The 2014 Halloween Horrors Megapack

by Edith Wharton

  “Why was I brought here? For what unholy purpose am I necessary to these people that they guard me so jealously? Perhaps Agnes may be induced to give me some indication of my fate.

  “Three days have passed since I wrote in my journal; an event has happened which has increased the mystery of this place. Yesternight, about ten o’clock, a car drew up at the front gate. I was in the front room and peeped through the blind. As Agnes passed the door to answer the knock she turned the key of the room and made me a prisoner. She admitted three men, and a fourth stood on the flags between the door and the gate. I had ample opportunity for examining him closely. A coarse, ruffianly-looking, burly man, a drover or butcher, or one following some brutalizing calling, I judged, from his appearance and his manner whilst standing and walking. Dark hair, a short beard, and a raucous voice. After admitting the men Agnes went hurriedly to her kitchen, and locked and barred the door, and soon I heard the hiss and the clattering of furniture which followed ‘Sivvy’s’ entrance into the front kitchen.

  “The three men went upstairs, and in a few moments the stillness of the house was broken by the shrill shrieks of a female; the screams were accompanied by sounds as of a scuffle and overturned furniture, then the noise partly subsided, but the struggle had not ceased. I heard the heavy breathing of the men, and seemed to see the efforts made by the woman they were dragging to the stairs. There were gasps and short cries as they brought her downstairs, and a short but sharp struggle in the hall. Then the burly man stepped within, and soon the four re-appeared in front, half carrying half dragging a struggling woman. Her light hair flew in disorder, as she twisted and bent to free herself It was with difficulty they forced her into the car, and I saw her arms waving in helplessness as the captors endeavoured to enter the vehicle. I saw, too, that something had been tied over her mouth, and the last thing I noticed on her thin forearm, from which the dress had been torn, was a freshly-made scratch two or more inches in length, from which the blood was still trickling. Three of the men, including the burly drover, having entered the vehicle, the fourth rang our bell, then mounted the seat by the driver, and as they drove away I saw them pulling down the blinds to the windows of the car.

  “Agnes went out at once and locked the gate, then bolted and barred the door and came to me. She appeared to have been drinking heavily, and answered my earnestly-put questions in an incoherent manner. If I am to believe her there have been several girls engaged at different times as companions to Miss Mure, and none of them have escaped; some have died, others have been taken away after residing here a long time. What am I to do? I will see Miss Mure to-morrow and demand some explanation of what I have seen and heard; and I have told Agnes to tell Miss Mure when she first sees her to-morrow that I must have an interview.

  “I did not sleep at all last night, for I could not dismiss from my mind the scene I had witnessed, and what with speculating upon the fate of the unhappy creature forcibly taken away, and forebodings of ill to myself, I passed a most wretched time.

  “Somewhat to my surprise Miss Mure expressed her willingness to see me at once. She was at breakfast when I entered her bedroom, feeling very nervous, and not quite knowing what to say. I told her that I did not like the place, and wished to go home; that she had no confidence in me, and did not even let me know who were the inmates of the house. To this she replied that she was sorry that I was not comfortable, that Agnes should have instructions to give me greater attention, and that any delicacy I might express a liking for should be obtained for me. As to not knowing who were the inmates of the house, she could not understand to whom I referred. No one was there, or had been there, but herself, myself, and Agnes. When I told her of what I had seen, she said it was all imagination; she knew nothing of anyone having been there, and surely she would have heard had there been any such struggle as I described. I told her that the footprints on the footway outside the gate, and the marks of the carriage wheels, were still to be seen distinctly, so that I was sure I had not deceived myself. She said it was cruel of me to mention such evidence, as I knew she was so afflicted that she could not see the marks herself; and even were the marks there, as I said, she was not responsible, for they were not upon her premises, and what people did outside our gates was beyond our control. The neighbourhood had greatly deteriorated since she first resided there. Had they not forced her to give up the most delightful portion of the garden for the erection of a public mortuary? A thing which so incensed her that she had entirely neglected the ‘beautiful pleasure grounds’ since, and allowed the gardens to run wild, for she never used them now, and she only hoped that the authorities would allow her to enjoy possession of her house unmolested for the few years that remained to her. Then I complained of the crocodile. To this the answer was that I need not go near it. Siva—that is its correct name—was to be kept in the kitchen; it was a strange pet, but Agnes wished to keep it, and as long as she kept it in her own quarters she was to be allowed to do so. If it was once found in any other part of the house it was to go; Agnes knew that, and I need not fear that it would be allowed to pass the threshold of the kitchen. Then I said that I did not like the ‘horror’ and I could not, and would not, stay if it ever came again. She replied that it was impertinent of me to attempt to dictate to her as to whom she should or should not invite as guests to her house, and that she would not submit to my dictation; no harm had been done to mc, I had experienced no rudeness, and she was sure that none of her acquaintance would insult mc. I then told her that I had heard that none of the persons who had previously filled the post I occupied had received any wages; that I was too poor to stay there if not paid, and that my only object on leaving home was to earn something to help to support my mother, as my sister’s salary was insufficient, and that I should be pleased to be able to send them something at once. She listened in silence, but veritably stormed her reply. I had been listening to ‘idle kitchen tales,’ for she always paid when the money was due, my first quarter’s salary was not payable until Christmas. I should have it then, unless she sent me about my business before, and she would like to know if there were any other preposterous claims I wished to make. To this I replied somewhat hotly that I had not made any preposterous claims, that I had simply asked for an advance of money as a favour and for the purpose I stated; that I certainly did wish for greater liberty; that I had never been outside the door since the day I came, that I wanted greater freedom for writing and posting my letters, and that I could not consent to remain in her service unless she showed greater confidence in me, and informed of the object she had in view when compelling my attendance at such meetings as the séance at which I had assisted. She said that she was pleased that I had spoken out boldly, for she now felt no diffidence in making our relative positions plain to me. She wished me to remember that she stood in loco parentis, and therefore could not allow me to wander about alone, for the neighbourhood was not one of the kind in which a young girl could do so with impunity. But I was not to imagine that it was by her wish that I was confined to the premises. On fitting occasions, and as opportunities offered, we should drive and walk out together. As to the writing of letters I was, and always had been, quite free to write when I liked and whatever I wished to either my mother or my sister, and so far from having tampered with my correspondence she was only too pleased to know that my letters had been delivered to me personally by the postman. I sadly mistrusted her, but she was sure it was because I did not know her sufficiently well, and as proof of the kindly interest she took in my welfare, and that of my mother and sister, she would be pleased to advance me, there and then, five pounds on account of my first quarter’s salary if I would undertake to send it at once, writing only a few lines to say why it had been sent, and in her presence putting the money in the envelope, sealing it and taking it directly to the gate, and giving it to any boy who might be playing in the locality to post in the letter box which we could see about a hundred yards distant. She knew it must be tiresome to a young girl
to have no companions but Agnes, so, if my mother was agreeable, I might at Christmas spend a few days with friends in London; or, if that could not be arranged, I might invite anyone to spend some time with me in her house; she would always be ready to grant me facilities to receive or visit any friend of whom my mother might approve. As to the object of her studies and work, she was gratified that I showed any interest in them. I was possessed of sufficient intelligence, she thought, to form some idea of her work from the book’s I had read to her. She was engaged in researches of a kind not understood by many, and she admitted that the methods it was necessary to adopt were not always pleasant; indeed they were viewed with such suspicion by the authorities that it was advisable ‘to work in secret, or at any rate in such a manner as would excite but little suspicion.’ She concluded, ‘I liked you, dear, from the time I first saw your portrait, and I hope some day you will be an earnest worker in the cause to which I have devoted my life.’

  “I made haste to apologise fully, and gladly availed myself of her offer to make the remittance. I thought how pleased dear mother and Maggie would be to receive my first earnings, and I took the five sovereigns to Agnes to get changed into a note by one of the tradesmen. Then I wrote my letter, and submitted it to Miss Mure, who at once approved it, though it took her some time to read it. When Agnes brought up the note I took the number and date, at Miss Mure’s suggestion, and also the name of the last owner, ‘H. Fletcher,’ scrawled on the back, and stated them upon the receipt I gave her; then in her presence and in that of Agnes I put the note and the letter in the envelope, sealed it with black wax, and at once went with Agnes to the front gate to find a boy to post it. At Miss Mure’s suggestion we stayed there, and watched him take it to and drop it in the box, then gave him another penny when he came back. I never was so pleased as when I saw the boy drop the letter in. I felt quite content to remain with Miss Mure, and I told Agnes so. She did not say anything. I added that though we had no friends in London, a friend of mine had, and no doubt I should have an invitation from them, and leave for a few days at Christmas. ‘Oh no, you won’t!’ said Agnes. ‘I’ve been here fourteen year last Febry, and it ain’t the fust time I’ve seen this trick played. Don’t I remember poor Miss Jo? Why, ‘er stood here just as you, and talked about goin’ ‘ome in a fortnight; but ‘er was took bad and died; and ‘er went ‘ome from the mortrey, ‘er did. The missis ain’t never so dangerous as when her’s nice, that’s it, miss. It ain’t her fault, but I’m sorry for yer, I am.’

  “No sooner were we back in the house than Miss Mure called me. I hastened to her, and she held out to me the note I had sent in the letter, and laughingly asked me why I had forgotten to enclose it. There it was, the number and the name both corresponded with those I had taken of the one I was sure I had enclosed to mother. ‘Have you sent the real note or only the phantom?’ she asked. I was too confused to reply. ‘Well, we will wait until we hear from your home,’ she said with a smile, and motioned me to leave the room.

  “I have had a long talk with Agnes; she refused to say anything about the event of the other evening, but says I shall ‘see what I shall see.’ I cannot make out at all what became of the other girls; but as to my fate, Agnes makes no secret of what she believes is in store for me. ‘If I was you, miss, I should pra’. I should; it can’t do no harm to you, and it’ll make yer ‘appy. Why don’t I pray? It ain’t much use prayin’ when the copper ‘ave ‘is ‘and on yer shoulder, is it? I hadn’t oughter come ‘ere, I ‘adn’t. If I’d gone to quod it’d only been for life at the wust. But Agnes Coley’d had one taste, and her d’ain’t want two, so ‘er chivvied the beak, and ‘as ‘er liberty—livin’ alone in a cellar with a bloomin’ crocerdile, that’s what ‘er’s doin’.’

  “‘But I have not “chivvied the beak,” and I am here,’ I argued.

  “”Course yer ‘aven’t. It’s yer fate, that’s all. You won’t be here for a couple o’ bloomin’ stretches fightin’ for yer livin’ with a stinkin’ crocerdile. You’ll be a hangel long afore that.’

  “’But, Agnes, tell me why must I be an angel? If what you tell me is true, I do not think poor Miss Mure and her friends want angels, they seem to choose such very opposite characters for their acquaintance.’

  “‘Look ‘ere, miss, ‘t ain’t that missis wants yer to become a hangel; yer’ll become a hangel ‘cause it’s yer nature.’

  “‘I do not understand you.’

  “‘Well, see ‘ere. S’pose—only s’pose a’ course—s’pose that there thing yer call the ‘orror were to come here, and be put in “Salymandy,” and you in “Caduceus,” with only a bit a’ tishy paper a dividin’ yer room from his ‘n. Don’t yer think yer ‘d soon be a hangel thin?’

  “I shuddered.

  “‘Yer’d better pray, miss; though it ain’t for the likes o’ me to tell you to pray—if I ‘d a pray’d for fourteen year instead o’ carryin’ on as I’ve been doin’—but there, it ain’t no use cryin’ over spilt milk.’

  “‘But why should the horror be brought here at all?’

  “’You ask that? Well, I should have thought you’d a knowed. There was poor Miss Jo, a nice girl she was, and she used to tell me that what the hinner cercle was after was the makin’ o’ summat different to ‘omunclusses, and as how, when all things was properishus, they’d try agen and agen until they did get somethin’ fresh. We was great in mandrakes in them days, miss, and some hawful things I’ve seen in this house. Poor Miss Jo, ‘er was a dear good girl, just like yerself; but I found her ‘alf dead in Caduceus, and the dwerger what used to be here ain’t been nigh since that. You do put me in mind o’ Miss Jo, miss, you do.’

  “I did not quite understand Agnes at first, but soon the import of much I had read to Miss Mure seemed clear to me.

  “You pretend to like me, Agnes, I said. Why did you not help Miss Jo, if you liked her as you say you did?”

  “‘That ‘s it, miss, I ain’t no good. When the times is properishus I could no more stir a finger to help yer than Sivvy could if yer tumbled in a vat o’ bilin’ oil.’

  “‘Then if you believe that, and wish to help me, let me escape from here at once.’ I clung to her arm, for I felt a fear I had never before experienced.

  “’No, miss, that wouldn’t save yer, and it’d be worse than death to me. I ‘an’t live ‘ere fourteen year for nothin’. I’ve ‘eard all that before. Yer a brave girl, you are, braver than Miss Jo, but I s’pose it’ll be the same with you as with the rest.’

  “We were silent for some time.

  “‘Agnes, will you tell me—will you let me know—if that thing ever comes here again?’

  “‘I can’t promise, miss.’

  “‘If only I could get a few days I could escape,’ I said in despair.

  “‘No, yer couldn’t. There was that Miss Vanover who got out of a Russian prison, trying for months to escape from ‘ere, and ‘er never could. Besides, ‘ow do you know ‘e ain’t here now? What would you do if you met ‘im on the stairs tonight.’”

  “I screamed.

  “‘Be quiet, or I’ll let Sivvy in. You ‘d better go to bed now.’

  “‘Oh, do help me, Agnes!’ I pleaded.

  “‘And ‘aven’t I helped yer? Aven’t I warned yer of yer fate? Ain’t it because I like you I’ve told yer what I ‘ave? You do what I told you.’

  “I came upstairs, and have written, and now feel more trustful. Surely mother’s prayers will avail with the good God, and His angels will guard me.

  “I slept soundly that night, but the last two days my terror has increased. I notice just those indications of a forthcoming meeting which immediately preceded the last séance, and the passages we have read in the books of magic have prepared me for the attempt which I feel certain will be made. Agnes has taken me, for the first time, into ‘Caduceus,’ and shewn me the window bars which were bent by Miss Jo in her frantic endeavours to escape, and I have peeped into the adjoining cupboard, ‘Salamander,’ which
is arranged more like a stall for a beast than a bedroom for a human creature. It is divided by the flimsiest of partitions from ‘Caduceus,’ and there is a door communicating which I could easily break down. I have a letter from mother acknowledging the receipt of my remittance, (*No money was received and no acknowledgment sent.—Maggie Gleig) and containing some words of encouragement which I shall lay to heart. I showed the letter to Miss Mure, and read it to her. She smiled and said she hoped I was now satisfied. Unfortunately I am not.

  “Last night I sustained another shock. I was again in that downstairs room where I spend so much of my time, fearing to see that horror once more, yet always on the lookout for it; it would be still worse if it came into the house unknown to me. A two-wheeled cart of funny shape, like that used for delivering pianofortes, stopped at the gate. Four men were on it. I recognised the tread of one at once, he was the burly, butcher-like man who had waited on the flags when the woman was dragged away. I was again locked in the room by Agnes, who however did not retreat to her kitchen, but fetched lights, and the men brought from the vehicle a large coffin. Their burden seemed heavy. They spoke in low whispers, and once inside the house the door was shut. Then they conveyed the coffin upstairs, and I heard their irregular tramp across the landing. From the manner in which the coffin was handled I knew that it was not empty.’

  “Did it contain the corpse of the woman whom less than a week ago I had seen forcibly dragged from the house? Or was it intended for me? Did it contain the living horror, smuggled thus into the house so that I should not know of its coming?

  “The men were not long upstairs, and soon descended and drove away. Agnes went straight to her kitchen without unfastening the door of the room in which I was. I called and knocked, but obtained no reply.

  “It was nearly midnight when the door communicating with the drawing-room opened, and Miss Mure beckoned to me to follow her. We went upstairs, and she told me that my room had been changed. I was to sleep henceforth in ‘Caduceus,’ whither my things had already been conveyed,