuracy which I could not

pretend to when awake--tell you what money you had in your pocket--nay,

describe your very thoughts--it is not necessarily an imposture, any

more than it is necessarily supernatural. I should be, unconsciously to

myself, under a mesmeric influence, conveyed to me from a distance by a

human being who had acquired power over me by previous _rapport_."

"Granting mesmerism, so far carried, to be a fact, you are right. And

you would infer from this that a mesmeriser might produce the

extraordinary effects you and others have witnessed over inanimate

objects--fill the air with sights and sounds?"

"Or impress our senses with the belief in them--we never having been _en

rapport_ with the person acting on us? No. What is commonly called

mesmerism could not do this; but there may be a power akin to mesmerism,

and superior to it--the power that in the old days was called Magic.

That such a power may extend to all inanimate objects of matter, I do

not say; but if so, it would not be against nature, only a rare power in

nature which might be given to constitutions with certain peculiarities,

and cultivated by practice to an extraordinary degree. That such a power

might extend over the dead--that is, over certain thoughts and memories

that the dead may still retain--and compel, not that which ought

properly to be called the _soul_, and which is far beyond human reach,

but rather a phantom of what has been most earth-stained on earth, to

make itself apparent to our senses--is a very ancient though obsolete

theory, upon which I will hazard no opinion. But I do not conceive the

power would be supernatural.

"Let me illustrate what I mean from an experiment which Paracelsus

describes as not difficult, and which the author of the _Curiosities of

Literature_ cites as credible: A flower perishes; you burn it. Whatever

were the elements of that flower while it lived are gone, dispersed, you

know not whither; you can never discover nor re-collect them. But you

can, by chemistry, out of the burnt dust of that flower, raise a

spectrum of the flower, just as it seemed in life. It may be the same

with the human being. The soul has so much escaped you as the essence or

elements of the flower. Still you may make a spectrum of it. And this

phantom, though in the popular superstition it is held to be the soul of

the departed, must not be confounded with the true soul; it is but the

eidolon of the dead form.

"Hence, like the best-attested stories of ghosts or spirits, the thing

that most strikes us is the absence of what we hold to be soul--that is,

of superior emancipated intelligence. They come for little or no

object--they seldom speak, if they do come; they utter no ideas above

that of an ordinary person on earth. These American spirit-seers have

published volumes of communications in prose and verse, which they

assert to be given in the names of the most illustrious

dead--Shakespeare, Bacon--heaven knows whom. Those communications,

taking the best, are certainly not a whit of higher order than would be

communications from living persons of fair talent and education; they

are wondrously inferior to what Bacon, Shakespeare, and Plato said and

wrote when on earth.

"Nor, what is more notable, do they ever contain an idea that was not on

the earth before. Wonderful, therefore, as such phenomena may be

(granting them to be truthful), I see much that philosophy may question,

nothing that it is incumbent on philosophy to deny--viz. nothing

supernatural. They are but ideas conveyed somehow or other (we have not

yet discovered the means) from one mortal brain to another. Whether, in

so doing, tables walk of their own accord, or fiend-like shapes appear

in a magic circle, or bodyless hands rise and remove material objects,

or a Thing of Darkness, such as presented itself to me, freeze our

blood--still am I persuaded that these are but agencies conveyed, as by

electric wires, to my own brain from the brain of another. In some

constitutions there is a natural chemistry, and those may produce

chemic wonders--in others a natural fluid, call it electricity, and

these produce electric wonders. But they differ in this from Normal

Science--they are alike objectless, purposeless, puerile, frivolous.

They lead on to no grand results; and therefore the world does not heed,

and true sages have not cultivated them. But sure I am, that of all I

saw or heard, a man, human as myself, was the remote originator; and I

believe unconsciously to himself as to the exact effects produced, for

this reason: no two persons, you say, have ever told you that they

experienced exactly the same thing. Well, observe, no two persons ever

experience exactly the same dream. If this were an ordinary imposture,

the machinery would be arranged for results that would but little vary;

if it were a supernatural agency permitted by the Almighty, it would

surely be for some definite end.

"These phenomena belong to neither class; my persuasion is, that they

originate in some brain now far distant; that that brain had no distinct

volition in anything that occurred; that what does occur reflects but

its devious, motley, ever-shifting, half-formed thoughts; in short, that

it has been but the dreams of such a brain put into action and invested

with a semisubstance. That this brain is of immense power, that it can

set matter into movement, that it is malignant and destructive, I

believe: some material force must have killed my dog; it might, for

aught I know, have sufficed to kill myself, had I been as subjugated by

terror as the dog--had my intellect or my spirit given me no

countervailing resistance in my will."

"It killed your dog! that is fearful! indeed, it is strange that no

animal can be induced to stay in that house; not even a cat. Rats and

mice are never found in it."

"The instincts of the brute creation detect influences deadly to their

existence. Man's reason has a sense less subtle, because it has a

resisting power more supreme. But enough; do you comprehend my theory?"

"Yes, though imperfectly--and I accept any crotchet (pardon the word),

however odd, rather than embrace at once the notion of ghosts and

hobgoblins we imbibed in our nurseries. Still, to my unfortunate house

the evil is the same. What on earth can I do with the house?"

"I will tell you what I would do. I am convinced from my own internal

feelings that the small unfurnished room at right angles to the door of

the bedroom which I occupied, forms a starting-point or receptacle for

the influences which haunt the house; and I strongly advise you to have

the walls opened, the floor removed--nay, the whole room pulled down. I

observe that it is detached from the body of the house, built over the

small back-yard, and could be removed without injury to the rest of the


"And you think, if I did that----"

"You would cut off the telegraph wires. Try it. I am so persuaded that I

am right, that I will pay half the expense if you will allow me to

direct the operations."

"Nay, I am well able to afford the cost; for the rest, allow me to write

to you."

About ten days afterwards I received a letter from Mr J----, telling me

that he had visited the house since I had seen him; that he had found

the two letters I had described, replaced in the drawer from which I had

taken them; that he had read them with misgivings like my own; that he

had instituted a cautious inquiry about the woman to whom I rightly

conjectured they had been written. It seemed that thirty-six years ago

(a year before the date of the letters), she had married against the

wish of her relatives, an American of very suspicious character; in

fact, he was generally believed to have been a pirate. She herself was

the daughter of very respectable tradespeople, and had served in the

capacity of a nursery governess before her marriage. She had a brother,

a widower, who was considered wealthy, and who had one child of about

six years old. A month after the marriage, the body of this brother was

found in the Thames, near London Bridge; there seemed some marks of

violence about his throat, but they were not deemed sufficient to

warrant the inquest in any other verdict than that of "found drowned."

The American and his wife took charge of the little boy, the deceased

brother having by his will left his sister the guardian of his only

child--and in the event of the child's death, the sister inherited. The

child died about six months afterwards--it was supposed to have been

neglected and ill-treated. The neighbours deposed to have heard it

shriek at night. The surgeon who had examined it after death, said that

it was emaciated as if from want of nourishment, and the body was

covered with livid bruises. It seemed that one winter night the child

had sought to escape--crept out into the back-yard--tried to scale the

wall--fallen back exhausted, and been found at morning on the stones in

a dying state. But though there was some evidence of cruelty, there was

none of murder; and the aunt and her husband had sought to palliate

cruelty by alleging the exceeding stubbornness and perversity of the

child, who was declared to be half-witted. Be that as it may, at the

orphan's death the aunt inherited her brother's fortune.

Before the first wedded year was out, the American quitted England

abruptly, and never returned to it. He obtained a cruising vessel, which

was lost in the Atlantic two years afterwards. The widow was left in

affluence; but reverses of various kinds had befallen her: a bank

broke--an investment failed--she went into a small business and became

insolvent--then she entered into service, sinking lower and lower, from

housekeeper down to maid-of-all-work--never long retaining a place,

though nothing peculiar against her character was ever alleged. She was

considered sober, honest, and peculiarly quiet in her ways; still

nothing prospered with her. And so she had dropped into the workhouse,

from which Mr J---- had taken her, to be placed in charge of the very

house which she had rented as mistress in the first year of her wedded


Mr J---- added that he had passed an hour alone in the unfurnished room

which I had urged him to destroy, and that his impressions of dread

while there were so great, though he had neither heard nor seen

anything, that he was eager to have the walls bared and the floors

removed as I had suggested. He had engaged persons for the work, and

would commence any day I would name.

The day was accordingly fixed. I repaired to the haunted house--we went

into the blind dreary room, took up the skirting, and then the floors.

Under the rafters, covered with rubbish, was found a trap-door, quite

large enough to admit a man. It was closely nailed down, with clamps and

rivets of iron. On removing these we descended into a room below, the

existence of which had never been suspected. In this room there had been

a window and a flue, but they had been bricked over, evidently for many

years. By the help of candles we examined this place; it still retained

some mouldering furniture--three chairs, an oak settle, a table--all of

the fashion of about eighty years ago. There was a chest of drawers

against the wall, in which we found, half-rotted away, old-fashioned

articles of a man's dress, such as might have been worn eighty or a

hundred years ago by a gentleman of some rank--costly steel buckles and

buttons, like those yet worn in court dresses--a handsome court

sword--in a waistcoat which had once been rich with gold lace, but which

was now blackened and foul with damp, we found five guineas, a few

silver coins, and an ivory ticket, probably for some place of

entertainment long since passed away. But our main discovery was in a

kind of iron safe fixed to the wall, the lock of which it cost us much

trouble to get picked.

In this safe were three shelves and two small drawers. Ranged on the

shelves were several small bottles of crystal, hermetically stopped.

They contained colourless volatile essences, of what nature I shall say

no more than that they were not poisons--phosphor and ammonia entered

into some of them. There were also some very curious glass tubes, and a

small pointed rod of iron, with a large lump of rock-crystal, and

another of amber--also a loadstone of great power.

In one of the drawers we found a miniature portrait set in gold, and

retaining the freshness of its colours most remarkably, considering the

length of time it had probably been there. The portrait was that of a

man who might be somewhat advanced in middle life, perhaps forty-seven

or forty-eight.

It was a most peculiar face--a most impressive face. If you could fancy

some mighty serpent transformed into man, preserving in the human

lineaments the old serpent type, you would have a better idea of that

countenance than long descriptions can convey: the width and flatness of

frontal--the tapering elegance of contour disguising the strength of the

deadly jaw--the long, large, terrible eye, glittering and green as the

emerald--and withal a certain ruthless calm, as if from the

consciousness of an immense power. The strange thing was this--the

instant I saw the miniature I recognised a startling likeness to one of

the rarest portraits in the world--the portrait of a man of a rank only

below that of royalty, who in his own day had made a considerable noise.

History says little or nothing of him; but search the correspondence of

his contemporaries, and you find reference to his wild daring, his bold

profligacy, his restless spirit, his taste for the occult sciences.

While still in the meridian of life he died and was buried, so say the

chronicles, in a foreign land. He died in time to escape the grasp of

the law, for he was accused of crimes which would have given him to the


After his death, the portraits of him, which had been numerous, for he

had been a munificent encourager of art, were bought up and

destroyed--it was supposed by his heirs, who might have been glad could

they have razed his very name from their splendid line. He had enjoyed a

vast wealth; a large portion of this was believed to have been embezzled

by a favourite astrologer or soothsayer--at all events, it had

unaccountably vanished at the time of his death. One portrait alone of

him was supposed to have escaped the general destruction; I had seen it

in the house of a collector some months before. It had made on me a

wonderful impression, as it does on all who behold it--a face never to

be forgotten; and there was that face in the miniature that lay within

my hand. True, that in the miniature the man was a few years older than

in the portrait I had seen, or than the original was even at the time of

his death. But a few years!--why, between the date in which flourished

that direful noble and the date in which the miniature was evidently

painted, there was an interval of more than two centuries. While I was

thus gazing, silent and wondering, Mr J---- said:

"But is it possible? I have known this man."

"How--where?" I cried.

"In India. He was high in the confidence of the Rajah of ----, and

wellnigh drew him into a revolt which would have lost the Rajah his

dominions. The man was a Frenchman--his name de V----, clever, bold,

lawless. We insisted on his dismissal and banishment: it must be the

same man--no two faces like his--yet this miniature seems nearly a

hundred years old."

Mechanically I turned round the miniature to examine the back of it, and

on the back was engraved a pentacle; in the middle of the pentacle a

ladder, and the third step of the ladder was formed by the date 1765.

Examining still more minutely, I detected a spring; this, on being

pressed, opened the back of the miniature as a lid. Withinside the lid

was engraved "Mariana to thee--Be faithful in life and in death to

----." Here follows a name that I will not mention, but it was not

unfamiliar to me. I had heard it spoken of by old men in my childhood as

the name borne by a dazzling charlatan, who had made a great sensation

in London for a year or so, and had fled the country on the charge of a

double murder within his own house--that of his mistress and his rival.

I said nothing of this to Mr J----, to whom reluctantly I resigned the


We had found no difficulty in opening the first drawer within the iron

safe; we found great difficulty in opening the second: it was not

locked, but it resisted all efforts till we inserted in the chinks the

edge of a chisel. When we had thus drawn it forth, we found a very

singular apparatus in the nicest order. Upon a small thin book, or

rather tablet, was placed a saucer of crystal; this saucer was filled

with a clear liquid--on that liquid floated a kind of compass, with a

needle shifting rapidly round, but instead of the usual points of a

compass were seven strange characters, not very unlike those used by

astrologers to denote the planets. A very peculiar, but not strong nor

displeasing odour, came from this drawer, which was lined with a wood

that we afterwards discovered to be hazel. Whatever the cause of this

odour, it produced a material effect on the nerves. We all felt it, even

the two workmen who were in the room--a creeping tingling sensation from

the tips of the fingers to the roots of the hair. Impatient to examine

the tablet, I removed the saucer. As I did so the needle of the compass

went round and round with exceeding swiftness, and I felt a shock that

ran through my whole frame, so that I dropped the saucer on the floor.

The liquid was spilt--the saucer was broken--the compass rolled to the

end of the room--and at that instant the walls shook to and fro, as if a

giant had swayed and rocked them.

The two workmen were so frightened that they ran up the ladder by which

we had descended from the trap-door; but seeing that nothing more

happened, they were easily induced to return.

Meanwhile I had opened the tablet: it was bound in a plain red leather,

with a silver clasp; it contained but one sheet of thick vellum, and on

that sheet were inscribed, within a double pentacle, words in old

monkish Latin, which are literally to be translated thus:--"On all that

it can reach within these walls--sentient or inanimate, living or

dead--as moves the needle, so work my will! Accursed be the house, and

restless be the dwellers therein."

We found no more. Mr J---- burnt the tablet and its anathema. He razed

to the foundations the part of the building containing the secret room

with the chamber over it. He had then the courage to inhabit the house

himself for a month, and a quieter, better-conditioned house could not

be found in all London. Subsequently he let it to advantage, and his

tenant has made no complaints.

But my story is not yet done. A few days after Mr J---- had removed into

the house, I paid him a visit. We were standing by the open window and

conversing. A van containing some articles of furniture which he was

moving from his former house was at the door. I had just urged on him my

theory that all those phenomena regarded as supermundane had emanated

from a human brain; adducing the charm, or rather curse, we had found

and destroyed in support of my philosophy. Mr J---- was observing in

reply, "That even if mesmerism, or whatever analogous power it might be

called, could really thus work in the absence of the operator, and

produce effects so extraordinary, still could those effects continue

when the operator himself was dead? and if the spell had been wrought,

and, indeed, the room walled up, more than seventy years ago, the

probability was, that the operator had long since departed this life";

Mr J----, I say, was th