 Nothing has proved more indispensable to the progress of humanity than fire. Neither has anything been more violently destructive. And especially as this true when, as on at least one remarkable occasion, flames ceased to be the man's servant and seemed to acquire a spirit and a will of their own. In England, during the middle of the 19th century, it was customary for housewives to fumigate their homes with burning sulfur. And so there was nothing extraordinary in the fact that on the 12th of August 1856, a maid named Anne Fenimore, employed in the home of Mrs. Moulton of Bedford, she'd have been tending an earthenware jar from which rose hot sulfurous fumes. Mrs. Moulton, Mrs. Moulton, I spilled the fire right on the floor. Oh, goodness. But don't just stand there, good. And so the flames were speedily smothered. A half hour later, when Anne Fenimore went upstairs to clean, she smelled a hint of smoke and opening the door to the master bedroom, she saw where it originated. The net is, the net is is burning. This time, the maid did not wait. She went into action herself and within a few moments the fire was extinguished. Anne, Anne, come here quickly. I need help. Where are you? Throughout the remainder of the day and during the day that followed, the two women rushed from one part of the house to the other, putting out fires. And then, on the evening of the second day, Mr. Moulton, who had been on a business trip to Ireland, returned home. It was raining when he arrived at the station, but the time he reached his house, his clothes were quite damp. His wife met him at the door. You'd better change your clothes, dear, and then come right down. I have something very, very odd to tell you. In a few moments, Mr. Moulton had returned to the living room and was listening to his wife's story. But, Mrs. Ambassador's Harriet, it's... I know, dear. It's almost as if... Well, as if some sort of evil spirit were at large in the house. Evil spirit? Oh, come now, Harriet. Obviously, all the fires are somehow related to the first one. Perhaps there were sparks that managed to, well, to spread without your noticing. Oh, dear, no, pardon me. Yes, what is it then? The mast is closed. The ones that we line up in the bedroom. I just found a man all burned to a crisp. Before another day had passed, the strange events in the Moulton home were known to the whole community. Neighbors dropped in and then departed in haste for, during their brief stay, not only the chairs in which they sat, but even the handkerchiefs they drew from their pockets burst into flames. The most prominent physician in the town provided what he felt was a reasonable solution to the mystery. Fumes, infamable, sulfurous fumes, had permeated the entire house. How could he be right when some things that burned weren't even in the house? We took the best self out in the yard just to save it. It burned too. And Mr. Moulton pointed out a rather serious flaw in the physician's logic. But it just so happens that such fumes are oxides and oxides are not infamable. I know it sounds ignorant and superstitious, but I can't help feeling that there was a spirit and evil spirit at work. More than 40 fires occurred in the house and all but the first one seemed to flare up spontaneously without cause, without human intervention. Perhaps it is a sign of ignorance and superstition to attribute them to a spirit, a non-human agent, but no other adequate solution has been offered to this remarkable mystery. A mystery incredible but true.