Other Stories of Haunted Houses

A MAGISTRATE’S STORY

THIS comes from a Justice of the Peace in the Western Counties:

Retiring to bed one Sunday night to my room situate off a rather long landing in an old farmhouse near here, I slept from about 10:30 p.m. to about 1:30 a.m. I was then awakened by hissing noises—very similar to those made by a flock of geese—coming from the landing. This was followed by footsteps proceeding to a spare room at the end of the landing. The footsteps died away, and immediately there commenced a violent rattling of empty milk pans and other odd things stored in that room. The footsteps would again be heard, and this was followed by severe shaking of my own and other bedroom doors in the house. I sat up in bed and tried to call to the person in the next room, but found I was unable to do so, apparently from shock. These noises continued without a break until 4 a.m. Then the footsteps seemed to go along the landing, down the stairs, across the hall, and through the front door, which seemed to close with a huge bang. When all seemed quiet again I gained courage enough to go downstairs, and found the house in order as at the time of retiring to bed, and, stranger still, the front door was still bolted and barred as usual on the inside. The rest of the household had heard exactly the same sounds as myself. Some who had come to stay in the house for a holiday hurriedly returned to their homes in Birmingham the same morning, thus losing their proposed fortnight's stay. I also changed my residence, and did not sleep in the house again.

Moreover, I knew personally a tenant of the same house who heard strange noises there; he actually sat up at nights with a friend to try and find out the cause and went so far as to take up the flooring. The mysterious noises both in my own case and on three other occasions within twelve months could never be explained, and to-day I am unable to offer any solution.

THE MISSING PAPERS

I can vouch (writes a clergyman from Yorkshire) for the truth of the following story:—

A clergyman of the Church of England was asked to preach at some special services in the Midlands. He spent the weekend with the local squire, and when he came to take his departure he said to his host, “Would you mind letting one of your servants take me round the house?” “Certainly, I'll show you round myself.” The clergyman was shown all over the mansion, but was still unsatisfied. “There's still a room in the house that I have not seen, and I want to see it.” The squire protested that he had been all over the house, but the clergyman was obdurate. At length the squire remembered an old disused attic. “But,” said he, “no one has been there for years.” “I want to see that attic.” Accordingly the door of this attic was forced open, and the party made their way in. “Ah, this is the room,” said the vicar, “and somewhere in this room there is a cupboard—there it is. I want it opened.”

The cupboard was forced open and a bundle of papers fell at the feet of the vicar, who picked them up and handed them to the squire. The squire opened them and uttered a gasp of astonishment. “Why, these are the deeds of my estate. I have been searching for them for months. Had I not found them very soon the chances are that I should have been involved in serious financial loss. But how did you know they were here?”

“I didn’t know they were here,” said the vicar slowly, “but last night I was conscious of the presence of someone in my room, and I became aware that somewhere in this house was a room I wanted to see, in which was a cupboard I wanted to open.”

THE HAUNTED LANE AT HENDON

THE district between Hendon and Kingsbury is believed to be haunted.

Thirty-five years ago, Welsh Harp Fair was bigger than to-day. On Bank Holidays I used to visit friends at Neasden,

near Wembley, and we boys used to walk across the fields to Hendon.

The homeward road (Cool Oak-lane), after crossing the Welsh Harp, wound up a hill between tall dark trees and silent ponds, and past the blank wall of the grounds surrounding a large house.

Although only five miles from the Marble Arch, it was very lonely: being cut off from London by the Harp, a sheet of water a mile long.

The people of Neasden believed that the road was haunted. I remember the boys speaking of actually seeing a tall white ghost. This story may have been originated in the contrast between the brilliantly illuminated fair and the dark country road. Of course, the fair was not always on, so there was some other reason for the superstition. Anyhow, the neighbourhood is unchanged, and the children of to-day keep away from the place at nights.

CHESHIRE

SOME years ago, I, with my wife and family, lived in a house which was undoubtedly haunted. One day, my wife was in the hall with the baby in her arms when, suddenly, a figure in white appeared, and she had to draw to one side to allow it to pass her. She saw the same apparition on several occasions and, later, a nurse, who we had in the house during my wife's illness, also saw it at different times. One day she was in the bathroom when the figure appeared, walked through the room, opened the door, and passed out. On another occasion she was having breakfast in the nursery adjoining the bedroom when she saw a figure in white standing in the doorway. She thought it was my wife who had got out of bed against instructions, and she immediately went into the room next door to “blow up” the patient, and found she had never left her bed. Ultimately, I myself saw it one evening when in the bedroom (the door of which was open) brushing my hair before the mirror, I suddenly became conscious of something unusual and saw a figure mount the stairs, pause at the top and then proceed on its way upwards.

Subsequently, we were very much disturbed by loud hammerings which always commenced immediately we went to bed

at night, continued the whole night through, but finished always immediately the servant got up in the morning. These noises became so violent that we finally had to give up the house. On making inquiries, I found that in the vicinity of the spot where the house was situated, a young woman, whose husband was a captain and had lost his life at sea, had lived and had drowned herself in a pit not very far away, some years previously.

KENT

SOME years ago, I went home to stay with my parents for holiday. They had recently moved into an old mansion which had been converted into a double dwelling-house, both parties using the same staircase and hall. During my stay, my mother and father took the opportunity to go away for a week end, leaving me to get meals for a friend who lived with them, and whose duties as a postal servant often brought him home in the early hours of the morning. My mother feared, as I was young, I might not rise in time to get his breakfast. I gave my promise I would do it, but did not mention how. Accordingly, I sat up all night busy with fancy work until it was time for me to get ready a nice hot breakfast. I felt sure if I went to bed at my usual hour I should not waken. When all was ready—about 2 a.m.— I went into the hall to listen for any sound of the friend coming. The door of the room I was in faced the staircase which was very wide, and, right in front of me, about half way down the staircase, stood a tall gentleman clad in brown velvet jacket, cord breeches, leggings and huntsman's cap. Thinking it might be a friend of the people in the other half of the house, I went in and closed the door, wondering why he was roaming about the house at that hour. When the friend arrived for breakfast, I told him what I had seen. He laughed heartily and then said: “So you have seen him?” I asked where the joke came in, and he calmly told me he saw the same gentleman repeatedly—he haunted the house. Needless to say, I did not spend another night in sitting up.

When mother returned and I told her my experience, she was ever so sorry she had left me; she did not dream I would stay up. She then told me that night after night she and father were kept awake with music and dancing somewhere

close to their bedroom, and they could find out nothing to account for it. Some time after, the place was pulled down and a large jar of golden coins was found embedded in one of the walls of the bedroom in which my parents slept. This may sound to some people like a fairy tale, but it is perfectly true, and, whenever I think of the place, I can see that gentleman who, they told me, always vanished as soon as you had seen him.

SEAFORD

WE were living, in 1912, in a quiet Midland town, and the household comprised my husband, small son, maid and myself. The son was recovering from an attack of croup, and my husband and I took it in turns to sleep with him in the large bedroom. As the doctor gave a good report of the invalid, I was looking forward to a good night's rest in the smaller room. When bedtime came, I opened the window and door, and, after a short time, was fast asleep. I do not know how long it was before I became wide awake, feeling that something evil was hovering around me. There was nothing to be seen, but a bad influence or presence made itself felt, and I was simply terrified. I was in a cold sweat of fear, afraid to move lest something should happen to me. What that something was, I did not know then, neither do I know now.

My husband slept in the room on the next night, and he said he was troubled by bad nightmare dreams—but would say nothing more.

When the doctor called, he advised that our son should go into the smaller room in the daytime for a change, so we soon had him comfortably settled there in bed. But he wanted amusement, like most boys do when they are well enough, so we fetched the kitten upstairs and placed it on the bed, for they were very fond of each other.

Alas! before we could ask ourselves what was the matter, the kitten seemed to turn pale, and, tucking his tail between his legs, he absolutely bolted off the bed and rushed headlong downstairs. Of course, we joked about it to our son, and called to the maid to carry the kitten and a saucer of milk upstairs again. Again we tried to tempt the kitten to remain on the bed, but it was impossible. Again it rushed downstairs as if terrified.

What was to be done? I determined to sleep there at night, as we arranged and, again, I was awakened by the knowledge that some evil was

present in the room around me. I was still terrified and unable to move, but was able to pray to God to save me, body, soul and spirit, and, after about ten minutes’ silent prayer, the influence or presence, or whatever it was, went, and the air in the room became light and fresh and buoyant as it used to be. The next day the kitten remained upstairs and was a joy to the invalid.

Can these experiences be accounted for? I wonder! I was afterwards told that a crime of continual cruelty had occurred in that room a few years before. If so, why did the evil influence revisit the room, and not the perpetrators of the cruelty?

This is a true account of what actually happened in a pretty little house near ———, in Warwickshire.

CAMBRIDGE

A FEW years ago, when I was studying for my degree in a university college, my friends and I had a strange experience. The women's hostel in which we lived, had formerly been a gentleman's house, and it was rumoured that at times this country squire, who was now dead, used to revisit his old home. Most of us laughed at this as a “ghost tale,” but the following incident made even the most sceptical wonder.

One night, my friend and I, who shared a room, went to bed as usual. After putting out the light, we pulled up the blind. This was a regular habit of ours, so that we should wake up easily in the morning. About 2 a.m. I awoke, and found, to my astonishment, the electric light switched on, and the blind down. I awakened my friend, and asked her if she was responsible, but she had been asleep the whole time. Neither of us had ever walked in our sleep, so, feeling that something uncanny had happened, we got up to investigate. Listening intently, we heard weird noises on the floor below, a sort of rattling and scraping. This continued for some time, and then gradually grew fainter and died away. Feeling very nervous, we sat waiting for the sounds to return, but nothing more happened, and we were glad when morning came.

At breakfast, we reported the night’s happenings. When we had finished, a “fresher” spoke up—one who knew nothing of the hostel legend. She said that during the night, a gentleman had stood by her bed and smiled kindly at her. We eagerly questioned her, and she was able to

tell us exactly what he was wearing. When she had finished, our Warden exclaimed: “Why, that was old Mr. C., the late owner of this house; the last time I saw him he was dressed like that!”

Was the same old gentleman responsible for turning on our light, and for the other strange happenings of that night?

READING

WHILST living at a “school house” in a lonely country district, where my father was a schoolmaster, I was startled one day, when sitting in my bedroom reading, by someone walking upstairs as though with a stick. I rushed out and, on finding no one, I ran downstairs to ascertain whether the rest of the family had heard the same noise. Everyone paid “No!”

A few months afterwards, my mother happened to be ill, and a maid, who had lived in the same house when it was occupied by a former schoolmaster, came to live with us. One afternoon, while the rest of us were out, mother asked this maid to sit upstairs with her, and, strange though it may seem, they were both startled by the same noise as I had heard months before—someone walking upstairs with a stick. “Oh, it’s quite all right,” said the maid, “that's only Miss S., who died here a few years ago; she was troubled with fits and always walked with a stick.”

Funnily enough, this girl said that Miss S. used to place the stick on the landing on top of the stairs before walking to her bedroom, which she did (if it really was her “ghost”) on those two occasions.

SUTTON SCOTNEY

MY father made the acquaintance of a retired colonel, who lived six miles from our home. Sometimes father went over to tea with him. On one occasion father saw a short thick man pass through the drawing-room without opening the door. He felt so uncomfortable, that the colonel asked him what was the matter. Father explained. “Oh,” said the colonel, “that was only our little pedlar. The legend is that a pedlar was seen to come to this house, but he never left it. His pedlary is said to be put behind that fireplace.”

“Why don't you have it opened?” asked my father. “No fear, I don't want to, the pedlar doesn't worry me.”

COLEFORD

SOME years ago, I was sitting alone in the sitting-room one Sunday night, after the rest of the family had retired, and I was reading the case of little “Teddy Slingsby.” The banging of a door which opened out of the kitchen to the scullery aroused me to investigate, and to secure it for the night, as always was done, with a bolt. When I reached the centre of the kitchen I could see that the door was wide open and, it being a nice moonlight night, I could see the trees in the garden and the ivy hanging on the old wall. I stepped up to the door, putting out my hand to close it and, to my horror, I found that the door was then closed and bolted securely, and my view of the moonlit garden was at once cut out.

I turned for the staircase and, upon arriving at the top, I entered my mother's room, too scared and speechless to tell her what I had seen. I placed my back against the wall for support, and slid down, sitting on the floor. When I had recovered, I explained to mother what I had seen. She advised me to get to bed at once, which I did. I had not buried myself in bed very long before I heard a rustling, as that of paper, and, looking up, I saw a figure all in white standing with hand to its head, and elbow against my bedroom door. I could not utter a word, and I watched the figure completely disappear.

This I told the remainder of the family next morning, and my mother could then say that she had seen the same thing herself. Also I heard from the people who had lived in the house previously, that members of that family had seen the same apparition.

IPSWICH

EIGHT years ago my friend, a dark-haired girl, and I took a job as servants, at a large mansion near here. To my surprise, I was given a most beautiful and luxuriantly-appointed bedroom in the front of the house, my friend sleeping in the servants quarters.

About a week later, I was wakened at two o'clock in the morning by my bedroom door opening, and a dark-haired woman approached the bed. Thinking it was my friend, who wanted something, I sat up and asked: “What do you want, Olive?” The figure turned towards the dressing-table and disappeared. I ran along to my friend's room. She was sleeping, and I spent the night with her. The next

morning, the housekeeper informed me that there had been similar complaints from guests and the room had been closed for years, but they had wondered if it would be all right after the lapse. Needless to add, I refused to sleep in the room again.

HULL

SOME years ago, I worked in a drug warehouse with a labourer, Mr. T. (since dead), who had a supernatural experience. He and his wife and family moved into a house which had been empty a long time. The removal took place after he left his day's work, and the beds were hastily improvised for the night. He and his wife were awakened by a crash, which sounded just over the bed head. Both simultaneously asked: “Did you hear that noise?” Mr. T. arose next morning to go downstairs to make the fire, and, from the top of the stairs, saw the figure of a woman sitting on the bottom step nursing a child. The apparition faded away as he reached the bottom. He dared not mention it to his wife, but he found another residence, and left the house the same week. Subsequent inquiries revealed the fact that there had been a murder committed in the house.

READING

DURING the war I went to live for a time with some relatives in the suburbs of a large city in the Midlands. One Sunday night, as I lay awake longing for sleep which would not come, I was startled by a strange noise close beside my bed, like the deep, heavy breathing of a very large dog, but much louder than anything of the kind I had ever heard before. Then I felt the weight of a very heavy hand or paw across my right foot. The moments seemed like hours and I became paralysed with terror and unable to move or make a sound. I think, eventually, I became unconscious. In the morning I told a member of the family of my horrible experience and asked her not to mention it, as I did not wish to frighten the young people in the house.

After I had been away some months, I received a letter from the relative to whom I had told this, saying that her sister had been frightened by the same noise in this bedroom, and her husband had declared there was someone in the room. They got up and searched the room but found nothing.

Can anyone give a solution of these strange noises? I should be glad to have it explained. Do I believe in ghosts? No! Not until I see one, which I have no desire to do.

COWES

SOME years ago, some cousins of mine, who lived in an old house at Reading, frequently saw a little old lady who used to come and sit in one of the bedrooms at night. They were so used to seeing her that they lost their fear. Later, the house was pulled down, and a box containing a skeleton was discovered. They made inquiries and found that, years before they lived there, a murder had been committed. An old uncle of mine, who was a missionary, and who sometimes paid my cousins a visit, always saw the old lady when he slept there.

MARKYATE

MY husband was a man who would laugh if you talked of ghosts, saying he didn't believe there were such things. However, he had to go away to work five years ago, and he and a mate got lodgings with an old lady whose mother, at the age of ninety, died not long before. The first night his mate had plenty to drink so slept soundly. My husband, however, being in a strange place, couldn't sleep. During the night the clothes were lifted off his feet and strange knockings went around the bed. He lit the candle, but found nothing. In the morning he told his mate, and the next night his mate woke him and said: “Hill, light the candle; this place is haunted!” They couldn't sleep for the tugging at the clothes and the knocking around the bed. They told their experience to a man from the village who was working with them, and he said the old lady was supposed to have left money in the bed. They stayed on for the week, and each night the same thing occurred. On the Saturday morning they stripped the bed and made a thorough search, but found nothing. When my husband returned home he looked like a man who had had a severe illness. He told us the story; now he believes in ghosts.

BOSCOMBE

IN the wartime I spent a holiday in a Dorset village, and the first night, whilst sleeping in a bedroom in a lonely cottage, I was awakened by the door noiselessly opening, and the figure of a man dressed in white garments passing through the room and talking softly to himself. There was only a woman in the cottage and she was fast asleep.

A year after, I read in some old memoirs of two of Nelson's lieutenants who, whilst ashore at Weymouth, met two women

and accompanied them home. During supper they quarrelled, and one woman threw a flat-iron at Lieutenant ——— and killed him. His companion was horrified and, urging the women to be silent, he took the body on his horse to a lonely spot in Dorset, and buried it and rejoined his ship.

The spot where the lieutenant was buried was the spot on which stands the cottage in which I had this strange experience.

CROYDON

SOME years ago, whilst spending a night in an old inn, I was awakened by the disagreeable impression that I was not alone. To my amazement, at the foot of my bed (an old-fashioned four-poster), stood a girl, with a baby in her outstretched arms. Her eyes were fixed imploringly on mine, as though begging for help or protection. I noticed that she had a mob cap on her head, and a quaint wrapper of some fashion unknown to me.

I begged her to tell me what I could do for her, but she made no reply, and, a moment later, she had disappeared.

I rose at once and searched the room. Door and windows were securely fastened, and I could find no trace of my mysterious visitor. Convinced at last that I had been dreaming, I returned to bed. Presently, the woman with her baby reappeared, this time at the side of the bed! She spoke no word, but, with the same expression of anguish, gazed imploringly at me. Then she vanished. When for the third time, I became aware of her presence beside my pillow, I was seized with terror and called loudly for help. Then I must have fainted for, when I came to myself, it was broad daylight. When questioned, my hostess could give me no explanation. She admitted, however, that she had heard my cries, but that neither she nor her servants dared enter the chamber after nightfall. The room was supposed to be haunted, and other visitors had seen the woman and her baby as described by me. The inn has since been pulled down and a hostel erected in its place.

LEVERSHULME

MY father became tenant of the Manor House in a village in the Midlands and moved in with mother and six children, five girls (including me) and one boy. I was then twelve years old. Many were the warnings kindly given to us by

the villagers that the house was haunted, but, being a merry family, and father and brother keen on shooting, they laughingly warned off any intruders from outside. We younger were not so dubious. The rooms were large and opened off long passages and had an eerie effect, especially at night.

The first I remember of anything disturbing was when my brother injured his foot and was laid up for a time. My eldest sister used to attend to him, and was surprised one morning, when she took his breakfast, by him asking why she came into his room during the night without speaking. She questioned him, and he told her someone came into his room and leaned over him as if to see if he was asleep, and, when he spoke, and got no answer, he felt to see if his watch was there, thinking it was someone after valuables. As he raised himself, the visitor disappeared. This happened several nights in succession. On another occasion, my mother was ill and, during the night, called to my sisters to take down the dog, which she said had jumped on her bed. They, too, could not explain what had happened, as the dog was peacefully sleeping downstairs and never was allowed upstairs. Father also had his share, for, while sitting reading one night, after everyone else had retired, and all doors locked and bolted, he was suddenly aroused from his book by hearing footsteps. Then the door at the end of a long passage was unlocked, and there came a gust of wind as if it was opened. The door closed, and was bolted again, and footsteps came towards the room. He asked who was there and, receiving no reply, went to investigate, but nothing was to be seen, and the door was still locked and bolted.

Father told the landlord of the experience and the latter stated he had the same thing happen when living there and could offer no explanation. I can well remember my feelings of relief when we removed to another house in a neighbouring village. That, too, had the reputation of being haunted, but, although we lived there some years, nothing happened to verify the statement.

WIDNES

JUST before the war I thought I would remove to a house I noticed had been vacant for a long period. On interviewing the landlord of the house, I was informed I could have the tenancy of the house two shillings per week cheaper than other tenants paid for houses in the same row. He would offer no explanation for this generous act. I, accordingly, moved into the house the same day. Retiring to bed the

first night, I awoke about 12:30 a.m. to find standing in the moonlight that was streaming through the window, a man who I knew, but had not heard of for years. He was bleeding from a deep wound in the neck that had obviously been inflicted by a blood-stained carving knife he held in his right hand. Too horrified to utter a sound, I watched him draw the knife slowly across his throat, inflicting another wound, while he stared me straight in the eyes. After a low moan, he disappeared.

The next night, about the same time, I was awakened by hearing someone moaning in the room. This moaning was heard by the remainder of my family.

Determined to find out the cause of these happenings, I asked the next-door neighbour if he could explain them. “Don't you know?” he asked. “Jack” (mentioning the man I had seen) “committed suicide in your house. The landlord lets it cheaper than the others, but nobody will stay in it!”

Needless to say, I did not stay. I moved back to my old home, the same day. At the present time, although there is a shortage of houses, you can often see in the window of this house, the sign “To Let.”

TEMPLECOMBE

WHILST engaged in domestic service at a large county house on the Dorset border, a young scullery-maid, who was ill, told us the lady had been to see her, but she was, somehow, afraid of her, and she did not speak. We other three who were there thought this odd, and I asked what was she dressed in. The girl replied black, and she had shiny things in her hair and round her neck. I had happened to meet the lady in the corridor and she was wearing a blue tea gown, so we persuaded her she had been dreaming. In course of time, I met an old lady of eighty-five, who had lived in the house in the days of her youth. She asked me had I seen the ghost. I said no, and asked what it was like. She replied: “A lady in black with lots of diamonds on; she used to walk right the length of the first floor. The butler used to try to catch her, but never could.”

It was part of my duty every evening during the two years I lived there to shut shutters and fix bells on all the windows on this particular floor, yet I never saw anything, whereas the poor girl I have mentioned was in the house only three weeks and was so frightened.

SOUTH WALES

SOME years ago I was living in a small mining village in South Wales. Being a widow with a family, I was glad to let a married daughter and her husband rent part of the house. When I first went to live in that particular house the neighbours told me that a previous tenant, an old man who lived alone, was one morning found dead, sitting in a chair. I was, however, not at all superstitious, so thought no more about it.

We had got quite settled in our house, when, one night, on retiring to bed, we heard footsteps coming upstairs and stop at my bedroom door.

My daughter, aged thirteen years, was sleeping with me at the time, and, although we had been in bed some time, we were neither of us asleep, and lay waiting to see our door open, thinking it was either my married daughter or her husband, who were sleeping in the room below us. After several minutes had passed, we heard the same footsteps going downstairs, and, when they reached the bottom, we heard the catch of the bedroom door below, as if someone had passed in and closed the door. Judge of my surprise to find next morning that no one had been upstairs. But my daughter told me that, twice her bedroom door opened and her husband got out of bed and latched it again. Then they heard footsteps coming downstairs and, for the third time the door opened. This time my son-in-law got a light and went on a voyage of discovery, but could see no one. We agreed not to say anything about this in front of the younger children for fear of frightening them.

A day or so after, I was talking to a neighbour about some needlework she wished me to do for her. My little girl, aged eight years, was sitting in the kitchen with me, when, all at once, she gave one scream and rushed over to me, looking simply awful. When I could get the child calm enough to question her, she said a great white thing had sprung over the stairs banisters, and had nearly touched her. We hunted all over the house, but could not find anything to account for the apparition, which, she said, went into the coal place under the stairs. I tried to console her by saying it was a white cat that had got in, but she would not have this, as she said it was “heaps too big for a cat.”

The strange part about it was neither my neighbour nor myself had seen anything. We did not stay long in that house.

The two girls are women now, but they often talk about this, and wonder what it meant.

CLAPHAM

THERE is a certain house in ——— which is really haunted, although few people know it. This house belonged to a lady I used to know. I was very young then, and was able to run about in the pitch darkness with no childish fears whatever; yet, every time I entered this house, I always grew afraid. Of what I do not know; my mother also experienced this awful fear.

This lady had a brother who used to sleep in the attic. One night he awoke, and, to his horror, he beheld an old and ugly woman standing by his bed. I say “standing,” but he could see her only from the waist upwards. She was staring at him with an evil expression on her face. As he looked at her she gradually faded away. He said that the room was dark, but a light seemed to come from her. Her eyes were black and glittering; these were the last to fade. This man confessed that he was terrified and he spent the rest of the night under the bed clothes. He said that noises were heard in the unoccupied rooms, like people fighting.

This house, to the best of my knowledge is unoccupied now.

BARROW-IN-FURNESS

IN the village where I was born, at a point where four crossroads met, stood a house where lived an aged couple. One night the old man was found lying dead on the ground, having fallen from the bedroom window; a short time after, the old lady died.

The house was then rented by an elderly man with his family. These people could not sleep at night because of strange noises which resembled furniture being pushed about. The father declared a ghost entered his bedroom, took money from his pockets, counted it, and laid it on the dressing-table. The family became so frightened they quitted the house, and it was then let to a maiden lady.

One night the friends of this lady, who lived at a farm a mile away, were awakened by her knocking at their door. She was barefooted and in her nightdress. She was in an exhausted condition, and said somebody was in her house moving the furniture about.

She never returned to the house and died shortly after from shock, it was said.

No one could ever account for the ghostly visitor or the noises, and, as long as I remained in the village, the house stood empty and was always said to be “haunted.”

BARNES

ABOUT twenty years ago, I was living with my husband and children in Barnes. My daughter was studying for an examination and frequently sat up till one or two o'clock working. Sometimes we heard her calling out, and she complained of being visited by a middle-aged lady dressed in grey.

One night we had all gone to bed, when I heard her calling in great distress. I made up my mind to go and sleep with her, thinking she was over-wrought by her studies. I had hardly laid down beside her when the door opened and a lady in grey came slowly in. I felt myself shaking, and my daughter called out: “What is the matter, mother? You are trembling.” I was anxious to hide the fact that I saw anything, and remained silent. “Mother, there she goes,” she called out, and I saw the apparition disappear through the wall.

Afterwards, I heard from a woman who had been servant in the house before we bought it, that a lady answering to my description of our visitor had died in that room.

HANDSWORTH

SOME twenty years ago, my mother, sister, brother and self, went to stay with friends at an Essex manor house. In the afternoon our host took the horse and trap to stay the night at an outlying town in order to be ready for the horse fair next day. My brother and I were left in bed with a light. After a time the door opened and a big man stood there and nodded to us. In the dim light, we, thinking by his size he was our host, called out “Goodnight, Mr. B.” He then closed the door. My mother and sister went to bed, bolting their door. During the night my mother heard shuffling in the corridor, extra loud where a tall man would have to stoop. Then her door was tried and, whoever it was, continued into the next bedroom, which was our hostess’s. In the morning my mother's door was open. On recounting our experiences over breakfast, one of our host’s sons blurted out “Why, it's only old R.'s ghost walking again; they are doing his grave up.” Our host had not been home at all that night.

My mother and sister returned home that day, but we stayed on. We were only about nine or ten years old. When we saw the grave it had a tarpaulin cover over it and was being done up. R. had committed suicide. Owing to the noises in the house and the stories told about it, our friends had been able to get the place at a reduced rent. All the above facts can be verified and vouched for.

BURTON LATIMER

AS a young married woman, I went from a large town to live in a small village in Buckinghamshire where my husband had got work. We thought we were very lucky to get a nice old-fashioned house that stood by itself in a lane. It seems that the house had been empty some time. I made many friends, but none ever told me the house had a bad name, or anything about it. Did I believe in ghosts? Certainly not! But, after six months in that uncanny house, I would believe anything. The first signs in this peculiar house began when we had been there about a month. Chairs were scraped across the floor in the small kitchen (always in the evening), sounds of crockery smashing, bumps overhead, and doors banging. My two small children were mysteriously moved from one bed to another nightly for about a fortnight. At first we were not alarmed and tried hard to find out who was playing a game with us. None of the villagers would come near the house because they said it was haunted. I never saw anything, but my husband did, and it so got on his nerves that he would not stay in the house by himself.

The house was supposed to be haunted by a tall lady in rustling silk. I certainly heard the rustle and the moaning, but I never saw the lady. Anyhow, she certainly made us as restless as she was herself. Later on, my husband got work away, only coming home for week-ends, for we were very anxious to get away from the house and to be peaceful again. I understand that no one would take the old house after we left it, and it was pulled down and rebuilt. I wonder if that laid the ghost? I could never understand what caused the trouble there, but after that experience, do I believe in ghosts? Yes, I think so!

A MILITARY MAN

SOME years ago I was nursing an old lady and went with her to stay at her brother's—an old country manor house. One night the maids forgot to bring the milk my patient always had, so, about 2:00 a.m., I set out for the larder to fetch it. Our room opened into a long corridor which had several large windows. It was a moonlight night. I knew everyone had long since gone to bed so was very surprised to see someone coming to meet me. But my surprise turned to horror when I saw that it was no member of the household, but the figure of a very tall dark man in the military uniform of over a century ago. He seemed to glide, not walk. I waited until

the figure was within a few feet of me and then I fled back to my patient. She begged me to say nothing of what I had seen, as the family already found it difficult to keep maids, owing to the frequent occurrence of strange noises as if the house was being ransacked and all the china smashed. A few years after my experience the property was sold as the owners could stand no more of the ghostly racket, and it has constantly changed tenants since.

“YOU ARE IN MY BED”

THIS may interest your readers. It happened to me in London in the year 1887. On going to live in London, not far from Kilburn, with people who were quite strangers to me, I had the following strange experience during my first night. I retired just after ten and was soon sound asleep, when a voice beside the bed said, "You are in my bed," and repeated it several times. I looked both sides of the bed, but could see nothing, but, over by the dressing table, I saw a young man of about twenty-six. He was wearing a white shirt, braces and grey striped trousers and his black hair showed plainly against a very white face.

Next morning I told of what I had seen and was informed that a young man such as I described was the previous occupier of the room and had died there only a few weeks earlier.

THE WOMAN IN BROWN

ABOUT twenty-five years ago Mr. and Mrs. D. took up their residence in a house in a small Oxfordshire village. Previous to their arrival Mrs. D. had not seen the house nor had she heard anything to suggest that the house was haunted.

On the evening of their arrival Mr. D. went to the village whilst Mrs. D. arranged small articles of furniture. It was twilight but she could see distinctly and, entering the house by the back door, was astonished to notice a woman standing in the kitchen. She, naturally, uttered an exclamation of surprise, and the figure faded away. An examination of all rooms, which she immediately undertook, showed that no person was concealed in them. Mrs. D. had no feelings of fear, but the personal appearance and costume of the figure impressed her vividly and became fixed in her memory. The figure was that of a tall woman, dressed entirely in brown.

She had grey hair and a rather thin face on which melancholy was expressed.

Later, the D's learned it was rumoured that their new residence was haunted, one villager assuring them he would not care to live there. Mrs. D. gained some significant information regarding a married couple who had occupied the house previous to the tenants whom the D's succeeded. The wife had died there, having been badly treated, according to all accounts, by the husband. Mrs. D. asked for a description of the dead woman. This tallied with the apparition which she had seen! The apparition did not appear again, but Mrs. D. said she often felt the presence of another woman in the house when alone.

One day, years later, liking such exercise, Mrs. D. sawed up an elm bough, lopped from an overhanging tree. Succeeding sections showed a pattern; in the annular rings there was discernible the figure of the woman in brown. This was corroborated by others.

The question arises, ‘Did the thoughts of the woman in brown continue, after bodily death, to inhabit the spot where she had been so unhappy, impressing themselves, not only on another's mind but on the internal structure of the tree near by?’

“IS THAT YOU, TOM?”

Many years ago, I, accompanied by my infant son, went to spend a few days at my brother's home—a lonely farm on the Derbyshire moors.

My brother was away when I arrived, and was not expected back until next day. During the night, I was awakened by the feeling that someone was leaning over me as I lay in bed. Looking up, I saw a dark shadowy form and, thinking that my brother had returned sooner than expected, and had come in to see me, I put out my hand saying, “Is that you, Tom?” There was no answer, and the shadow faded. I sat up in bed, wondering if it was my imagination, then, taking a look at my sleeping son, I composed myself for sleep again.

Next morning, I asked my sister-in-law if my brother had returned. Receiving a negative reply, I related the incident of the night. My sister-in-law said, “Oh, Anne! have you seen it also?” Then she told me that whenever my brother was away for the night she always prayed that she might sleep soundly and not be disturbed by the shadow that she had so often seen leaning over her bed—sometimes at the foot and sometimes at the side of the bed. Shortly after my visit,

my brother was visited by relatives of his wife from Southport—people whom I did not know—and, one morning, they burst into the kitchen asking if the house was haunted and declaring that a big dark shadow had been in their room during the night. They made quite a joke of it.

Now, as I am a very sceptical person, in spite of my own experience, I asked my cousin, from whom my brother rented the house, and who had lived there, if he had seen anything. He did not want to say he had, but, when pressed, admitted that both he and his mother and father knew about the manifestations. He told me that one night, sitting up to attend to a sick cow, he had locked the kitchen door and was sitting by the fire, when, suddenly, the door was flung open and a tall man walked into the kitchen, passed through the sitting-room, and clanked upstairs. (The farmhouse has only one doorway which opens directly into the kitchen.) My uncle, who was in bed, called out, “Is that you, Walter?” But it wasn't Walter; he was still sitting by the fire spellbound and gazing at the still locked door. There was no one upstairs but the family in bed. I afterwards asked my aunt what she made of it. She was a deeply religious woman, and, without hesitation, she simply said, “Aye, Anne, I’ve seen it many a time, but I don't mind, it's harmless enough.”

I often wonder, can we all have imagined it? I knew nothing about it till I went there—nor did the Southport visitors; and my relatives were very averse to talking about the visitations.

“OUR GHOST”

GHOSTS! Of course there are ghosts, and we should feel lost if our ghost did not walk about at times. We have lived in this house for eighteen years and it was a bit uncanny at first to hear footsteps come down the stairs, then see the handle of the door turn. We would look up expecting to see someone, and so we christened the occurrence as “Our Ghost.” Still, I must say there is something in the house. Our dog will be asleep on the rug, and, all at once, will get up and stare at the door for some time and then whine. There are times when the cat fights shy of the passage. It is only a few months ago that we heard someone (or something) at midnight move about downstairs and then we heard the front door bang. We went down to investigate and then remembered “Our Ghost.” This is after a life of eighteen years in the same house. Of course, there are ghosts.

A MAN WITH AN AXE

I LIVE in an ordinary little suburban house—one of a row of “boxes with lids on”—the approach to the upper storey being by a flight of twelve stairs and another flight of four stairs set at right angles to the first, a small bedroom being in the angle formed by the junction of the two. One night some six months ago, when passing this bedroom in the dark, I caught a momentary glimpse of the form of a man holding an axe in his right hand, his face bearing a highly malevolent expression. Not being at that time of a nervous disposition I dismissed the whole thing as imagination, but, on three separate occasions since, I have seen the same form, and always when passing that door in the dark I have the impression of having received a glancing blow on head and shoulder. Now the sequel to this is strange. I have ascertained that some years ago the then tenant of the house attacked his wife with an axe as she was descending the stairs, and she died from her injuries; he was confined in an asylum, where he died six months ago. The name of the road was then ——— Road; in consequence of the tragedy it was changed (as was then the common practice) to the more pretentious ——— Avenue, and only the older residents of the district recollect anything of the case. Can any of your readers tell me how to exorcise this “ghost,” for if it troubles me much more I shall be a fitting candidate for the institution where my ghostly friend ended his days.

SEEN IN THE MIRROR

A FEW years ago, I was sitting waiting for my husband to come home. It was nearly midnight and everything was quiet. I looked up to the mirror and saw an old grey-headed lady walking slowly across the room, from the middle door to the back door. When I turned to look at her she had gone. I sat a few minutes, dumbfounded, looking at the mirror, and she came again. This she repeated three times and then went for good. We could never keep a door locked at night. The doors have been locked and bolted and, then, in the morning have been found undone. People declared the house was haunted. After we left it no one would live in it, so it was pulled down.

A TRAGEDY RE-ENACTED

I AM not superstitious neither do I believe in ghosts, but the following tale may interest some of your readers.

Some time ago I used to stay at an old rectory in a Kentish

village. The rectory stood in a beautiful garden joining the churchyard, and was approached by a carriage drive bordered by thick hedges and trees. The house was low, gloomy-looking and rambling, containing many rooms and winding passages and had three staircases, but it had been somewhat modernised. One room was supposed to be haunted.

I once slept in this room, but the ghost did not visit me; neither did I see or hear anything unusual. The room was a large one with two windows overlooking the carriage drive. A niece of the rector came on a visit and was given as a bedroom the haunted chamber. It was early autumn, a warm, beautiful moonlight night, not a leaf moving. The rector's niece had gone to her room, but wishing to finish a book, sat reading between the two open windows. Just as the church clock struck twelve, the door (which was fastened) opened. There was a sound of a scuffle, a rush past, a swish of skirts, a loud groan which seemed to end at the window, and a deep thud as if a heavy body had fallen. The window curtains, which were thick and heavy, blew straight out into the room.

At breakfast next day, the lady related her experience and was told she had seen, or rather heard the ghost. Other members of the family had had a similar experience. The story goes:

Many years ago a certain rector murdered his wife at midnight in this room, and threw the body out of the window.

At certain periods the lady's ghost is supposed to visit the scene of the murder.

A HARMLESS APPARITION

MANY years ago one of my workmates went to live in a house not more than five minutes walk from my address. One night, whilst he and his wife were sitting in the house, they noticed a hand draw aside the curtain, which hung at the middle door—the door near the pantry—and then there stood revealed to them an old lady who looked at them for a minute or so and vanished. One day they invited some of their relations to tea. After they had had the meal, a young man of the party got up from his chair and stood with his back to the fire-place, while the other members of the party were still sitting around the table talking. All at once, they noticed the hair on the young man’s head stand straight up, and there was a horror-stricken look on his face. He couldn't speak. He was looking past the table to the kitchen door. Every member of the party turned to look in that direction, and there stood the old lady revealed to all. My friend inquired of the neighbours as to

who had lived in the house previous to him taking possession. They told him a young woman who was living in the next street. He went to see her and told her about the old lady whom he described. The young woman told him that it was her mother who had died in that house. He told the landlord about it, saying that the old lady seemed to come out of the pantry.

The landlord sent workmen who took up the flags in the pantry, and then replaced them. Since that was done the old lady has never reappeared. I asked my friends if they were not afraid of living in the house, but they both answered, “No, the old lady seemed harmless enough.” They are still living in the same house.

EVEN THE LANDLORD LEFT

I AM not interested in ghosts as a rule, but I was rather struck by the story of the brown lady of Raynham Hall. While reading of it, this incident came to my mind and it is just as true as uncanny.

When I was eleven years old we lived in Yorkshire and I was one of a large family. We had occasion to remove to a more convenient house. And as houses were very bad to get at that time, we thought we were very fortunate in securing a nice convenient place, without much trouble.

Strange to say, we had not lived in the house many weeks when, on returning home from school one day, I was amazed to find my mother quite prostrate on the couch. After I had attended to mother, she requested me to go upstairs and have a look round the rooms as she thought something had fallen out of place. Thinking nothing of it, I immediately went and examined all the rooms, but everything was in order. I was at a loss to understand mother's nervous breakdown.

When father and the rest of the family came in from business, mother told us that, after dinner, she had just got on the couch for a rest when she heard a terrific crash just as though the roof had fallen in. When she had recovered from the shock, she went out into the garden to look and make sure the roof had not collapsed. All was in order. A neighbour, seeing mother was ill, came to her assistance. We came to the conclusion that mother's nerves were weak and we tried to soothe her. But, strange to say, we were all sitting round the fire after supper, before going to bed, when we were all startled by an awful crashing noise. We were all speechless for a few minutes, the shock was so great. Then my father and brothers went

and searched the place. After that the knockings and noises were so frequent that mother’s health broke down and we had to move.

Some weeks after, my father came in touch with the lady who had previously lived in the house, and this is the story she told:

The lady's husband worked night duty. One night her little girl, two-and-a-half years old, woke her up and said: “Look, mum! there is a man coming in our bedroom.” There, on the landing, the mother saw an old man coming towards the bedroom door. She was unable to move for some time, but, after a while, got up and lit the gas. Then, there was nothing to be seen. But the apparition appeared again later, and the noises were so unnerving that they had to leave the house. The story of the haunting was noised about so much that the house was rebuilt, and the landlord went to live there. Strange to say, he soon left the place. After all, one is bound to admit there must be something behind all this. Even to this day I shudder when I think of this incident.

TWO CURIOUS INCIDENTS

IT has always seemed to me that authentic psychic happenings are singularly inconsequent and bear no relation to their witnesses—except in the case of appearances of dead relatives. Two such irrelevant occurrences stand out in my memory.

Many years ago, when I was a young girl, I stayed in a large country house. This house was rented by my friends, and they knew no legends connected with it. It was symmetrical in design, but one of the windows on one side was blocked up, nor could any door be found by which one could enter the room corresponding to the blocked window.

My bedroom was underneath this mysterious chamber. For some nights nothing happened, but one evening just after the clock had struck twelve, a most extraordinary noise took place above my head. I can only compare it to the noise of sacks of coals being emptied. I sat up in bed terrified, too frightened to roam the large house by myself so late, and too terrified even to scream. The noise continued. Every minute I expected the ceiling to open and some spectre to alight on me. After what appeared to me an interminable time, the noise ceased and the clock struck one, so it had really lasted only an hour. Though I stayed on for some time longer, I never heard the sound again.

My other experience has a tinge of romance.

In the village where I lived there was a picturesque old farmhouse that legend said was a gift to Nell Gwynne by her royal lover. Whether there was any truth in this I cannot say, but it was said that on wet nights Nell haunted the lane passing her old dwelling place, and one could hear her high heels tapping behind one as one passed that way.

One evening I was dining with friends, and the son of the house walked home with me. He was a prosaic youth and believed in nothing he could not see. The night was wet and foggy. As we passed the haunted spot we both plainly heard the tap tap of the high heels belonging to the fair and frail lady.

He stopped and lit matches but nothing was to be seen and the footsteps stopped. As we went on the pursuing steps began again and continued till the road turned into another lane.

AN AWFUL EXPERIENCE

SOME years ago some new houses were being built near Durham, and, on completion, one of them was taken by a bachelor gentleman, who, apart from his sister going in daily to do his cooking, etc., lived quite alone. The night in question, I was sleeping in the next house when suddenly I was aroused by a loud hammering as though a bedstead was being taken down. It continued for some minutes, alternately stopping a second, and then going on again. I strained my ears to listen, until it ceased, then I heard the gentleman go downstairs and out into the street, closing the door behind him.

Next morning, I was surprised to see him removing his goods presumably to his sister's house. Seeing me standing at the door, he said, “Did you hear any noise from my bedroom last night?” I said, “Yes. Whatever were you doing?” He replied, “It was the most awful experience I've ever had, and I wouldn't stay there another night, so I’m moving out to-day.” “Whatever was the hammering?” I asked, and he told me that he had fallen asleep when he suddenly became conscious of some apparition in the room, although it was dark. Then blow after blow was made upon the bottom of the iron bed rail (just as I had heard it) and the bed shook each time it was battered. Thoroughly scared, he lay speechless, unable to move until the spectre vanished; then he got a light, slipped into his things and ran downstairs and out

of the house to his sister's. On examination, no marks were found on the bedstead, and his story was confirmed, because I had heard the sounds next door, but no discovery was ever made regarding this unwelcome visitor.

ON THE YORKSHIRE MOORS

THE following is an accurate account of what occurred in a lonely house at a place called ... in Yorkshire on the moors and it goes to prove that ghosts do exist. My husband, when a boy, lived with his parents in this house which was on a hill surrounded by woods. They were warned before going there that the house was haunted, but being Christian people, laughed at the idea. However, they had not long to wait before strange things began to happen. Often when lying in bed they were awakened by hearing fearful noises downstairs, just as if someone was smashing all the china and furniture. On investigation, everything was found all right, but, while they were downstairs, the same noises took place upstairs. One evening when they were all sitting round the fire there came such a bang at the stair door as if someone was beating it down. They quite expected to see the door splintered, but it burst open intact and some vision flitted through the room. The dogs, usually afraid of nothing, crouched down in fear, and the girls fainted with fright. There were other similar instances which I could quote. Things got so bad the family were compelled to leave the house and I understand no one has lived there since.

FOOTSTEPS ON THE STAIRS

MY late husband and I took a small semi-detached house in Hertfordshire in 1911. One night in early autumn, we retired about 10:15, as usual, and slept soundly until 1:30, when we were both awakened by the sound of footsteps coming upstairs. My husband immediately switched on the light and we both sat up in bed, breathlessly watching the bedroom door which was fastened. The footsteps came nearer, a loose board on the landing creaked, and the door slowly opened. To our great surprise, no one entered. The door remained open, and the footsteps slowly retreated. My husband got up and searched all over the house and garden, but could find no trace of our visitor. So certain were we of someone coming in, that, in a sense, we should have been

more satisfied had someone appeared, preferring to deal with the real, rather than the unreal. Both of us had splendid nerves, but were obliged to confess the occurrence left us very shaky. Shortly after, we were obliged to give up the house—a move which led to a series of misfortunes which resulted in the death of my husband three years ago.

IN DOUBT

IF anyone had asked me seven years ago the question “Do you believe in ghosts and haunted houses?” my answer would have been a very decided “No.” But now I don't know. For several years I have been living in a very old-fashioned cottage in a country village. Soon after settling here, both I and my husband were awakened night after night by strange noises, bumps as of something falling, sounds as of water dripping, and, most strange of all, every night at about the same time the latch of our stair-door would drop with a loud click as if someone had opened it hurriedly. Although we used to come down and search, everything was as usual, and nothing we could think of accounted for the sounds. Each night, on retiring, I would firmly shut the stair-door, but still the latch would be heard to drop, and several nights, while having a light burning (through having to tend a small baby) I have seen a shadow pass through the room and down the stairs. Then would come the dropping of the latch, but, however quickly I turned, or however long I watched, nothing appeared again the same night. We would gladly have moved, but, owing to the shortage of houses, it was impossible, and, in time, the sounds no longer startled us; we had to get used to them. Now, if we are awakened suddenly, my husband says, “It's only the ghost,” and we go to sleep again. But twice just lately I have lain awake and heard the latch drop as before and at the same time.

The other day my husband was talking to a very old inhabitant of our village—a man aged seventy-eight—who, upon hearing where we lived said, “Lor', my boy, that's the house my father used to live in, where the queer rows was, d'ye ever hear any now?”

What is the answer to the riddle of this old cottage, I wonder, ghosts or some other explanation? Anyhow I do know that during the next few months we shall gladly say “good-bye” to it and take possession of a new home, where I hope there will be nothing uncanny.

A MIDNIGHT INTERRUPTION

WHEN my aunt and I first came to reside in this town we rented for a short time a self-contained, furnished flat in one of the old houses here—one that had no doubt seen better days.

Our flat was the top one, having only unfurnished, and dilapidated attics above it, and was completely cut off from the lower tenants.

We used the attics as lumber rooms and, strangely enough, both of us felt an inexplicable feeling of horror when in them even in broad daylight.

My aunt and I occupied separate bedrooms, but always slept with our doors slightly ajar.

One night (it was somewhere about midnight) I was awakened by my aunt calling me. I ran into her room, which was next to mine, and found her sitting up in bed in terror, declaring that she had seen a dark figure standing by the bedside looking down at her. She had spoken, thinking that I had come to her for some reason, and had been horrified to find the figure fade away, and that she had to call me several times to awaken me from sleep in the other room. We could find no way to account for this, and next day were inclined to laugh at ourselves for our nervous terror. But, a few weeks after, I had a similar experience.

I was doing a piece of embroidery work as a gift for my aunt and, not wishing her to see it, and being rather pushed for time, after retiring to bed one night I re-lit my candle and sat up to continue my sewing. It was just about midnight and, after stitching away for a few minutes, I heard as I thought, my aunt moving in her room, come out of the door and along the passage. My bed was facing away from the door, but I turned my head and saw the door being pushed open. I then blew out the candle, not wishing her to see what I was doing. I heard her come in and stand behind me, and I said: “What's the matter? Is anything wrong?” On getting no reply, I again lit my candle and found no one in the room and everything silent. I went into my aunt’s room to find her fast asleep in bed.

Not being easily frightened, I started to work again the following night, but exactly the same thing occurred, and when, on the third night, this was again repeated, I made no further attempts at midnight sewing.

We could find no explanation whatever, and as it was

during very calm weather, we could not attribute anything to the wind.

The tenants of the lower flats had no such experiences, but I feel sure that there was some strange and uncanny influence that proceeded from those attics and on occasion found their way into our flat. Fortunately we had taken the rooms for only a short time, and were glad to move to a different part of the town. We have never since experienced such a thing.

A HOUSE “TO LET”

WHEN I was a small child, my mother took a house near ———. As she could never sleep in a strange house for some days, she sat up in bed reading a novel. Suddenly she looked up from the book and saw, coming from the direction of the door, a female figure clad in a blue dressing gown, with loosened golden hair about her shoulders. The figure walked to the mantelpiece, took up a comb that was lying there, drew it through her hair, turned from the mantelpiece, walked towards the door and vanished. A few months after this my father died. Now, this house had been taken on a three years’ agreement, and my mother, after her bereavement, wished to leave, but the owner was not inclined to release her. Mother spoke to her about the apparition, and told her she could not stay. After breaking down, the unhappy woman said she knew this did occur at different times in the room mentioned, and she explained that the figure was that of her niece who was murdered by her own sister through jealousy, as she was combing her hair. The spirit had been “read down,” but did not rest. The murderess died in an asylum. My mother was released from her agreement on a promise not to tell a possible tenant.

Since then I have passed the house many times, and at intervals have seen the “To Let” board in the garden.

WORRIED ABOUT THE DEEDS OF THE HOUSE

A FEW years ago my friend had to remove to another town owing to her husband's work.

She was fortunate enough to get a very pretty, compact house just outside, and felt very proud of the fact, as houses just then were very scarce.

This friend, by the way, was very strong minded, and did not know the meaning of nerves.

After she had been in the house a couple of weeks she

was sleepless, after having teeth extracted, and hadn't even dozed when she saw what she described as a venerable old gentleman, with long, white beard and bent shoulders, standing close by the side of the bed with a document of some kind in his hand.

She awoke her husband and described what had taken place, but he only laughed and said it was nightmare after too heavy a supper.

So on the second occasion that the same thing happened she refrained from telling him, as she didn't like being ridiculed.

But the strain of doing so must have told on her, as, after the third time she saw the vision, her husband found her in a state of collapse.

He called in the doctor and explained what had caused the trouble. The doctor at once said: “Oh, it was old So-and-so; he died in this room and had been rather worried about the deeds of this house.”

Needless to say, her husband didn't ridicule her any more, but set about looking for another house.

A SINISTER ATMOSPHERE

IT is pleasant to sit round the fire on a winter's evening and tell ghost stories. A sort of thrill goes down one's spine which is not altogether unpleasant.

It is not, however, by any means pleasant to be in a house where one frequently gets such thrills.

Some years ago my mother and sister went to live in a large, old-fashioned farmhouse. All old houses seem to have an atmosphere of their own. Some speak of peace as one enters their doors; others of serenity. Then, again, in other houses one realises an atmosphere of depression. In this old house the atmosphere seemed almost sinister. There were such strange unaccountable noises, tappings, knocking and banging everywhere, that one could not sit in comfort in any of the rooms.

One time, when I went over to help nurse my mother, who was ill, a friend and I who were sitting up at night heard distinct footsteps crossing a large, unoccupied, adjoining bedroom.

The nurse who came later also heard these footsteps repeatedly and, strangely, each morning a framed photograph on the mantelpiece was lying on the floor. We also heard music, which sounded like the faint, sweet music of an old harpsichord.

One of the most frequent noises sounded as though a chair was being dragged along the kitchen floor, and there seemed to pass a dim presence with a breath of cold air across the kitchen.

These strange, unaccountable happenings were so disturbing that my sister became afraid to sleep alone in a room.

My mother and sister have now left the house and neighbourhood, but recently I was interested to hear that the people who now live there hear the same uncanny noises.

I think there must be an explanation of these strange sounds, and no doubt one will yet be found.

WAS IT A MONK?

WE live in a rambling, old-fashioned house which is supposed to connect by underground passage with the church and an old priory. In the older wing of the house are two bedrooms, the smaller one leading into the larger by a little passage. For a while I slept alone in this wing, and, night after night, I was roused in the early hours by the sound of slow, measured footsteps. They came from the smaller room, through the passage, and paused at the foot of the bed, then retreated with the same slow, measured strides. They sounded like the steps of a man wearing soft sandals. I lit the candle, but the room was empty and the connecting door was shut. Each time I struck a light the sound ceased and the room was empty, only the air seemed colder and there was a faint earthy smell. I said nothing about it, as I feared ridicule.

Later my brother returned home from abroad, and those rooms were given to his use. One morning he asked if I had heard any strange sounds while sleeping there, and told me he had heard someone walking. We compared notes and found our experiences precisely the same.

Is it the ghost of an old monk engaged in meditation?

A SHADOWY FIGURE

ONE warm afternoon in the summer of 1901 my grandmother asked me to come into her bedroom because, in the big bow window of the house overlooking our garden, there was, so she said, a ghost.

She pointed to the window. “Don't you see it, my dear? It's like the figure of a woman. The people have left the house because it is haunted.”

“Rubbish!” I answered. “I can’t see anyone.”

“Well,” she repeated, “it looks to me like a woman.”

I saw nothing, and said so. The next afternoon I was sitting by myself in the garden, looking up at the bow window, when to my amazement a shadowy figure as of a woman appeared on the pane. I was terrified and went indoors, but I would not say a word to anyone for fear of being laughed at.

For the next six weeks I saw that figure constantly and always in the broad daylight, at 8:30 a.m., when I started for college, at one or four, or any time in the full light of day. The house was empty; I found that out.

I hated the shadowy thing, but there it was.

After about six weeks had passed it disappeared, and I have not seen it from that day to this. So far as I know, there is no mystery connected with the house, which is quite a modern one in a very unromantic situation.

I can only say that to the best of my knowledge this is the truth, and I should be only too glad to understand what the apparition was.

WHAT WAS IT?

MY house is in a quiet corner of a quiet square. We are sheltered from wind and noise, even when it is stormy. About three years ago I was living here quite alone and, while undressing, about eleven o'clock one night, when there was not a breath of wind or a sound to be heard, I suddenly heard a noise in the hall below, like air moving swiftly round and round with a swishing noise, as when something is swung from the end of a string. Then it began to move and come up the stairs. I was very frightened and said to myself—although I knew it wasn't—“This is wind; it will pass out at the landing window.” But it didn’t; it turned the corners—two corners, in fact—and came straight along the corridor and shook the handle of my bedroom door strongly. Then all was quiet as before. I should very much like to know just what it was.

SOMEBODY WAS BITING HER EARS

IN 1913 my husband and self and two children went to reside in North Devon, and took a house that had been empty some years. It was old and next to a churchyard. The landlord was anxious for us to take the house, and had it

decorated. We took it on a weekly tenancy. Within the first week of our occupation my little daughter, aged two years, used to wake up at midnight screaming and say somebody was biting her ears. At the same time I used to break out into a cold sweat and tremble from head to feet. Then I saw a tall shadow go round the room with a lighted candle and disappear before it reached me. I was quite unable to get out of bed to take my baby into my bed. My husband saw none of this. My son, aged eight years, would ask us why we always rapped on his wall at night, and once he said he saw a hand over his bed. The last week of our occupation my husband heard padded feet come up the stairs and to the bedroom door, but no one entered. Curiously enough, fresh flowers put into a room at night would be quite dead the next morning. We stayed in that house only six weeks, and found no solution to the mystery.

GETTING USED TO IT

WE live in an old house with long passages, so when we intend to pass an afternoon or evening in a back room, somebody usually locks and bolts the front door against sneak-thieves.

More times than we can count we have heard someone open and close the front door, rattle his stick into the hall-stand, and walk up the passage into the drawing-room.

Yet, on going to see, we have found no one in the house and the door locked and bolted just as we had left it. This has occurred both in the afternoon and evening.

Many times, also, anyone awake in the night has heard someone open the bathroom door, walk along the upstairs passage and go downstairs. Again, “no one.”

Both these phenomena have been experienced by visitors, some of whom have proved decidedly nervous as a consequence; but, as nothing ever follows the sounds, we do not worry, and we have lived through them for ten years.

AN UNSOLVED MYSTERY

WITHIN half an hour's journey of the City of London, in one of its pleasant suburbs, stands a pretty little house in a quiet and pretty road. There is nothing in the least remarkable in its appearance; a one-storeyed, bay-windowed house, with a high thick-set hedge and a holly tree in the front garden. Yet some years ago we experienced some very unpleasant thrills within its prosaic looking doors. It looked then, as

it does now, particularly bright and cheerful and even new—on the outside. We went there in 1912, and for many months nothing happened, though we experienced many minor “queernesses.”

For instance, one winter evening, when there was a bright fire burning in the front room, the door closed, the table cloth blew right up as though a strong wind stirred it, and covered my brother's dinner which was then laid.

One night, mother and I were sitting together playing cards, laughing and chatting gaily, a bright fire burning, the room well lighted, everything about us very matter of fact, and we ourselves feeling in the highest spirits. Suddenly three sharp, clear shots rang out, seeming to come from the back room which we called the garden room because it gave straight on to the garden. We both jumped up, scattering the cards on the floor, and mother ran to the door. As she opened it, I saw her stand, rigid: the dark, heavy curtains in the hall leading to the stairs were waving to and fro as though blown by a strong breeze. She afterwards told me that she felt her scalp freeze and her hair rise. I was trembling, but advanced boldly to the stairs and commenced to ascend. When I reached the third from the top I stood, rooted; my feet refused to carry me any further. I lifted them to do so; but it was of no use, so I was obliged to come down again. All the time I had that horrible and indefinable feeling that there was another presence near me, all about the house, besides my mother's. My sister came in and we told her.

On two more successive nights we were tormented with most weird and hateful noises, which disturbed our peace and made us unable to do anything while they continued.

My sister was with us the next night, and this time, not shots but other noises, seeming to come from the cellar, occurred. Sometimes we knocked at the walls and cellar door, but this only seemed to aggravate the unknown disturbers; for the sounds were redoubled.

Knowing that rats sometimes make strange noises, my mother put some pieces of fat meat in the cellar in likely places. But no trace of mice or rats did we ever discover and the meat remained untouched.

On the last night of these visitations, my brother was with us, and I think it was as well, for our nerves would not have borne much more alone. Still the noises in the cellar continued, and this time like loud, heavy footsteps walking up and down. We were kept up until the small hours with these horrid

sounds almost continuous until, at last, they ceased altogether, and we were permitted to sleep.

Next day a complete search of the cellar was made, but no trace of anything or anyone was found.

Soon after, we moved away, but from that day to this our strange experience has been an unsolved mystery.

THAT NAUGHTY MAN

“GHOSTS or no ghosts,” said my friend Terrington, “what I am going to tell you is absolutely true. It is strange and inexplicable, and I make no effort to explain the happening. Listen.”

Twenty-five years ago I obtained work at a factory in a northern town, and, eventually, got a house near my work—a little old-fashioned dwelling which had once been used as a shop. My little girl, Marion, was then about four years old and had always been a good child to take to bed.

But a few weeks after our going to that place, she simply would not be left in bed alone. She and her sister slept together, and once, in the middle of the night, she awakened us by screaming loudly. I hastened to the room, but unable to pacify her, I brought her into my own bed. Of this occurrence I thought little, thinking that the child had just had a bad dream.

A few nights afterwards, I took her upstairs to bed and gently chided her for being such a frightened girl, and asked her why she did not like to go to bed alone, as she had always been in the habit of doing. “Oh, dada,” she said, “I don’t like that naughty man!” “Which naughty man?” I asked. “Oh that bad man! That naughty man, all dirty here.” And she drew her hand across her little neck.

I assured her that there was no bad man, but the fear never left her.

A few days afterwards, one of my work-mates asked me how I liked my house, which I told him was all right and very handy for my work. But my liking was turned to antipathy when he related how the place had once been occupied by an old chemist who committed suicide by cutting his throat. He was found in the very room in which my little daughter slept.

I can assure you that not one of my family knew of the tragedy which once occurred in that little house, but I soon found a reasonable excuse to leave it.

THE ROW DOWNSTAIRS

ABOUT twenty years ago I secured the tenancy of a large cottage, formerly an inn, in the suburbs of Bristol, not knowing at the time it had the reputation of being haunted, and caring nothing when I was informed. For some time nothing unusual happened, then my wife complained of hearing noises in the night, generally when I was away from home. But occasionally we both heard them. One night, about a year after we had taken the house, I was awakened and kept awake by what seemed to be the movement of all the articles of furniture downstairs—chairs, tables, etc., being, apparently, lifted off the ground and noisily replaced; after listening to this for some minutes, my wife, who I thought was asleep, said, “Now, hark at the row downstairs.” “Yes,” said I, “there's something going on down there to-night,” and I lighted a candle and went down, but, rather to my disappointment, the noises ceased as I was descending the stairs, and, though I examined each room carefully, nothing was out of place. There was no dog or cat in the house to put the blame on. My wife always fastened the door before retiring, but on several occasions we found the front door wide open in the morning, although it had been fastened by a spring lock—a big old-fashioned lock and a bolt. We lived in the house for over two years, and, towards the end of our tenancy, my wife would on no account stay in the house at night in my absence, without having an adult friend with her in addition to the children.

A HEADLESS FORM

MY parents rented a very large old-fashioned house in Norfolk, standing on its own grounds.

Living with them was a very pious old lady, also an uncle of mine. One dark, still night, my mother was sitting alone sewing when, suddenly, the room seemed to be filled with a rushing wind, and she experienced the feeling of a cold hand pressed upon her cheek, followed by a low wail and moan. She said nothing to the other inmates of the occurrence at the time.

Two nights later, my father went to the pantry which was approached by a short passage. There by the door he saw standing the headless form of a man wearing a brown coat

with large pearl buttons attached. After a few days had passed, the old lady asked my mother whether she thought there was in the house anyone who walked in his sleep as for several nights past, she had had her bedroom door opened and closed, and she distinctly heard footsteps along the landing and staircase.

For two nights in succession my uncle got out of bed and closed his bedroom door three times each night. He examined the door and found it impossible to open without some aid. Each one of these inmates related to one another their experiences. They decided to keep watch for a few nights, but nothing happened. Needless to say, they soon quitted the house. Rumour followed that the place was once known as a house of ill-fame.