Curious Warnings: The Great Ghost Stories of M.R. James

by M. R. James

  It was not a very exciting remark, but it was enough to show me that a whole new world (as the books say) was open to me.

  This, of course, was only a beginning. There were some plants and flowering shrubs under the window, and though I could see nothing, I began to hear voices—two voices—talking among them. They sounded young: of course they were anyhow very small, but they seemed to belong to young creatures of their kind.

  “Hullo, I say, what have you got there? Do let’s look; you might as well.”

  Then a pause—another voice: “I believe it’s a bad one.”

  Number one: “Taste it.”

  Number two, after another pause, with a slight sound (very diminutive) of spitting: “Heugh! Bad! I should rather think it was. Maggot!”

  Number one (after laughing rather longer than I thought kind): “Look here—don’t chuck it away—let’s give it to the old man. Here—shove the piece in again and rub it over—here he is!” (Very demurely): “O sir, we’ve got such a nice-looking—” (I could not catch what it was) “here; we thought you might perhaps like it, sir. Would you, sir? … Oh no, thank you, sir, we’ve had plenty, sir, but this was the biggest we found.”

  A third voice said something; it was a deeper one and less easy to hear.

  Number two: “Bitten, sir? Oh no, I don’t think so. Do you——?” (a name which I did not make out).

  Number one: “Why, how could it be?”

  Number three again—angry, I thought.

  Number two (rather anxiously): “But, sir, really, sir, I don’t much like them … Must I really, sir? … O sir, it’s got a maggot in it, and I believe they’re poison.” (Smack, smack, smack, smack.)

  Two voices, very lamentable: “O sir, sir, please sir!”

  A considerable pause, and sniffing. Then Number two, in a broken voice: “You silly fool, why did you go laughing like that right under his snout? You might have known he’d cog it.” (“Cog.” I had not heard the word since 1876.) “There’ll be an awful row tomorrow. Look here, I shall go to bed.”

  The voices died away; I thought Number one seemed to be apologizing.

  That was all I heard that night. After eleven o’clock things seemed to get very still, and I began to feel just a little apprehensive lest something of a less innocent kind should come along.

  So I went to bed.

  III: The Second Jar

  Next day, I must say, was very amusing. I spent the whole of it in the fields just strolling about and sitting down, as the fancy took me, listening to what went on in the trees and hedges.

  I will not write down yet the kind of thing I heard, for it was only the beginning. I had not yet found out the way of using the new power to the very best advantage. I felt the want of being able to put in a remark or a question of my own every now and then. But I was pretty sure that the jar which had linguam on it would manage that.

  Very nearly all the talking I heard was done by the birds and animals—especially the birds; but perhaps half a dozen times, as I sat under a tree or walked along the road, I was aware of voices which sounded exactly like those of people (some grown-up and some children) passing by or coming toward me and talking to each other as they went along.

  Needless to say, there was nothing to be seen: no movement of the grass and no track on the dusty road, even when I could tell exactly where the people who owned the voices must be. It interested me more than anything else to guess what sort of creatures they were, and I determined that the next jar I tried should be the Eye one.

  Once, I must tell you, I ventured to say “Good afternoon” when I heard a couple of these voices within a yard of me. I think the owners must nearly have had a fit. They stopped dead: one of them gave a sort of cry of surprise, and then, I believe, they ran or flew away. I felt a little breath of wind on my face, and heard no more.

  It wasn’t (as I know now) that they couldn’t see me: but they felt much as you would if a tree or a cow were to say “Good afternoon” to you.

  When I was at supper that evening, the cat came in, as she usually did, to see what was going. I had always been accustomed to think that cats talk when they mew, dogs when they bark, and so on. It is not so at all.

  Their talking is almost all done (except when they are in a great state of mind) in a tone which you cannot possibly hear without help. Mewing is for the most part only shouting without saying any words. Purring is, as we often say, singing.

  Well, this cat was an ordinary nice creature, tabby, and in she came, and sat watching me while I had soup. To all appearance she was as innocent as a lamb—but no matter for that. What she was saying was something of this kind:

  “Get on with it, do: shove it down, lap it up! Who cares about soup? Get to business. I know there’s fish coming.”

  When the fish actually came, there was a great deal of good feeling shown at first. “Oh, how much we have to be thankful for, all of us, have we not? Fish, fish: what a thought! Dear, kind, generous people all around us, all striving to supply us with what is best and pleasantest for us.”

  Then there was a silence for a short time, then in a somewhat different tone I heard: “Ah dear! The longer I live, the wiser I find it is not to expect too much consideration from others! Self-love! How few, how terribly few, are really free from it! The nature that knows how to take a hint, how rare it is!”

  Another short silence, and then: “There you go—another great bit. I wonder you don’t choke or burst! Disgusting! A good scratch all down your horrible fat cheek is what you want, and I know some cats that would give it you. No more notion how to behave than a cockroach.”

  About this time I rang the bell and the fish was taken away. The cat went too, circling around the maid with trusting and childlike glances, and I heard her saying in the former tone:

  “Well, I daresay after all there are some kind hearts in the world, some that can feel for a poor weary creature, and know what a deal of strength and nourishment even the least bit of fish can give—” And I lost the rest.

  When the time came and the box was open once more, I duly anointed my eyes and went to the window. I knew something of what I might expect to see, but I had not realized at all how much of it there would be.

  In the first place there were a great many buildings, in fact a regular village, all about the little lawn on which my window looked. They were, of course, not big; perhaps three feet high was the largest size. The roofs seemed to be of tiles, the walls were white, the windows were brightly lighted, and I could see people moving about inside.

  But there were plenty of people outside, too—people about six inches high—walking about, standing about, talking, running, playing some game which might have been hockey. These were on leveled spaces, for the grass, neatly kept as it was, would have come halfway up their legs; and there were some driving along smooth tracks in carriages drawn by horses of the right size, which were really the most charming little animals I ever saw.

  You may suppose that I should not soon have got tired of watching them and listening to the little treble buzz of voices that went on, but I was interrupted.

  Just in front of me I heard what I can only call a snigger. I looked down, and saw four heads supported by four pairs of elbows leaning on the window-sill and looking up at me. They belonged to four boys who were standing on the twigs of a bush that grew up against the wall, and who seemed to be very much amused. Every now and again one of them nudged another and pointed toward me; and then, for some unexplained reason, they sniggered again. I felt my ears growing warm and red.

  “Well, young gentlemen,” I said, “you seem to be enjoying yourselves.”

  No answer.

  “I appear to be so fortunate as to afford you some gratification,” I went on, in my sarcastic manner. “Perhaps you would do me the honor of stepping into my poor apartment?”

  Again no answer, but more undisguised amusement. I was thinking out a really withering remark, when one of them said:

  “Do look at h
is nose. I wonder if they know how ridiculous they are. I should like to talk to one of them for five minutes.”

  “Well,” I said, “that can be managed very easily, and I assure you I should be equally glad of the opportunity. My remarks would deal with the subject of good manners.”

  Another one spoke this time, but did not answer me. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said, “I expect they’re pretty stupid. They look it—at least this one does.”

  “Can they talk?” said the third. “I’ve never heard ’em.”

  “No, but you can see them moving their jaws and mouths and things. This one did just now.”

  I saw how it was now, and, becoming cooler, I recognized that these youths were behaving very much as I might have done myself in the presence of someone who I was sure could neither see nor hear me. I even smiled. One of them pointed at me at once:

  “Thought of a joke, I s’pose. Don’t keep it all to yourself, old chap.”

  At this moment the fourth, who had not said anything so far, but seemed to have been listening, piped up: “I say! I believe I know what it is that makes that hammering noise: it’s something he has got in his clothes.”

  I could not resist this. “Right again,” I said; “it’s my watch, and you’re very welcome to look at it.” And I took it out and put it on the window-sill.

  An awful horror and surprise came into their faces. In a second they had dived down like so many ducks. In another second I saw them walking across the grass, and each of them threw his arms around the waist or the neck of one of the elder people who were walking about among the houses. The person so attacked pulled himself up and listened attentively to what the boy was saying. The particular one I was watching looked toward my window and then burst out laughing, slapped the boy on the back, and resumed his walk. The boy went slowly off toward one of the houses.

  One or two of the other “men” came and stood nearer to the window, looking up. I thought I would venture a bow, and made one rather ceremoniously. It did not produce much effect, and I could not at the moment think of anything I could do that would show them quite clearly that I saw them.

  They went on looking at me quietly enough, and then I heard a deep low bell, seemingly very far off, toll five times. They heard it too, turned sharply around and walked off to the houses. Soon after that the lights in the windows died down and everything became very still. I looked at my watch. It was ten o’clock.

  I waited for a while to see if anything would happen, but there was nothing; so I got some books out (which took a few minutes) and before I settled down to them I thought I would just take one more look out of the window.

  Where were all the little houses? At the first glance I thought they had vanished, but it was not exactly so. I found I could still see the chimneys above the grass, but as I looked they too disappeared. It was done very neatly: there was no hole, the turf closed in upon the roofs as they sank down, just as if it was of india-rubber. There was not a trace left of houses or roads or playgrounds or anything.

  I was strongly tempted to go out and walk over the site of the village, but I did not. For one thing I was afraid I might disturb the people of the house, and besides there was a mist coming up over the meadows which sloped away outside the garden. So I stopped where I was.

  But what a very odd mist, I began to think. It was not coming in all in one piece as it should. It was more in patches or even pillars of a smoky gray which moved at different rates, some of them occasionally standing still, others even seeming to go to and fro.

  And now I began to hear something like a hollow whispering coming from their direction. It was not conversation, for it went on quite continuously in the same tone: it sounded more as if something was being recited. I did not like it.

  Then I saw what I liked less. Seven of these pillars of mist, each about the size of a man, were standing in a row just outside the garden fence, and in each I thought I saw two dull red eyes; and the hollow whispering grew louder.

  Just then I heard a noise behind me in the room, as if the fire-irons had suddenly fallen down. So they had: and the reason why they had was that an old horseshoe which was on the mantelpiece had, for no reason that I could see, tumbled over and knocked them. Something I had heard came into my mind. I took the horseshoe and laid it on the window-sill.

  The pillars of mist swayed and quivered as if a sudden gust of wind had struck them, and seemed all at once to go farther off; and the hollow murmur was no longer to be heard.

  I shut the window and went to bed.

  But, the last thing, I looked out once again. The meadow was clear of mist and bright beneath the light of the moon.

  As I lay in bed I thought and thought over what I had seen last. I was quite sure that the pillars of mist concealed some beings who wished me no good: but why should they have any spite against me? I was also sure that they wanted to get into the house: but again, why? You may think I was slow in the wits, but I must confess that some few minutes passed before I guessed.

  Of course they wanted to get hold of the box with the five jars.

  The thought disturbed me so much that I got up, lighted a candle, and went to the cupboard to see if all was safe. Yes, the box was there, but the cupboard door, which I knew I had locked, was unfastened, and when I had to turn the key it became plain that the lock was hampered and useless.

  How could this have come about? Earlier in the evening it had been perfectly right, and nobody had been in the room since I locked it last.

  Whoever had done it, they had made the cupboard no safe place for the box. I took it into the bedroom and after a minute’s thought cleared out a space in a suitcase which I had brought with me, locked it in that, and put the key on the ring of my watch-chain. Watch and all went under my pillow, and once more I got into bed.

  IV: The Small People

  You will have made sure that the next jar I meant to try was the one for the tongue, in hopes that it would help me to speak to some of the creatures. Though I looked forward to the experiment very much, and felt somewhat restless until I had made it, I did get a good deal of amusement out of what I saw and heard the next day.

  The small people were not to be seen—at least not in the morning. No, I am wrong: I found a bunch of three of them—young ones—asleep in a hollow tree. They woke up and looked at me without much interest, and when I was withdrawing my head they blew kisses to me. I am afraid there is no doubt they did so in derision.

  But there were others. I passed a cottage garden in which a little dog was barking most furiously. It seemed to be barking at a clothesline, on which, with a lot of other things, was a print dress with rather a staring pattern of flowers. The dress caught my eye, and so did something red at the top which stuck up above the line. I gave it another glance, and really I had a most dreadful shock. It was a face.

  I gazed at it in horror, and was just gathering my wits to run and call for help or something, when I saw that it was laughing. Then I realized that it could not be an ordinary person, hanging as it was on a thin bit of cord and blowing to and fro in the breeze. I went nearer, staring at it with all my eyes, and made out that it was the face of an old woman, very cheerful and ruddy, and, as I said, laughing and swinging to and fro.

  Suddenly she seemed to catch my eye and to see that I saw her, and in a flash she was off the line and around the corner of the house, nearly tumbling over the dog as she went. It rushed after her, still very angry, but soon came trotting back, rather out of breath, and that incident was over.

  I walked on. Among the village people I met, there were one or two whom I didn’t think I had seen before—elderly, bright-eyed people they were—who seemed very much surprised when I said “Good morning” to them, and stopped still, looking after me, when I passed on.

  At last, some little way outside the village, I saw in the distance the same bright-colored dress that had been on the clothesline. The person who wore it was going slowly, and looking in the grass and hedges, and somet
imes stooping to pick a plant, as it seemed. I quickened my pace and came up with her, and when I was just behind her, I cleared my throat rather loudly and said, “Fine day,” or words to that effect.

  You should have seen her jump! I was well paid for the fright she had given me just before. However, the startled look cleared away from her face, and she drew herself up and looked at me very calmly.

  “Yes,” she said, “it’s a fine day.” Then she actually blushed and went on: “I think I ought to beg your pardon for giving you such a turn just now.”

  “Well,” I said, “I certainly was a good deal startled, but no harm was done. The dog took it more to heart than I did.”

  She gave a short laugh. “Yes,” she said. “I hardly know why I was behaving like that. I suppose we all of us feel skittish at times.” She paused and said with some little hesitation, “You have them, I suppose?” and at the same time she rapidly touched her ears, eyes and mouth with her forefinger.

  I looked at her in some doubt, for I thought, might not she be one of the unknown who wished to get hold of the Five Jars? But her eye was honest, and my instinct was to trust her: so I nodded, and put my finger on my lips.

  “Of course,” she said. “Well, you are the first since I was a little thing, and that’s fourteen hundred years ago.” (You may think I opened my eyes.) “Yes, Vitalis was the last, and he lived in the villa—they called it so—down by the stream. You’ll find the place some of these days if you look. I heard talk yesterday that someone had gotten them, and I’m told the mist was about last night. Perhaps you saw it?”

  “Yes,” I said, “I did, and I guessed what it meant.” And I told her all that had happened, and ended by asking if she could kindly advise me what to do.

  She thought for a moment, and then handed me a little bunch of the leaves she held in her hand. “Four-leaved clover,” she said. “I know nothing better. Lay it on the box itself. You’ll hear of them again, be sure.”