‘He gradually became somewhat more friendly, possibly under the influence of the supper, and when we went out into the hotel office I saw him walk up to the landlord and exchange a few words with him, evidently about myself, from the looks they cast in my direction. Mr Sykes then joined me near the stove, still clasping his precious bag, and talked for some little time pleasantly and well. By the time for retiring, we had agreed to make the trip to Milnaska and back together, as we discovered that we should neither of us have to spend more than one day there. We went to rest early agreeing to start at eight o’clock the following day.
‘The next morning broke raw and damp, and after breakfast, when Mr Sykes and I went outside to look at the roads, we saw that we should have a bad trip of it and be lucky to get through without mishap. However, we had got to go, and as we both knew the road, and the landlord knew he could trust us, we decided not to overload the buggy with a driver, but be our own charioteers. We started cheerfully enough, Mr Sykes having first carefully lashed his black bag under the seat with a stout bit of cord, and for some little time proceeded slowly along chatting pleasantly. We had taken a light lunch with us, there being no hotel on the road. We drove along for a considerable time, and having become absorbed in an energetic political discussion we did not notice what slow progress we were making. Presently, however, we awoke to the fact that at the rate we were now going we should not reach Milnaska that night and accordingly quickened our pace. But the roads were in a fearful condition and though we had been promised a good horse only a sorry jade had actually been put between the shafts.
‘We both worked, however, and worked the harder, as the rain was again beginning to fall and the wind to rise and blow in our faces, thus still further retarding our progress. Still we managed to proceed and, though I think it would have been late, yet we should have reached Milnaska that night, had not our unfortunate horse suddenly gone dead lame. Here was a predicament! We were we scarcely knew how many miles from either Little Forks or Milnaska, in the heart of the pine woods, with a broken-down horse, and night, accompanied by a violent storm, rapidly coming on.
‘After gloomily cogitating over the situation I suddenly remembered that about two-thirds of the way between Little Forks and Milnaska was an old, rambling frame house, tenanted apparently by some squatter’s family. I recollected that we had not yet passed it and, judging by the distance we had travelled that it could not be very far off, I suggested to Mr Sykes that we should make the best of our way there on foot, leading the horse, seek shelter for the night, and either borrow a new horse in the morning or try to reach Milnaska with our present steed. “I had already thought of the Joneses’ place,” said Mr Sykes in reply, “but I don’t like it, I don’t want to go there.” “Why not?” said I. “It seems to be the only place there is?” “Well, I suppose we must try it,” replied Mr Sykes.
‘We pushed on through the pouring rain and driving wind for about a mile, when at a turn in the road to my great joy I saw a light gleaming through the gathering darkness, and in a few moments we reached the door of an old-fashioned frame house. The house which we drew up before stood end on, as I afterwards discovered, to the road. It was an old, two-storey log house, of great solidity of construction, possibly having been built to resist marauding Indians, though its peculiar situation, backed up against the side of a hill, seemed to render this doubtful. At first sight it appeared much smaller than it really was, owing to its position and to the entrance being at one end. A rough, unkempt garden ran back from the road, and at one end of this were a barn and a storehouse in a very tumble-down condition.
‘As soon as we drew up at the door, there appeared from within a tall, slatternly looking woman, who stood on the threshold eyeing us in silence. I addressed her as politely as I could, asking her if we could have a night’s lodging for man and beast. For a moment she made no reply, then sullenly said, “No, you can’t.” I was so surprised at this lack of politeness that I remained speechless till presently, roused by the voices he had heard, a gaunt, powerful-looking man came up from behind the woman and stared out at us. To him I addressed myself, again asking for lodging, explaining our predicament and offering to pay well for a night’s entertainment. At first he, too, seemed inclined to refuse, when suddenly catching sight of Mr Sykes’s face behind the top of the buggy he said, “Well, I guess you can; Jenny,” turning to the woman, “we ain’t the folk to turn travellers from the door. Come in, come in, you are welcome.’ So saying he came out into the rain, helped us to alight and, ordering his wife to show us the way into the house, led off our horse towards the barn.
‘We followed the woman into the low, dirty kitchen into which the door opened and, Mr Sykes still retaining his precious bag, sat down by the fire to dry and get warm. There was nothing remarkable in the aspect of the kitchen. It was perhaps rather dirtier than most and there was a lack of the comforts and bright, pretty things frequently seen in farmers’ houses. I judged that Jones must spend most of his time hunting by the various sportsman’s accoutrements in the room, and while I was still speculating on the delights of a hunter’s existence he himself entered. “Well,” said he, “I have fixed up your horse, he’ll be all right in the morning, I guess he found these roads powerful heavy to draw you two fellows over. Are ye going to Milnaska, Mr Sykes?” he added. “Yes,” replied Mr Sykes. “Usual business I suppose this time of the month, ain’t it?” continued Mr Jones with a grin. “There’s some folk will be mighty glad to see you to Milnaska, I reckon.”
‘My companion made no reply, and our host turned to me. We quickly found a congenial subject in the shape of fishing, and I had begun to lose the instinctive dislike I had taken to the man in the discussion of a favourite topic, when we were summoned to supper by Mrs Jones. We seated ourselves at the table and were soon busy in the discussion of a plain though very welcome repast. Once during the meal my suspicions of my host were roused from the sleep into which the fishing discussion had lulled them by noticing a queer look pass between him and his wife, as they saw Mr Sykes place his black bag under his chair.
‘At the end of the meal Jones said, “I suppose, gentlemen, you are kinder cold after the rain, what do you think of a drop of the best stuff in Wisconsin?” I had no objection, and our host rose and went to a rather dark corner of the room, where he commenced fumbling in a cupboard containing quite a number of bottles. I watched and saw him take down three glasses and a demijohn of whisky. At that moment Mrs Jones dropped a plate with a a crash; I turned to look and, as I turned towards my host again, saw him coming back with the three glasses of whisky in his hand. We each took one, and I, after carefully tasting mine and finding it, as Jones had promised, excellent, drank it down. So did Mr Sykes, and as he set down his glass once more I noticed a peculiar look pass over our host’s face.
‘We sat for some little time gossiping after this, and presently Mr Sykes, who had rapidly been becoming drowsy, announced his desire to retire. I said I would go too, and Mr Jones preceded us up the narrow stairway to the upper hall. On arriving at the top of the steps for the first time I became aware of how large the house was. The stairs ran up at one end of it, and opened into a passage which led back quite a distance. I was given little time to speak to Sykes. Mrs Jones had come up with us and, addressing me, she said, “Come this way to your room.” I followed her down the whole length of the passage, having a vague consciousness that Jones had escorted Mr Sykes and his black bag into a room near the staircase, and was shown into a large, poorly furnished room at the end of the hallway. Bidding me good night in a harsh voice, Mrs Jones set down the lamp and departed.
‘My room, as I have said, was large and ill furnished. There was a repulsive-looking bed in the centre, a chair, a little table supporting a water basin and jug, and two pocket-handkerchief towels and an old wardrobe. The room smelt close, and my first move was to the window. It was with a sense of relief I threw it open and looked out. The rain had ceased, and the full moon shone brightly o
n the pine woods, which lay ghostly still. Right from under my window the ground sloped sharply upward, and I experienced a queer feeling of pleasure when I noticed that it was within easy jumping distance of my window. After a few minutes, being very sleepy, I cast off coat, waistcoat and shoes, and having fastened the door as best I could I threw myself on the bed and was soon sound asleep.
‘I awoke with a start, and with the impression firmly fixed on my mind that someone was calling me. I lay with my face to the open window, through which the moon was still streaming, making all within the room as light as day. I lay for an instant straining my ears, when again, this time unmistakably, and close to me, the voice, sounded. “Mr Larrabee,” it said, “Mr Larrabee, get up, get up quick.” The voice was faint and low; it appeared to be that of a girl, and to sound from behind me. I turned quickly, and saw standing close to my bed, and near enough for me to touch, the figure of a girl of about twelve. She was neatly and prettily dressed, and her face, as I could make out distinctly in the moonlight, was refined and gentle. Even at the time I know I thought it strange that the moonlight should be so bright as to enable me to make out her dark blue eyes and golden-coloured hair, but I could distinguish them plainly.
‘I remained lost in wonderment as to who my visitor was and how she had got in to me. I knew I had locked the door, and the window was full high for her to get in at. Besides, who was she, and why had I not seen her at supper-time? She was surely too dainty a child to be the daughter of the Joneses.
‘Whilst I still lay wondering, she spoke again. “Come, Mr Larrabee, Father’s in danger, follow me, quick, quick, quick.” There was an air of authority about her that compelled obedience, so slipping out of bed I followed her. I remember stopping to unlock my door as I went through, and noticing that no sound of steps or rustle of garments accompanied my guide’s progress.
‘But as we stole softly down the passage, my attention was attracted by a faint light in Sykes’s room. I hastened forward, thinking something was wrong, lost sight of the girl, and pushed open the door of the room. As I entered and gazed round I saw by the faint light of a lamp Mr Sykes stretched on the bed, apparently in a drugged sleep, and Jones bending over him, whilst Mrs Jones was endeavouring to force open the black bag with a knife. They gave a cry of amazement as they saw me enter, and for a moment stood paralysed; then Jones, leaving the bedside, came forward. “I heard the gentleman cry out,” said he, “Mrs Jones and I thought he was sick, and came up to do what we could for him. He is mortal bad, I am thinking.”
‘Taking no notice of this remark, I walked up to the bed, and ordering the discomfited couple to put down the bag, which Mrs Jones said she was trying to open to see if it contained medicine, and to leave the room, I pushed Mr Sykes by the shoulder, and after some trouble succeeded in arousing him from his drugged sleep. He started violently when he came to his senses and, recognising me, eagerly asked for his bag. I showed it to him, and having examined it and found it unopened he asked how I came to be there. I told him of my mysterious visitor, and of the intruders I had expelled from his room, and then for the first time I began to wonder where the girl was. She had disappeared, and I was anxious to find her, to take her away with us in the morning out of reach of the Joneses’ vengeance. “What was she like?” asked Mr Sykes. “I have never heard of anyone living in this house except the Joneses.”
‘I told him that she was golden-haired with dark blue eyes. He seemed strangely agitated. “What were the words she used?” he said. “Why,” I answered, “they were, ‘Come, Mr Larrabee, Father’s in danger, follow me quick, quick, quick.’ ” “My God,” he exclaimed, “can this be so? Mr Larrabee,” he went on earnestly, “just before you roused me, I was dreaming that my little daughter, my own little Maud, who died six months ago, was standing calling to me to wake up. I tried to do so, I struggled, for I could hear her plaintive little voice, but a weight oppressed me and I could not. It is the hand of God,” he said solemnly; and bowing his head became absorbed in prayer or meditation. I left the room, but established myself outside, where I remained on guard for the rest of the night. Early the next morning Mr Sykes joined me. “Let us leave this house,” he said, “as quickly as may be.”
‘We went downstairs, but found no one. Apparently the Joneses had fled in fear of us, and so, making the best meal we could out of the scraps in the larder, we went out to the barn and, harnessing up our horse, were soon once more on our way to Milnaska. On the road Mr Sykes informed me that he was the paymaster of the Mining Company in Milnaska, and once a month had to convey a quantity of money to that place to pay the men employed there. He was well-known on the road, but had never been molested, though he had never before tried the experiment of putting up for a night at Jones’s place. The latter had a bad character, and I heard afterwards that this last episode caused him finally to decamp from the vicinity with his wife. We met with no further adventure, and arrived in Milnaska in due course, where I parted from Mr Sykes, not without the assurance of seeing him again whenever I might be in Chicago.’
‘That is the story of my late friend, Mr Larrabee,’ said Mr Smithson. ‘I believe him to have been a truthful man, and I consequently for one believe in ghosts.’
This dogma we none of us felt inclined to dispute, especially as the welcome call, ‘Dinner now ready in the dining-car’, was heard approaching.
The Steps
The following story purports to be the actual experience of one of our leading medical men, who, during the late war, attained considerable eminence in the treatment of nervous diseases and affections of the brain. The earlier part of the tale has been collected from other sources for the purpose of bringing about the necessary explanations of the experience itself.
At the beginning of the war, Sir Arthur H. was living with his wife and only unmarried daughter at their place in Hampshire. Sir Arthur was a soldier, and soon after the outbreak of hostilities was despatched to a command Overseas, leaving Lady and Miss H. in charge of Atherfield Court, which is situated in an accessible and pleasant part of Hampshire. The advantages of the neighbourhood caused it to be selected by the War Office as the site for an instructional camp for the new Army, and the quiet lanes around Atherfield were soon alive with khaki-clad men, exotic-looking mules and motor vehicles of every type and size. Lady and Miss H. were both of them anxious to take their place in giving pleasure to our young soldiers, and besides occasional entertainments for the men, they threw open the doors of the Court to the officers of their acquaintance, who were cordially invited to bring their friends with them.
Among the officers so brought was a certain Captain X., a man slightly older than most of the officers of his rank and an agreeable, cultivated and travelled man. He was very popular in his Mess and had the reputation of being a capable officer, but no one knew much about him. Like so many other of the men who came to the aid of the old country from Overseas, he had no friends in England and if he had family ties here he never spoke of them.
At first he was very much liked by both Lady and Miss H., and was a very welcome visitor; but after a time the two ladies reached the conclusion that, charming and well-educated as he was, he lacked that indescribable something which characterises a gentleman. However, they did not vary their hospitality towards him on that account, and he became gradually one of their most frequent visitors.
This state of things was interrupted after a time by Captain X. proposing marriage to Miss H., a proposal which she promptly and emphatically declined. Thereupon he ceased for a while to visit the Court, but after a certain interval once more reappeared there and gradually resumed his old habit of frequent visits. The ladies did not greatly like this, and endeavoured by a colder manner towards him to discourage any intimacy; and matters remained on this slightly strained footing until Lady H. learned that the battalion to which Captain X. was attached, having completed its training, was about to proceed to France.
A few days before it left Captain X. called, ostensibly to
make his farewells, but to the surprise and annoyance of Miss H. he seized an opportunity and once more offered himself as a suitor for her hand. She repulsed him firmly and finally, and a somewhat unpleasant scene took place, Captain X. vowing that come what might he intended to marry her and that, though she might refuse him now, a time would come when he would carry his point. Naturally angered, Miss H. replied equally emphatically that no earthly power would force her to marry him, and the two parted on very strained terms. A few days later the battalion went abroad, nothing further having been heard at Atherfield of Captain X., and in fact nothing more was heard from him.
For some little time various officers of the battalion who had been entertained by the H.’s kept up a desultory correspondence with them, and very occasionally one or other of them mentioned Captain X.’s name, but he himself neither wrote nor sent any message to Atherfield, and gradually the memory of him became dim, to Lady H. at any rate. Miss H., if indeed she ever thought of him, never spoke of him, and the whole episode of his acquaintance seemed in a fair way to be forgotten.
About a year later Lady H. and her daughter were sitting in the drawing-room at Atherfield, the former busily writing letters for the afternoon post and the latter immersed in a book. Both were silent and deeply intent on their respective occupations. Suddenly Miss H. started and, laying down her book, exclaimed: ‘Who can that be coming down the passage?’ adding after a moment’s pause, ‘It sounds like that horrid Captain X.’s footsteps.’
Lady H., who had heard nothing, looked up from her letters, saying placidly: ‘That is quite impossible, my dear, and I do not think there is anybody in the passage, at least I hear no one.’
In Ghostly Company (Tales of Mystery & The Supernatural) Page 8
