 Story 18 of 30 Ghost Stories by Various Authors. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. THE GHOST OF WASHINGTON It was early on Christmas morning when John Riley wheeled away from a picturesque little village where he had passed the previous night, to continue his cycling tour through eastern Pennsylvania. Today his intention was to stop at Valley Forge, and then to ride up the Schoolkill Valley, visiting in turn the many points of historical interest that lay along his route. Valley Forge, his road map indicated, was but a short distance further on. All round him were the hills and fields and roads over which Washington and his half-starved army had forged and roamed throughout the trine winter of 1777-78, 126 years ago. It was a beautiful Christmas day truly, and as he wheeled along, young Riley's thoughts were almost equally divided between the surrounding pleasant scenery and the folks at home, who he knew very well, were assembling at just about the present time round a heavily laden Christmas tree in the front parlor. The sun rose higher and higher, and Riley peddled on down the valley, passing every now and then quaint, pleasant-looking farmhouses, many of which, no doubt, had been built anterior to the period which had given the vicinity its history. Arriving finally at a place where the road forked off in two directions, Riley was puzzled which way to go on. There happened to be a dwelling close by. Accordingly he dismounted, left his wheel leaning against a gatepost at the site of the road, and walked up a wretchedly flagged walk leading to the house, with the idea of getting instructions from its inmates. Situated in the center of an unkept field of ranked grass and weeds, the building lay back from the highway probably 150 feet. It was long and low in shape, containing but one story, and having what is termed a gabled roof, for which there must have been an attic of no mean size. On coming close to the house, a fact Riley had not noticed from the road became plainly evident. It was deserted. He saw that the roof and side shingles were in rigid condition, that the window sashes and frames as well as the doors and door frames were missing from the openings in the side walls where once they had been, and that the entire side of the house, including that part of the stone foundation which showed above the ground, was full of cracks and seams. At first on the point of turning back, he concluded to see what the interior was like anyway. Accordingly he went inside. Glancing around the large dust-filled room he had entered, his gaze at first failed to locate any object of the least interest. A rickety appearing set of steps went up into the attic from one side of the apartment and over in one corner was a large open fireplace, from the walls of which much of the brickwork had become loosened and fallen out. Riley had started up the steps toward the attic. When happening to look back for an instant, his attention was attracted to a singular looking, jug-shaped bottle, no larger than a vinegar-cruet, which lay upon its side on the hearth of the fireplace, partly covered up by debris of loose bricks and mortar. He hastened back down the steps and crossed the room, taking the bottle up in his hand and examining it with curiosity. Being partly filled with a liquid of some kind or other, the bottle was very soon uncorked and held under the young man's nose. The liquid gave forth a peculiar, pungent and inviting odor. Without further hesitation Riley's lips sought the neck of the bottle. It is hardly possible to describe the pleasure and satisfaction his senses experienced as he drank. While the liquid was still gurgling down his throat, a heavy hand was placed most suddenly on his shoulder and his body was given a violent shaking. The bottle fell to the floor and was broken into a hundred pieces. Hello! said a rough voice, almost in Riley's ear. Who are you anyway, and what are you doing within the lines? A spy, I'll be bound. As most assuredly there had been no one else in the vicinity of the building when he had entered it, and with equal certainty no one had come down the steps from the attic. Riley was naturally surprised and mystified by this unexpected assault. He struggled instinctively to break loose from the unfriendly grasp, and when he finally succeeded, he twist his body around so that he faced across the room. Immediately he made the remarkable discovery that there were four other persons in the apartment, three uncouth-looking fellows habited in fantastic but ragged garments, and a matronly-looking woman, the latter standing over a wash tub which had been elevated upon two chairs in a corner near the fireplace. To all appearance the woman had been busy at her work, and had stopped for the moment to see what the men were going to do. Her waist-sleeves were rolled up to the shoulders and her arms dripped with water and soap-suds. Over the tops of the tubs, partly filled with water, there were visible the edges of several well-soaked fabrics. To add to his astonishment he noticed that in the chimney place, which a moment before was falling apart, but now seemed to be clean and in good condition, a cheerful fire burned, and that above the flames was suspended an iron pot, from which issued a jet of steam. He also noticed that the entire appearance of the room had undergone a great change. Everything seemed to be in good repair, tidy and neat, the ceilings, the walls in the door, even the stairway leading to the attic. The openings in the walls were fitted with window sashes and well-painted doors. The apartment had in fact evolved under his very eyesight from a state of absolute ruin into one of excellent preservation. All of this seemed so weird and uncanny that Riley stood for a moment or two in the transformed apartment, utterly dumbfounded, with his mouth wide open and his eyes all but popping out of his head. He was brought to his senses by the fellow who had shaken him growlingly out. Come, explain yourself. An explanation is due me, Riley managed to gasp. Don't bandy words with the rascal, Harry, one of the other men spoke up. Bring him along to headquarters. Thereupon, without further parlay, the three men marched Riley in military fashion into the open air and down to the road. Here he picked up at the gate post his bicycle, while they unstacked a group of three old-fashioned-looking muskets located close by. When the young man had entered the house a few minutes before, this stack of arms had not been there. He could not understand it. Neither could he understand, on looking back at the building as he was marched off down the road, the mysterious agency that had transformed his dilapidated exterior, just as it had been the interior, into a practically new condition. While they trudged along, the strangers exhibited a singular interest in the wheel Riley pushed at his side, running their coarse hands over the frame and handle-bar, and acting on the whole as though they never before had seen a bicycle. This in itself was another surprise. He had hardly supposed there were three men in the country so totally unacquainted with what is a most familiar piece of mechanism everywhere. At the same time that they were paying so much attention to the wheel, Riley in turn was studying with great curiosity his singular-looking captors. Rough, unprepossessing appearing fellows they were, large of frame and unshaven, and a must be added, dirty of face. What remained of their very ragged clothing he had already noticed, was of a most remarkable cut and design, resembling closely the garments worn by the continental militiamen in the War of Independence. The hats were broad, low of crown, and three cornered in shape. The trousers were buff-colored and extended at the knees, and the long, blue, spiked-tailed coats were flapped over at the extremities of the tails, the flaps being fastened down with good-sized brass buttons. Leather leggings were strapped around cow-hide boots, through the badly worn feet of which, in places where the leather had cracked open, the flesh unprotected by stockings could be seen. Dressed as he was, in a cleanly, gray cycling costume, Riley's appearance, most assuredly, was strongly in contrast to that of his companions. After a brisk walk of twenty minutes, during which they occasionally met and passed by one or two or perhaps a group of men clothed and outfitted like Riley's escorts, the little party followed the road up a slight incline and around a well-wooded bend to the left, coming quite suddenly, and to the very captive, very unexpectedly, to what was without a doubt a military encampment. A village, in fact, composed of many rows of small log-huts. Along the streets, between the buildings, muskets were stacked in hundreds of places. Over in one corner, on a slight eminence commanding the road up which they had come, and cleverly hidden from it behind trees and shrubbery, the young man noticed a battery of field-pieces. Wherever the eye was turned on this singular scene were countless numbers of soldiers all garmented in three-cornered hats, spiked tailed coats and knee-bridges, walking lazily hither and thither, grouped around crackling fires, or parading up and down the streets and platoons under the guidance of ragged but stern-looking officers. Harry stopped the little procession of four in front of one of the larger of the log-houses. Then, while they stood there, the long blast from a bugle was heard, followed by the roll of drums. A minute or two afterward, several companies of militia marched up and grounded their arms, forming three sides of a hollow square around them, the fourth and open side being toward the log-house. Directly succeeding this maneuver there came through the doorway of the house and stepped up, the center of the square, stopping directly in front of Riley, a dignified-looking person, tall and straight and splendidly proportioned of figure, and having a face of great nobility and character. The cold chills chased one another down Riley's back, his limbs swayed and tottered beneath his weight. He had never experienced another such sensation of mingled astonishment and fright. He was in the presence of General Washington. Not a phantom Washington, either, but Washington in the flesh and blood, as material and earthly as a being as ever crossed a person's line of vision. Riley, in his time, had seen so many portraits, marble busts and statues of the great commander, that he could not be mistaken. Recovering the use of his faculties, which for the moment he seemed to have lost, Riley did the very commonplace thing that others before him have done when placed unexpectedly in remarkable situations. He pinched himself to make sure that he was in reality wide awake and in the natural possession of his senses. He felt like pinching the figure in front of him also, but he could not muster up the courage to do that. He stood there trying to think it all out, and as his thoughts became less stagnant, his fright dissolved under the process of reasoning his mind pursued. To reason a thing out, even though an explanation can only be obtained by leaving much of the subject unaccounted for, tends to make one bolder and less shaky in the knees. The series of strange incidents which he was experiencing had been inaugurated in the old-fashioned dwelling he had visited after information concerning the roads. And everything had been going along in a perfectly normal way up to the very moment when he had taken a drink from the bottle found in the fireplace. But from that precise time everything had gone wrongly. Hence the inference that the drinking of the peculiar liquid was accountable in some way or other for his troubles. There was a supernatural agency in the whole thing. That much must be admitted. And whatever that agency was, and however it might be accounted for, it had taken Riley back into a period of time more than a hundred years ago, and landed him, body and soul, within the lines of the patriotic forces wendering at Valley Forge. He might have stood there, turning over and over in his mind, pinching himself and muttering, all the morning, had not the newcomer ceased a silent but curious inspection of his person, and asked, Who are you, sir? John Riley, at your pleasure, the young man replied, adding a question on his own account. And who are you, sir? Immediately he received a heavy thump on his back from Harry's hard fist. It is not for you to question the general, the ragged administrator of the blow exclaimed. And it is not for you to be so gay, Riley returned angrily, giving the blow back with added force. Here, here, broke in the first questioner. Fistic cuffs under my very nose. No more of this. I command you both. To Harry he added in an extra caution. Your zeal in my behalf will be better appreciated by being less demonstrative. Blows should be struck only on the battlefield. To Riley he said, with a slight smile hovering over his face. My name is Washington. Perhaps you may have heard of me. To this, Riley replied, I have indeed, and heard you very well spoken of too. Emboldened by the other smile, he ventured another question. I think my reckoning of the day and year is badly at fault. An hour ago I thought the day was Christmas Day. How far out of the way did my calculation take me, sir? The day is indeed Christmas Day, and the year is, as you must know, the year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-seven. Riley again pinched himself. Why do you bring this man to me? Washington now inquired, turning to Harry and his companions. He is a spicer, said Harry. That is a lie, Riley indignantly interpolated. I have done nothing to warrant any such charge. We found him in the widow Robbins' house, pouring strong liquor down his throat. I had gone inside after information concerning the roads. Which he was getting from a bottle, sir. If drinking from a bottle of necessity constitutes being a spy, I fear our camp is already a hotbed. Washington somewhat sagelary marked, casting his eye around slyly at his officers and men. Tell me, he went on, with sudden sternness, looking Riley through and through, as though to read his very thoughts. Is the charge true? Do you come from how? The charge is not true, sir. I come from no one. I'm simply making a tour of pleasure through this part of the country on my bicycle. With the country swarming with the men from two hostile armies, any kind of tour, save one of absolute necessity, seems ill-timed. When I said out I knew nothing about any armies. The fact is, sir, Riley started to make an explanation, but he checked himself on realizing that the telling of any such improbable yarn would only increase the hazardousness of his position. Well, Washington questioned in a tone of growing suspicion. I certainly did not know that your army or any other army was quartered in this vicinity. Riley hesitated for lack of something further to say. You see, he finally added, prompted by a happy idea. I rode my wheel from New York. You may have come from New York, though it is hard to believe you came on that singular-looking machine so great a distance. Where is the horse which drew the vehicle? Riley touched his bicycle. This is the horse, sir, just as it is, the vehicle, he said. The man is crazy, Harry exclaimed. Washington only looked the incredulity he felt, and this time asked a double question. How can the thing be balanced without it being held upright by a pair of shafts from a horse's back, and how was the motive power acquired? For an answer Riley jumped upon the wheel, and at a considerable speed and in a haphazard way peddled around the place within the hollow square of soldiers. Hither and thither he went, at one second nearly wheeling over the toes of the line of astonished, if not frightened, militiamen. At the next bearing suddenly down on Harry and his companions, and making them dance and jump almost alertly to avoid a collision. Even the dignified Washington was once or twice put to the necessity of dodging hurriedly aside when his equilibrium was threatened. Riley eventually dismounted, doing so with assumed clumsiness by stopping the wheel at Harry's back and falling over heavily against the soldier. Harry tumbled to the ground, but Riley dexterously landed on his feet. At once he began offering a profusion of apologies. You did that by design, Harry shouted, jumping to his feet. His face was red with anger, and he shook his fist threateningly at the bicyclist. Washington commanded the man to hold his peace. Then to Riley he expressed a great surprise at his performance, and a desire to know more about the bicycle. The young man thereupon described the machine minutely, lifting it into the air and spinning the wheels to illustrate how smoothly they rotated. I can see it is possible to ride the contrivance with rapidity. It has been put together with wonderful ingenuity, Washington said, when Riley had replaced the wheel on the ground. And you, sir, it is but a toy, an officer spoke up. Put our friend on this bundle of tin and race him against one of our horsemen, and he would make a sorry showing. Riley smiled. I bear the gentleman no ill will for his opinion, he said. Still I would like to show him by a practical test of the subject that his ignorance of it is most profound. You would test the speed of the machine against that of a horse, Washington said in amazement. I would, sir, you have a good road yonder. With your permission and a worthy opponent I would make the test at once. But, sir, the man is a spy, Harry broke in. Would it not be better to throw a rope around his neck and give him his desserts? The charge is by no means proven, Washington replied. Nor can it be until a court-martial convenes this afternoon. And I see no reason why we may not in the meantime enjoy the unique contest which has been suggested. It will make a pleasant break in the routine of camp life. A murmur of approval went up from the masses of men, by whom they were surrounded. While they had been talking it seemed as though everybody in the camp, not already on the scene, had gathered together behind the square of infantry. Then, sir, Harry said, with some eagerness, I would like to be the man to ride the horse. There is no better animal than mine anywhere, and I understand his tricks and humours quite well enough to put him to his best pace. I confess I have heard you well spoken of as a horseman, Washington said. Be away with you. Saddle and bridle your horse at once. It was the chain of singular circumstances narrated above which brought John Riley into the most remarkable contest of his life. He had entered many bicycle races at one time or another, always with credit to himself and to the club whose colours he wore. And he had every expectation of making a good showing to-day. Yet a reflection of the weird conditions which had brought about the present contest took away some of his self-possession when a few minutes later he was marched over to the turnpike and left to his own thoughts, while the officers were pacing out a one-mile straight-away course down the road. After the measurement had been taken, two unbroken lines of soldiers were formed along the entire mile, a most evident precaution against Riley leaving the race course at any point to escape across the fields. Washington came up to him again, when the preparations were completed, to shake his hand and whisper a word or two of encouragement in his ear. Having performed these kindly acts, he left to take up a position near the point of finish. The beginning of the course was located close to the battery of half-concealed field-pieces. Riley was now conducted to this place. Shortly afterward Harry appeared on his horse. He leered at the bicyclists contemptuously and said something of a sarcastic nature, partly under his breath when the two lined up, side by side, for the start. To these slides Riley paid no heed. He had a strong belief that when the race was over there would be left in the mutton-like head of his opponent very little of his present inclination toward the humorous. The soldier's mount was a handsome black mare, fourteen and a half hands high, strong of limbs and at the flanks, and animated by a spirit that kept her prancing around with continuous action. It must be admitted that the man rode very well. He guided the animal with ease and nonchalance when she reared and plunged, and kept her movements confined to an incredibly small piece of ground, considering her abundance of action. Keep to your own side of the road throughout the race. I don't want to be collided with by your big beast, Riley cautioned while they were awaiting two signals from the starter. To this Harry replied in some derision, I'll give you a good share of the road at the start, and all of it by my dust, too, afterward. And then the officer who held the pistol fired the first shot. Riley was well satisfied with the conditions under which the race was to be made. The road was wide and level, smooth, hard, and straight, and a strong breeze which had sprung up blew squarely against his back. His wheel was geared up to eighty-four inches, the breeze promised to be a valuable adjunct in pushing it along. Awaiting the second and last signal, Riley glanced down the two blue ranks of soldiers, which stretched away into lazy lines in the distance and converged at the termination of the course, where a flag had been stuck into the ground. The soldiers were at parade rest. Their unceasing movements as they chatted to one another, turning their bodies this way and that and craning their heads forward to look toward the starting point, and then jerking them back, made the lines seem like long, squirming snakes. At the end of the course a thick bunch of military men clogged the road and overspread into the fields. Crack! The signal to be off. Riley shoved aside the fellow who had been holding his wheel upright while astride of it and pushed down on the pedals. The mare's hoofs dug the earth, her great muscular leg straightened out. She sprang forward with a snort of apparent pleasure, taking the lead at the very start. Riley heard the shout of excitement run along the two ranks of soldiers. He saw them waving their arms and hats as he went by. And on ahead through the cloud of dust there was visible the shadow-like outlines of the snorting, galloping horse, whose hoof beats sounded clear and sharp above the din, which came from the sides of the highway. The mare crept farther and farther ahead. Very soon a hundred feet or more of the road lay between her and the bicyclist. Harry turned in his saddle and called out another sarcasm. I shall pass you very soon. Keep to your side of the road, Riley shouted. Not a bit daunted by the way the race had commenced. His head was well down over the handlebars. His back had the shape of the upper portion of an immense egg. Up and down his legs moved, faster and faster and faster yet. He went by the soldiers so rapidly that they only appeared by two streaks of blurry color. Their sharp rasping, shout, sounded like cracking of musketry. The cloud of dust blew against the bicyclist's head and into his mouth and throat. When he glanced ahead again he saw with satisfaction that the mare was no longer increasing her lead. It soon became evident even that he was slowly cutting down the advantages she had secured. Harry again turned his head shortly afterward, doubtless expecting to find his opponent hopelessly distanced by this time. Instead of this Riley was alarmingly close upon him. The man ejaculated a sudden oath and lashed his animal furiously. Straining every nerve and sinew the mare for the moment pushed further ahead. Then her pace slackened a bit and Riley again crept up to her. Closer and closer to her than before, until his head was abreast of her outstretched tail. Harry was lashing the mare and swearing at her unceasingly now. But she had spurred at once and appeared to be incapable of again increasing her speed. In this way she went on for some little distance. Harry, using his whip brutally, the mare desperately struggling to attain a greater pace. Riley hanging on with tenacity to her hind flanks and giving up not an inch of ground. A mile is indeed a very short distance when traversed at such a pace. The finishing flag was already, but a few hundred feet farther on. Riley realized that it was time now to go to the front. He gritted his teeth together with determination and bent his head down even further toward his front wheel. Then his feet began to move so quickly that there was only visible and indistinct blur at the sides of his crankshaft. At this very second, with a face marked with rage and hatred, Harry brought his horse suddenly across the road to that part of it which he had been warned to avoid. It is hard to tell what kept Riley from being run into and trampled underfoot. An attempt at backpedaling, a sudden twist of the handlebar, allerged to one side that almost threw him from his seat. Then, in the fraction of a second he was over on the other side of the road, pushing ahead of the mare, almost as though she were standing still. The outburst of alarm from the throats of the soldiers changed when they saw that Riley had not been injured. First into a shout of indignation at the dastardly attempt which had been made to run him down, and then into a roar of delight when the bicyclist rested the flag, a winner of the race by twenty feet. As he crossed the line, Riley caught a glimpse of Washington. He stood close to the flag and was waving his hat in the air with enthusiasm of a schoolboy. Riley went down the road, slackening his speed as effectively as he could. But before it was possible to entirely stop his wheels' momentum, the noisy acclamations in his rear ceased with startling suddenness. He turned in his saddle and looked back. As sure as St. Peter, he had the road entirely to himself. There wasn't a soldier or a ghost of a soldier in sight. As soon as he could he turned his bicycle about and rode back along the highway, now so singularly deserted, looking hither and thither in vain for some trace of the vanished army. Even the flag which had been stuck into the ground at the end of the one-mile race course was gone. The breeze had died out again and the air was tranquil and warm. In the branches of a nearby tree two sparrows chirped and twitted peacefully. Riley went back to the place where the camp had been. He found their only open fields on one side of the road and a clump of woodland on the other. He continued on down the little hill, up which Harry and his companions had brought him a few hours previously, and followed the road on further, coming finally to the fork in it near which was located the old farmhouse, wherein he had been taken captive. The house was, as it had been, when he had previously entered it, falling apart from age and neglect. When he went inside he found line on the brick hearth in front of the fireplace, a number of pieces of broken glass. End of Story 18 Story 19 of 30 Go stories by various authors. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. His Dead Wife's Photograph This story created a sensation when it was first told. It appeared in the papers and many big physicists and natural philosophers were, at least so they thought, able to explain the phenomenon. I shall narrate the event and also tell the reader what explanation was given, and let him draw his own conclusions. This is what happened. A friend of mine, a clerk in the same office as myself, was an amateur photographer. Let's call him Jones. Jones had a half-plate, Sanders' camera with a Ross lens and a Thornton Picard behind Len's shutter, with pneumatic release. The plate in question was a Raton's Ordinary, developed with Ilford Pyro Soda Developer Prepared at Home. All these particulars I give for the benefit of the more technical reader. Mr. Smith, another clerk in our office, invited Mr. Jones to take the likeness of his wife and sister-in-law. This sister-in-law was the wife of Mr. Smith's elder brother, who was also a government servant, then on leave. The idea of the photograph was that of the sister-in-law. Jones was a keen photographer himself. He had photographed everybody in the office, including the peons and sweepers, and had even supplied every sitter with his copies of his handiwork. So he most willingly consented, and anxiously waited for the Sunday on which the photograph was to be taken. Early on Sunday morning Jones went to the Smiths. The arrangement of light in the veranda was such that a photograph could only be taken after midday, so he stayed there to breakfast. About one in the afternoon all arrangements were complete, and the two ladies, Mrs. Smith's, were made to sit in two cane-chairs, and after long and careful focusing, and moving the camera for about an hour, Jones was satisfied at last and an exposure was made. After Jones was sure that the plate was all right, and so a second plate was not exposed, although in the usual course of things this should have been done. He wrapped up his things and went home, promising to develop the plate the same night, and bring a copy of the photograph the next day to the office. The next day, which was Monday, Jones came to the office very early, and I was the first person to meet him. Well, Mr. Photographer, I asked, what's success? I got the picture all right, said Jones, unwrapping an unmounted picture and handing it over to me. Most funny, don't you think so? No, I don't think it's all right. At any rate I did not expect anything better from you, I said. No, said Jones. The funny thing is that the two ladies sat. Quite right, I said. The third stood in the middle. There was no third lady at all there, said Jones. Then you imagine she was there, and there we find her. I tell you, there were only two ladies there when I exposed, insisted Jones. He was looking awfully worried. Do you want me to believe that there were only two persons when the plate was exposed and three when it was developed? I asked. That is exactly what has happened, said Jones. Then it must be the most wonderful developer you used, or was it that this was the second exposure given to the same plate? The developer is the one which I have been using for the last three years, and the plate, the one I charged on Saturday night out of the new box that I had purchased only on Saturday afternoon. A number of other clerks had come up in the meantime, and were taking great interest in the picture and in Jones' statement. It is only right that a description of the picture be given here for the benefit of the reader. I wish I could reproduce the original picture, too, but that for certain reasons is impossible. When the plate was actually exposed there were only two ladies, both of whom were sitting in cane chairs. When the plate was developed it was found that there was in the picture a figure, that of a lady, standing in the middle. She wore a broad-edged dodie. The reader should not forget that all the characters are indents, only the upper half of her body being visible, the lower being covered up by the low backs of the cane chairs. She was distinctly behind the chairs, and consequently slightly out of focus. Still everything was quite clear. Even her long necklace was visible through the little opening in the dodie near the right shoulder. She was resting her hands on the back of the chairs, and the fingers were nearly totally out of focus, but a ring on the right finger was clearly visible. She looked like a handsome young woman of twenty-two, short and thin. One of the earrings was also clearly visible, although the face itself was slightly out of focus. One thing, and probably the funniest thing, that we overlooked then but observed afterwards, was that immediately behind the three ladies was a barred window. The two ladies, who were one on each side, covered up the bars to a certain height from the bottom with their bodies, but the lady in the middle was partly transparent because the bars of the window were very faintly visible through her. This fact, however, as I have said already, we did not observe then. We only laughed at Jones and tried to assure him that he was either drunk or asleep. At this moment Smith of our office walked in, removing the trouser clips from his legs. Smith took the unmounted photograph, looked at it for a minute, turned red and blue and green, and finally very pale. Of course, we asked him what the matter was, and this was what he said. The third lady in the middle was my first wife, who has been dead these eight years. Before her death she asked me a number of times to have her photograph taken. She used to say that she had a pre-sentiment, that she might die early. I did not believe in her pre-sentiment myself, but I did not object to the photograph. So one day I ordered the carriage and asked her to dress up. We intended to go to a good professional. She dressed up and the carriage was ready, but as we were going to start news reached us that her mother was dangerously ill. So we went to see her mother instead. The mother was very ill, and I had to leave her there. Immediately afterwards I was sent away on duty to another station, and so could not bring her back. It was, in fact, after full three months and a half that I returned and then thought her mother was all right, my wife was not. Within fifteen days of my return she died of perpural fever, after childbirth and the child died, too. A photograph of her was never taken. When she dressed up for the last time on the day that she left my home, she had the necklace and the earrings on, as you see, her wearing in the photograph. My present wife has them now, but she does not generally put them on. This was too big a pill for me to swallow, so I at once took French leave from my office, bagged the photograph, and rushed out on my bicycle. I went to Mr. Smith's house and looked Mrs. Smith up. Of course she was much astonished to see a third lady in the picture, but could not guess who she was. This I had expected, as supposing Smith's story to be true. This lady had never seen her husband's first wife. The elder brother's wife, however, recognized the likeness at once, and she virtually repeated this story which Smith had told me earlier that day. She even brought out the necklace and the earrings for my inspection and conviction. They were the same as those in the photograph. All the principal newspapers of that time got hold of the fact, and within a week there was any number of applications for the ghostly photograph. But Mr. Jones refused to supply copies of it to anybody for various reasons, the principal being that Smith would not allow it. I am, however, the fortunate possessor of a copy, which, for obvious reasons, I am not allowed to show to anybody. One copy of the picture was sent to America and another to England. I do not now remember exactly to whom. My own copy I showed to the Reverend Father, MA, DSC, BD, etc., and asked him to find out a scientific explanation for the phenomenon. The following explanation was given by the gentleman. I am afraid I shall not be able to reproduce the Learn Father's exact words, but this is what he meant, or at least what I understood him to mean. The girl in question was dressed in this particular way on an occasion, say, ten years ago. Her image was cast on space, and the reflection was projected from one luminous body, one planet, on another till it made a circuit of millions and millions of miles in space, and then came back to earth at the exact moment when our friend Mr. Jones was going to make the exposure. Take, for instance, the case of a man who was taking a photograph of a mirage. He is photographing Place X from Place Y. When X and Y are, say, two hundred miles apart, and it may be that his camera is facing east while placing X is actually towards the west of Place Y. In school I had read a little of science and chemistry, and could make a dry analysis of assault, but this was an item too big for my limited comprehension. The fact, however, remains, and I believe it, that Smith's first wife did come back to this terrestrial globe of hours over eight years ago after her death to give a sitting for a photograph in a form which, though it did not affect the retina of our eye, did impress a sensitized plate, in a form that did not affect the retina of the eye. I say, because Jones must have been looking at his sitters at the time when he was pressing the bulb of the pneumatic release of his time an instantaneous better. The story is most wonderful, but this is exactly what happened. Smith says this is the first time he has ever seen or heard from his dead wife. It's popularly believed in India that a dead wife gives a lot of trouble if she ever revisits this earth, but this is, thank God, not the experience of my friend Mr. Smith. It is now over seven years since the event mentioned above happened, and the dead girl has never appeared again. I would very much like to have a photograph of the two ladies taken once more, but I have never ventured to approach Smith with a proposal. In fact, I learnt photography myself with a view to take the photograph of the two ladies, but as I have said, I have never been able to speak to Smith about my intention and probably never shall. The ten pounds that I spent on my cheap photographic outfit may be a waste, but I have learnt an art which, though rather costly for my limited means, is nevertheless an art worth learning. End of Story 19 Story 20 of 30 Goals Stories by Various Authors This Libra Vox recording is in the public domain. The Major's Lease by S. McCurgy A curious little story was told the other day in a certain civil court in British India. A certain military officer, let's call him Major Brown, rented a house in one of the big containment stations where he had been recently transferred with his regiment. This gentleman had just arrived from England with his wife. He was the son of a rich man at home, and so he could afford to have a large house. This was the first time he had come out to India, and was consequently rather unacquainted with the manners and customs of this country. Major Brown took this house on a long lease and thought he had made a bargain. The house was large and stood in the center of a very spacious compound. There was a garden which appeared to have been carefully laid out once. But as the house had no tenant for a long time, the garden looked more like a wilderness. There were two very well kept lawn tennis courts, and these were a great attraction to the Major, who was very keen on tennis. The stabblings and outhouses were comodious, and the Major, who was thinking of keeping a few polo-ponies, found the whole thing very satisfactory. Over and above everything he found the landlord very obliging. He had heard on board the steamer, on his way out, that India landlords were the worst class of human beings one could come across on the face of this earth, and that is very true. But this particular landlord looked like an exception to the general rule. He consented to make, at his own expense, all the alterations that the Major wanted him to do. And these alterations were carried out to Major and Mrs. Brown's entire satisfaction. On his arrival in this station, Major Brown had put up at a hotel, and after some alternations had been made he ordered the house to be furnished. This was done in three or four days, and then he moved in. Annexed is a rough sketch of the house in question. The house was a very large one, and there was a number of rooms, but we have nothing to do with all of them. The spots Mark C and E represent the doors. Now what happened in court was this. After he had occupied the house for not over three weeks, the Major and his wife cleared out and took shelter again in the hotel from which they had come. The landlord demanded rent for the entire period, stipulated for in the lease, and the Major refused to pay. The matter went to court. The presiding judge, who was an Indian gentleman, was one of the cleverest men in the service, and he thought it was a very simple case. When the case was called on, the plaintiff's pleader said that he would begin by proving the lease. Major Brown, the defendant, who appeared in person, said that he would admit it. The judge, who was a very kind-hearted gentleman, asked the defendant why he had vacated the house. I could not stay, said the Major. I had every intention of living in the house. I got it furnished and spent two thousand rupees over it. I was laying out a garden. But what do you mean by saying that you could not stay? If your honor passed a night in that house, you would understand what I meant, said the Major. You take the oath and make a statement, said the judge. Major Brown then made the following statement on oath in open court. When I came to the station, I saw the house and my wife liked it. We asked the landlord whether he would make a few alterations and he consented. After the alterations had been carried out, I executed the lease and ordered the house to be furnished. A week after the execution of the lease we moved in. The house is very large. Here followed a description of the building. But to make matters clear in short, I have copied out a rough pencil sketch which is still on the record of the case and marked the doors and rooms, as the Major had done, with letters. I do not dine at the mess. I have an early dinner at home with my wife and retire early. My wife and I sleep in the same bedroom, the room marked G on the plan, and we are generally in bed about eleven o'clock at night. The servants all go away to the outhouses which are at a distance of about forty yards from the main building. Only one jamadar, porter, remains in the front veranda. This jamadar also keeps an eye on the whole main building. Besides I have got a good, faithful watchdog which I brought out from home. He stays outside with the jamadar. For the first fifteen days we were quite comfortable. Then the trouble began. One night before dinner my wife was reading a story, a detective story, of a particularly interesting nature. There were only a few more pages left, and so we thought she would finish them before we put out the reading lamp. We were in the bedroom, but it took her much longer than she had expected at wood, and so it was actually a half an hour after midnight when we put out our sixteen candle-power reading lamp which stood on a teapoy near the head of the beds. Only a small bedroom lamp remained. But though we put out the light we did not fall asleep. We were discussing the cleverness of the detective and the folly of the thief who had left a clue behind, and it was actually two o'clock when we pulled our rugs up to our necks and closed our eyes. At that moment we heard footsteps of a number of persons walking along the corridor. The corridor runs the whole length of the house as will appear from the rough sketch. This corridor was well carpeted. Still we heard the tread of a number of feet. We looked at the door, see. This door was closed but not bolted from inside. Slowly it was pushed open. And horror of horrors! Three shadowy forms walked into the room. One was distinctly the form of a white man in European night attire, another the form of a white woman, also a night attire, and the third was the form of a black woman, probably an Indian nurse or aya. We remained dumb with horror, as we could see clearly that these unwelcome visitors were not of this world. We could not move. The three figures passed right around the beds as if searching for something. They looked into every nook and corner of the bedroom and then passed into the dressing room. Within half a minute they returned and passed out into the corridor in the same order in which they had come in. Namely, the man first, the white woman next, and the black woman last of all. We lay as if dead. We could hear them in the corridor and in the bedroom adjoining, with the door E, and in the dressing room attached to that bedroom. They again returned and passed into the corridor, and then we could hear them no more. It must have taken me at least five minutes to collect my senses and to bring my limbs under control. When I got up I found that my wife had fainted. I hurried out of the room, rushed along the corridor, opened the front door and called the servants. The servants were all approaching the house across the land which separated the servants' quarters from the main building. Then I went into the dining room and procuring some brandy, gave it to my wife. It was with some difficulty that I could make her swallow it, but it revived her and she looked at me with a bewildered smile on her face. The servants had in the meantime arrived and were in the corridor. Their presence had the effect of giving us some courage. Leaving my wife in bed I went out and related to the servants what I had seen. The Chakadar, the Night Watchman, was an old resident of the compound. In fact he had been in charge of the house when it was vacant, before I rented it, gave me the history of the ghost, which my Jamadar interpreted to me. I have brought the Chakadar and shall produce him as my witness. This was the statement of the Major. Then there was the statement of Jokai Pasi, Chakadar, Defendant's Witness. The statement of this witness, as recorded, was as follows. My age is sixty years. At the time of the end in mutiny I was a full grown young man. This house was built at that time. I mean two or three years after the mutiny. I have always been in charge. After the mutiny one judge came to live in the house. He was called Judge Parson, probably Pearson. The judge had to try a young Mohammedan charged with murder, and he sentenced the youth to death. The aged parents of the young man vowed vengeance against the good judge. On the night following the morning on which the execution took place, it appeared that certain undesirable characters were prowling about the compound. I was then the watchman in charge as I am now. I woke up the end in nurse who slept with the judge's baby in a bedroom adjoining the one in which the judge himself slept. On waking up she found that the baby was not in its cot. She rushed out of the bedroom and informed the judge and his wife. Then a feverish search began for the baby, but it was never found. The police were communicated with and they arrived at about four in the morning. The police inquiry lasted for about half an hour and then the officers went away promising to come again. At last the judge, his wife, and nurse all retired to their respective beds where they were found lying dead later in the morning. Another police inquiry took place, and it was found that the death was due to snakebite. There were two small punctures on one leg of each victim. How a snake got in and killed each victim in turn, especially when two slept in one room and a third in another, finally got out, has remained a mystery. But the judge, his wife, and the nurse are still seen on every Friday night looking for the missing baby. One rainy season the servants' quarters were being re-roofed. I had then an occasion to sleep in the corridor, and thus I saw the ghosts. At that time I was afraid as the major sahib is to-day, but then I soon found out that the ghosts were quite harmless. This was the story as recorded in court. The judge was a very sensible man. I had the pleasure and honour of being introduced to him about twenty years after this incident. And with a number of people, he decided to pass one Friday night in the haunted house. He did so. What he saw does not appear from the record, for he left no inspection notes and probably he never made any. He delivered judgment on Monday following. It is a very short judgment. After reciting the facts the judgment proceeds. I have recorded the statements of the defendant and a witness produced by him. I have also made a local inspection. I find that the landlord, the plaintiff, knew that for certain reasons the house was practically uninhabitable, and he concealed that fact from his tenant. He therefore could not recover. The suit is dismissed with costs. The haunted house remained untenanted for a long time. The proprietor subsequently made a gift of it to a charitable institution. The founders of this institution, who were Hindus and firm believers in charms and exorcisms, had some religious ceremony performed on the premises. Afterwards the house was pulled down and on its site now stands one of the grandest buildings in the station that cost fully ten thousand pounds. Only this morning I received a visit from a gentleman who lives in the building, referred to above, but evidently he is not even heard of the ghosts of the judge, his wife, and his indenaya. It is now nearly fifty years, but the missing baby has not been heard of. If it is alive it has grown into a fully developed man. But does he know the fate of his parents and his nurse? In this connection it will not be out of place to mention a fact that appeared in the paper some years ago. A certain European gentleman was posted to a district in the madras presidency as a government servant in the financial department. When this gentleman reached the station to which he had been posted he put up at the club, as they usually do, and began to look out for a house, when he was informed that there was a haunted house in the neighborhood. Being rather skeptical he decided to take this house, ghost or no ghost. He was given to understand by the members of the club that this house was a bit out of the way, and was infested at night with thieves and robbers, who came to divide their booty in that house, and to guard against its being occupied by a tenant it had been given a bad reputation. The proprietor being a wealthy old native of the old school did not care to investigate. So our friend, whom we shall, for the purpose of this story, call Mr. Hunter, took the house at a fair rent. The house was in charge of a Chattacar, caretaker Porter Watchman, when it was vacant. Mr. Hunter engaged the same man as Night Watchman for this house. This Chakadar informed Mr. Hunter that the ghost appeared only one day in the year, namely the 21st of September, and added that if Mr. Hunter kept out of the house on that night there would be no trouble. I always keep away on the night of the 21st September, said the Watchman. And what kind of ghost is it? asked Mr. Hunter. It is a European lady dressed in white, said the man. What does she do? asked Mr. Hunter. Oh, she comes out of the room and calls you and asks you to follow her, said the man. Has anybody ever followed her? Nobody that I know of, sir, said the man. The man who was here before me saw her and died from fear. Most wonderful! But why do not people follow her in a body? asked Mr. Hunter. It is very easy to say that, sir, but when you see her you will not like to follow her yourself. I have been in this house for over twenty years. Lots of times European soldiers have passed the night of the 21st September, intending to follow her, but when she actually comes nobody has ever ventured. Most wonderful! I shall follow her this time, said Mr. Hunter. As you please, sir, said the man, and retired. It was one of the duties of Mr. Hunter to distribute the pensions of all retired government servants. In this connection Mr. Hunter used to come in contact with a number of very old men in the station who attended his office to receive their pensions from him. By questioning them Mr. Hunter got so far that the house had once been occupied by a European officer. This officer had a young wife who fell in love with a certain Captain Leslie. One night when the husband was out on tour, and not expected to return within a week, his wife was entertaining Captain Leslie. The gentleman returned unexpectedly, and found his wife in the arms of the Captain. He lost his self-control and attacked the couple with a meat chopper, the first weapon that came handy. Captain Leslie moved away, and then cleared out, leaving the unfortunate wife at the mercy of the infuriated husband. He aimed a blow at her head which she warded off with her hand, but so severe was the blow that the hand was cut off, and the woman fell down on the ground quite unconscious. The sight of blood made the husband mad. Subsequently the servants came up and called a doctor, but by the time the doctor arrived the woman was dead. The unfortunate husband who had become raving mad was sent to a lunatic asylum and thence taken away to England. The body of the woman was in the local cemetery, but what had become of the severed hand was not known. The missing limb was never found. All this was fifty years ago, that is, immediately after the Indian mutiny. This was what Mr. Hunter gathered. The twenty-first September was not very far off. Mr. Hunter decided to meet the ghost. The night in question arrived, and Mr. Hunter sat in his bedroom with his magazine. The lamp was burning brightly. The servants had all retired, and Mr. Hunter knew that if he called for help nobody would hear him, and even if anybody did hear he too would not come. He was, however, a very bold man, and set there awaiting developments. At one in the morning he heard footsteps approaching the bedroom from the direction of the dining-room. He could distinctly hear the rustle of the skirts. Gradually the door between the two rooms began to open wide. The curtains began to move. Mr. Hunter sat with straining eyes and beating heart. At last she came in, the English woman in flowing white robes. Mr. Hunter sat panting unable to move. She looked at him for about a minute, and beckoned him to follow her. It was then that Mr. Hunter observed that she had only one hand. He got up and followed her. She went back to the dining-room and he followed her there. There was no light in the dining-room, but he could see her faintly in the dark. She went right across the dining-room to the door on the other side, which opened on the veranda. Mr. Hunter could not see what she was doing at the door, but he knew she was opening it. When the door was open she passed out and Mr. Hunter followed. Then she walked across the veranda, down the steps, and stood upon the lawn. Mr. Hunter was on the lawn in a moment. His fears now completely vanished. She next proceeded along the lawn in the direction of a hedge. Mr. Hunter also reached the hedge and found that under the hedge were concealed two spades. The gardener must have been working with them and left them there after the day's work. The lady made a sign to him and he took up one of the spades. Then again she proceeded and he followed. They had reached some distance in the garden when the lady, with her foot indicated a spot, and Mr. Hunter inferred that she wanted him to dig there. Of course, Mr. Hunter knew that he was not going to discover a treasure trove, but he was sure he was going to find something very interesting. So he began digging with all his vigor. Only about eighteen inches below the surface the blade struck against some hard substance. Mr. Hunter looked up. The apparition had vanished. Mr. Hunter dug on and discovered that the hard substance was a human hand with the fingers and everything intact. Of course the flesh had gone. Only the bones remained. Mr. Hunter picked up the bones and knew exactly what to do. He returned to the house, dressed himself up in his cycling costume and rode away with the bones and the spade to the cemetery. He waked the night watchman, got the gate opened, found out the tomb of the murdered woman, and closed to it and turd the bones, that he had found in such a mysterious fashion, reciting as much of the service as he could remember. Then he paid some buksis, reward, to the night watchman and came home. He put back the spade in its old place and retired. A few days after he paid a visit to the cemetery in the daytime and found that grass had grown on the spot which he had dug up. The bones had evidently not been disturbed. The next year, on the 21st December, Mr. Hunter kept up the whole night, but he had no visit from the ghostly lady. The house is now in the occupation of another European gentleman who took it after Mr. Hunter's transfer from the station, and this new tenant had no visit from the ghost either. Let us hope that she now rests in peace. The following extract from a Bengal newspaper that appeared in September, 1913, is very interesting and instructive. The following extraordinary phenomenon took place at the Hooghly Police Club Building, Shinshura, at about midnight on last Saturday. At this late hour of the night some peculiar sounds of agony on the roof of the house aroused the resident members of the club, who at once proceeded to the roof with lamps and found to their entire surprise a lady clad in white jumping from the roof to the ground, about a hundred feet in height, followed by a man with a dagger in his hands. But eventually no trace of it could be found on the ground. This is not the first occasion that such beings are found to visit this house, and it is heard from a reliable source, that long ago a woman committed suicide by hanging, and it is believed that her spirit loitered around the building. As these incidents have made a deep impression upon the members, they have decided to remove the club from the said buildings. End of Story 20 Story 21 of Thirty Ghost Stories by various authors. The open door, by S. Mukherjee. Here again is something that is very peculiar and not very uncommon. We, myself and three friends of mine, were asked by another friend of ours to pass a week's holiday at the suburban residence of the last named. We took an evening train after the office hours and reached our destination at about ten thirty that night. The place was about sixty miles from Calcutta. Our host had a very large house with a number of disused wings. I do not think many of my readers have any idea of a large residential house in Bengal. Generally it is a quadrangular sort of thing, with a big yard in the center which is called the Angan or Uthin, a courtyard. On all sides of the courtyard are rooms of all sorts of shapes and sizes. There are generally two stories, the lower used as kitchen, go down, storeroom, etc., and the upper is bedrooms, etc. Now this particular house of our friend was of the kind described above. It stood on extensive grounds wooded with fruit and timber trees. There was also a big tank, a miniature lake in fact, which was the property of my friend. There was good fishing in the lake and that was the particular attraction that had drawn my other friends to this place. I myself was not very fond of angling. As I have said, we reached this place about ten thirty at night. We were received very kindly by the father and the mother of our host, who were a very jolly old couple, and after a very late supper, or shall I call it dinner, we retired. The guest rooms were well furnished and very comfortable. It was a bright moonlight night and our plan was to get up at four in the morning and go to the lake for angling. At three in the morning the servants of our host woke us up. They had come to carry our fishing gear, and we went to the lake which was a couple of hundred yards from the house. As I have said it was a bright moonlight night in summer, and the outing was not unpleasant after all. We remained on the bank of the lake till about seven in the morning, when one of the servants came to fetch us for our morning tea. I may as well mention here that breakfast in India generally means a pretty heavy meal at about ten a.m. I was the first to get up, for I have said already that I was not a worthy disciple of Isaac Walton. I wound up my line and walked away, carrying my rod myself. The lake was towards the back of the house. To come from the lake to the front of it we had to pass along the whole length of the buildings. See rough plan above. As would appear from the plan we had to pass along the shady footpath, A, B, C, D, E. There was a turning at each point, B, C, D, and E. The back row of rooms was used for go-downs, storerooms, kitchens, etc. One room, the one with the door marked star, at the corner, was used for storing a number of door frames. The owner of the house, our host's father, had at one time contemplated adding a new wing, and for that purpose the door frames had been made. Then he gave up the idea and the door frames were kept stored up in that corner room, with a door on the outside marked star. Now as I was walking ahead I reached the turning B first of all, and it was probably an accident that the point of my rod touched the door. The door flew open. I knew this was an unused portion of the house, and so the opening of the door surprised me to a certain extent. I looked into the room and discovered the wooden door frames. There was nothing peculiar about the room or its contents either. When we were drinking our tea five minutes later I casually remarked that they would find some of the door frames missing as the door of the room in which they were kept had been left open all night. I did not at that time attach any importance to a particular look in the eyes of the old couple, my host's father and mother. The old gentleman called one of the servants and ordered him to bolt that door. When we were going to the lake in the evening I examined the door and found it had been closed from the inside. The next morning we went out of fishing again, and we were returning for our tea at about seven in the morning. I was again ahead of all the rest. As I came along, this time intentionally I gave a push to the door with my rod. It again flew open. This is funny, I thought. At tea I reported the matter to the old couple, and then I noticed with curiosity their embarrassed look of the day before. I therefore suggested that the servants intentionally left the door open, and one morning they would find the door frames stored in the room gone. At this the old man smiled. He said that the door of this particular room had remained open for the last fifteen years, and the contents had never been disturbed. On our pressing him why the door remained open, he admitted with greatly reluctance that since the death of a certain servant of the household, in that particular room fifteen years ago the outer door had never remained closed. You may close it yourself and see, suggested the old gentleman. We required no further invitation. Immediately we all went to that room to investigate, and find out the ghost if he remained indoors during the day. But Mr. Ghost was not there. He has gone out for his morning constitutional, I suggested, and this time we shall keep him out. Now this particular room had two doors and one window. The window and one door were on the courtyard side of the room, and communicated with the courtyard. The other door led to the grounds outside, and this last was the haunted door. We opened both the doors and the window and examined the room. There was nothing extraordinary about it. Then we tried to close the haunted door. It had warped probably by being kept open for fifteen years. It had two very strong bolts on the inside, but the lower bolt would not go within three inches of its socket. The upper one was very loose and a little continuous thumping would bring the bolt down. We thought we had solved the mystery thus. The servants only closed the door by pushing up the upper bolt. At night the wind would shake the door and the bolt would come down. So this time we took good care to use the lower bolt. Three of us pushed the door with all our mind, and one man thrust the lower bolt into a socket. It hardly went in a quarter of an inch, but still the door was secure. We then hammered the bolt in with bricks. In doing this we broke about a half a dozen of them. This will explain to the reader how much strength it required to drive the bolt in about an inch and a half. Then we satisfied ourselves that the bolt could not be moved, without the aid of a hammer and a lever. Afterwards we closed the window and the other door and securely locked the last. Thus no human being could open the haunted door. Before retiring to bed after dinner we further examined both doors once more. They were all right. The next morning we did not go out for fishing, so when we got up at about five in the morning, the first thing we did was go and examine the haunted door. It flew in at the touch. We then went inside and examined the other door and the window which communicated with the courtyard. The window was as secure as we had left it, and the door was chained from the outside. We went round into the courtyard and examined the lock. It did not appear to have been tampered with. The old man and his wife met us a tea as usual. They had evidently been told everything. They, however, did not mention the subject, neither did we. It was my intention to pass a night in that bedroom, but nobody would agree to bear me company, and I did not quite like the idea of passing a whole night in that ugly room. Moreover, my host would not have heard of it. The mystery of the open door has not yet been solved. It was about twenty years ago that what I have narrated above happened. I am not sure that the mystery will ever be solved. In this connection it will not be out of place to mention another incident with regard to another family and another house in another part of Bengal. Once while coming back from Darjeeling, the summer capital of Bengal, I had a very garrulous old gentleman for a fellow traveller in the same compartment. I was reading a copy of the occult review, and the title of the magazine interested him very much. He asked me what the magazine was about, and I told him. He then asked me if I was really interested in ghosts and their stories. I told him that I was. In our village we have a gentleman who has a family ghost, said my companion. What kind of thing is a family ghost? I asked. All the ghost comes and has his dinner with my neighbour every night, said my companion. Really? It must be a very funny ghost, I said. That is a fact. If you stay for a day in my village you will learn everything. I at once decided to break my journey in the village. It was about two in the afternoon when I got down at the railway station, procured a hackney carriage, and, ascertaining the name and address of the gentleman who had the family ghost, separated from my old companion. I reached the house in about twenty minutes, and told the gentleman that I was a stranger in those parts, and as such craved leave to pass the rest of the day and the night under his roof. I was a very unwelcome guest, but he could not kick me out, as the moral code would not permit it. He, however, shrewdly guessed why I was anxious to pass the night at his house. Of course, my host was very kind to me. He was a tolerably rich man, with a large family. Most of his sons were grown up young men who were at college in Calcutta. The younger children were of course at home. At night when we sat down to dinner I gently broached the subject by hinting at the rumor I had heard that his house was haunted. I further explained to him that I had only come to ascertain if what I had heard was true. He told me, of course it was very kind of him, that the story about the dinner was false, and what really happened was this. I had a younger brother who died two years ago. He was of a religious turn of mind, and passed his time in reading religious books and writing articles about religion in papers. He died suddenly one night. In fact he was found dead in his bed in the morning. The doctor said it was due to failure of heart. Since his death he has come and slept in the room, which was his when he was alive and is his still. All that he takes is a glass of water fetched from the sacred river Ganges. We put the glass of water in the room and make the bed every evening. The next morning the glass is found empty and the bed appears to have been slept upon. But why did you begin? I asked. Oh! One night he appeared to me in a dream, and asked me to keep the water and a clean bed in the room. This was about a month after his death, said my host. Has anybody ever passed a night in the room to see what really happens, I asked. His young wife, or rather widow, passed a night in that room. The next morning we found her on the bed, sleeping, dead from heart failure, so the doctors said. Most wonderful and interesting, I remarked. Nobody has gone to that part of the house since the death of the poor young widow, said my host. I have got all the doors of the room securely screwed up except one, and that too is kept carefully locked, and the key is always with me. After dinner my host took me to the haunted room. All arrangements for the night were being made, and the bed was neat and clean. A glass of the Ganges water was kept in a corner with a cover on it. I looked at the doors, they were all perfectly secure. The only door that could open was then closed and locked. My host smiled at me sadly. We won't do all this uselessly, he said. This is a very costly trick if you think it's a trick at all, because I have to pay to the servants double the amount that others pay in this village, otherwise they would run away. You can sleep at the door and see that nobody gets in at night. I said, I believe you most implicitly, and need not take the precaution suggested. I was then shown into my room and everybody withdrew. My room was four or five apartments off, and of course these apartments were to be unoccupied. As soon as my host and the servants had withdrawn, I took up my candle and went out to the locked door of the ghostly room. With lighted candle I covered the back of the lock with a thin coating of soot or lamp-black. Then I scraped off a little dried-up whitewash from the wall and sprinkled the powder over the lamp-black. If anybody disturbs the lock at night I shall know it in the morning, I thought. Well, the reader could guess that I had not a good sleep that night. I got up at about 4.30 in the morning and went to the locked door. My seal was intact. That is, the lamp-black with the powdered lime was there just as I had left it. I took out my handkerchief and wiped the lock clean. The whole operation took about five minutes. Then I waited. At about five my host came and a servant with him. The locked door was opened in my presence. The glass of water was dry, and there was not a drop of water in it. The bed had been slept upon. There was a distinct mark on the pillow where the head should have been, and the sheet too looked as if somebody had been in the bed the whole night. I left the same day by the afternoon train having passed about twenty-three hours with the family in the haunted house. End of Story XXI. Story XXII of Thirty Ghost Stories by Various Authors. This Libra Vox recording is in the public domain. What Uncle Saw by S. McCurgy. This story need not have been written. It is too sad and too mysterious, but since reference has been made to it in this book it is only right that reader should know this sad account. Uncle was a very strong and powerful man, and used to boast a good deal of his strength. He was employed in a government office in Calcutta. He used to come to his village home during the holidays. He was a widower with one or two children, who stayed with his brother's family in the village. Uncle had no bedroom of his own since his wife's death. When every paid us a visit one of us used to place his bedroom at Uncle's disposal. It is a custom in Bengal to sleep with one's wife and children in the same bedroom. So whenever Uncle turned up I used to give my bedroom to him as I was the only person without children. On such occasions I slept in one of the by-thacks, drying rooms. A by-talk is a drying room and a guest room combined. In rich Bengal families of the orthodox style the by-talk or by-talk conna is a very large room, generally devoid of all furniture, having a rich thick carpet on the floor with a clean sheet upon it, and takyas, pillows all around the wall. The elderly would sit on the ground and lean against their takyas, while we, the younger lot, sat upon the takyas and leaned up against the wall, which in the case of a particular room in our house was covered with some kind of yellow paint, which did not come off on the clothes. Sometimes a takya would burst and the cotton stuffing inside would come out, and then the old servant, his status is that of an English butler, his duty to prepare the hook off for the master, would give us a chase with a lotty, stick, and the offender would run away, and not return until all incriminating evidence had been removed, and the old servant's wrath had subsided. Well, when Uncle used to come I slept in the by-talk, and my wife slept somewhere in the Zanana, I never inquired where. On this particular occasion Uncle missed the train by which he usually came. It was the month of October, and he should have arrived at 8 p.m. My bed had been made in the by-talk, but the 8 p.m. train came and stopped and passed on, and Uncle did not turn up. So we thought he had been detained for the night. It was the Durga Pooja season, and some presents for the children at home had to be purchased, and we thought, that was what was detaining him. And so about 10 p.m. we all retired to bed. The bed that had been made for me in the by-talk remained there for Uncle in case he turned up by the 11 p.m. train. As a matter of fact, we did not expect him till the next morning. But as misfortune would have it, Uncle did arrive by the 11 o'clock train. All the household had retired, and though the old servant suggested that I should be waked up, Uncle would not hear of it. He would sleep in the bed originally made for me, he said. The bed was in the central by-talk or hall. My Uncle was very fond of sleeping in side-rooms. I do not know why. Anyhow, he ordered the servant to remove his bed to one of the side-rooms. Accordingly the bed was taken to one of them. One side of that room had two windows opening on the garden. The garden was more a park-like place, rather neglected but still well wooded, abounding in jacked fruit trees. It used to be quite shady and dark during the day there. On this particular night it must have been very dark. I do not remember now whether there was a moon or not. Well, Uncle went to sleep and so did the servants. It was about eight o'clock the next morning when we thought that Uncle had slept long enough, and we went to wake him up. The door connecting the side-room with the main by-talk was closed, but not bolded from inside, so we pushed the door open and went in. Uncle lay in bed panting. He stared at us with eyes that saw but did not perceive. We at once knew something was wrong. On touching his body we found that he had a high fever. We opened the windows, and it was then that Uncle spoke. Don't open it or it would come in. What would come in, Uncle? What, we asked. But Uncle had fainted. The doctor was called in. He arrived about ten in the morning. He said it was a high fever due to what he could not say. All the same he prescribed a medicine. The medicine had the effect of reducing the temperature, and at about six in the evening consciousness returned. Still he was in a very weak condition. The medicine was given to Indu sleep and he passed the night well. We nursed him by turns at night. The next morning we all had the satisfaction of seeing him all right. He walked from the bedroom, though still very weak, and came to the central by-talk, where he had tea with us. It was then that we asked what he had seen and what he had meant by it would come in. Oh, how we wish we had never asked him the question, at least then. This is what he said. After I had gone to bed I found that there were a few mosquitoes, and so I could not sleep well. It was about midnight when they gradually disappeared and then I began to fall asleep. But just as I was dozing off I heard somebody strike the bars of the windows thrice. It was like three distinct strokes, with a cane on the gradings outside. Who is there, I asked, but no reply. The striking stopped. Again I closed my eyes and again the same strokes were repeated. This time I nearly lost my temper. I thought it was some urchin of the neighborhood in a mischievous mood. Who is there, I again shouted. Again no reply. The striking however stopped. But after a time it commenced afresh. This time I lost my temper completely and opened the window, determined to thrash anybody whom I found there, forgetting that the windows were barred and fully six feet above the ground. Well in the darkness I saw, I saw. Here Uncle had a fit of shivering and panting, and within a minute he lost all consciousness. The fever was again high. The doctor was summoned but this time his medicine did no good. Uncle never regained consciousness. In fact, after twenty-four hours he died of heart failure the next morning, leaving his story unfinished and without in any way giving us an idea of what terrible thing which he had seen beyond the window. The whole thing remains a deep mystery, and unfortunately the mystery will never be solved. Nobody has ventured to pasanite in the side-room since then. If I had not been a married man with a very young wife I might have tried. One thing however remains, and it is this, that though Uncle got all the fright in the world in that room he neither came out of that room nor called for help. One cry for help and the whole household would have been awake. In fact there was a servant within thirty yards of the window which Uncle had opened, and this man says he heard Uncle open the window and close and bolted again, though he had not heard Uncle's shouts of, Who is there? Only this morning I read this funny advertisement in the morning post. Hunted houses, manned and wife, cultured and traveled, gentle people, having lost fortune ready to act as caretakers and to investigate in view of removing trouble. Well, in a haunted house these gentle people expect to see something. Let us hope they will not see what our Uncle saw or what the Major saw. This advertisement clearly shows that even in countries like England haunted houses do exist, or at least houses exist which are believed to be haunted. If what we see really depends on what we think or what we believe, no wonder that there are so many more haunted houses in India than in England. This reminds me of a very old incident of my early school days. A boy was really caught by a ghost and then there was trouble. We shall not forget the thrashing we received from our teacher in the school, and the fellow who was actually caught by the ghost, if ghost it was, will never say in future that ghosts don't exist. In this connection it may not be out of place to narrate another incident, though it does not fall within the same category with the main story that has this chapter. The only reason why I do so is that the facts tally in one respect, though in one respect only, and that is that the person who knew would tell nothing. This was a friend of mine who was a widower. We were in the same office together and he occupied a chair and a table next but one to mine. This gentleman was in her office for only six months after narrating the story. If he had stayed longer we might have got out his secret, but unfortunately he went away. He has gone so far from us that probably we shall not meet again for the next ten years. It was in connection with the Smith's dead wife's photograph, controversy that one day one of my fellow clerks told me that a visit from a dead wife was nothing very wonderful, as our friend Harlal could testify. I always took a lot of interest in ghosts and their stories. So I was generally at Harlal's desk cross-examining him about this affair. At first the gentleman was very uncommunicative, but when he saw I would give him no rest he made a statement which I have every reason to believe is true. This is more or less what he says. It was about ten years ago that I joined this office. I have been a widower ever since I left college. In fact I married the daughter of a neighbor when I was at college and she died about three years afterwards, when I was just thinking of beginning life in right earnest. She has been dead these ten years and I shall never marry again. A young widower in good circumstances in Bengal is as rare as a blue rose. I have a suite of bachelor rooms in Calcutta, but I go to my suburban home on every Saturday afternoon and stay there till Monday morning. That is, I pass my Saturday night and the whole of Sunday in my village home every week. On this particular occasion nearly eight years ago, that is, about a year and a half after the death of my young wife, I went home by an evening train. There is any number of trains in the evening and there is no certainty by which train I go, so if I am late, generally everybody goes to bed with the exception of my mother. On this particular night I reached home rather late. It was the month of September, and there had been a heavy shower in the town and all the tram-car services had been suspended. When I reached the railway station I found that the trains were not running to time either. I was given to understand that a tree had blown down against the telegraph wire, and so the signals were not going through. And as it was rather dark, the trains were only running on the report of a motor trolley that the line was clear. Thus I reached home about eleven instead of eight in the evening. I found my father also sitting up for me, though he had had his dinner. He wanted to learn the particulars of the storm at Calcutta. Within ten minutes of my arrival he went to bed, and within an hour I finished my dinner and retired for the night. It was rather stuffy and the bed was damp as I was perspiring freely, and consequently I was not feeling inclined to sleep. A little after midnight I felt that there was somebody else in the room. I looked at the closed door. Yes, there was no mistake about it. It was my wife, my wife who had been dead these eighteen months. At first I was, well, you can guess my feeling, then she spoke. There is a cool bed-mat under the bedstead. It is rather dusty, but it will make you comfortable. I got up and looked under the bedstead. Yes, the cool bed-mat was there right enough, and it was dusty too. I took it outside and I cleaned it by giving it a few jerks. Yes, I had to pass through the door at which she was standing within six inches of her. Don't put any questions. Let me tell you as much as I like. You will get nothing out of me if you interrupt. Yes, I passed a comfortable night. She was in that room for a long time, telling me lots of things. The next morning my mother inquired with whom I was talking and I told her a lie. I said I was reading my novel aloud. They all know it at home now. She comes and passes two nights with me in the week when I am at home. She does not come to Calcutta. She talks about various matters and she is happy. Don't ask me how I know that. I shall not tell you whether I have touched her body because that will give rise to further questions. Everybody at home has seen her, and they all know what I have told you, but nobody has spoken to her. They all respect and love her. Nobody is afraid. In fact, she never comes except on Saturday and Sunday evenings and that when I am at home. No amount of cross-examination, coaxing or inducement made my friend Harlal say anything further. This story in itself would not probably have been delivered, but after the incident of his dead wife's picture nobody believed it, and there is no reason why anybody should. Harlal is not a man who would tell yarns, and then I have made inquiries at Harlal's village where several persons know this much, that his dead wife pays him a visit twice every week. Now that Harlal is five hundred miles from his village home, I do not know how things stand, but I am told that this story reached the ears of the Barasahib, and he asked Harlal if he would object to a transfer, and Harlal told him that he would not. I shall leave the reader to draw his own conclusions.