Gaslit Nightmares

by Lamb, Hugh;

  ‘Dearest Aunt,’ she gasped, rather than whispered, ‘do come away!’

  ‘Why, Clara!’ I said, ‘what has happened? Are you ill?’

  ‘Oh, Auntie,’ she reiterated, ‘come away! Tell Mrs Oliver not to take the house – for it is haunted! Don’t you hear them?’

  ‘Hear them!’ I repeated, and laughed merrily. ‘What! You!’ I added, ‘a nurse – and so well known for practical common sense, and frightened at ghosts!’

  But I was struck, all the same, by the expression of her face; it was so wistful, so terrified! All her lovely colour was gone. She was as unlike her bright, laughing little self as it was possible to conceive.

  In spite of her beseeching looks, however, I felt I must accompany my cousin upstairs; and after a few minutes, Clara (who had kept close to me, evidently dreading to be left alone) once more timidly caught hold of my arm, and whispered in awestricken tones:

  ‘Auntie, come away from this dreadful house! I tell you it is haunted! Oh! don’t you hear them? Wherever we go footsteps are dogging us. For God’s sake, Auntie, come away!’

  I was rather provoked at her persistency, and all the more so when, upon my insisting on further explorations, she positively refused to be of the party, and ran down the stairs and out of the house, in an extremity of terror! After having seen everything, we also (i.e., Mrs Oliver and myself) left the house, and discovered Clara walking up and down outside, like some uneasy spirit.

  She proceeded again to implore my cousin not to take the house, for, she said, she had never experienced such a sensation before – and she knew it was haunted!

  Mrs Oliver thereupon, to Clara’s enormous relief, told her that the house did not suit her, and that she did not mean to take it; but for the space of quite three weeks, subsequent to our visit to Granville Crescent, Clara told me she constantly felt she was being followed, and always was aware of footsteps (sometimes in front of, and sometimes behind her), whenever and wherever she walked! The whole thing, however, eventually passed out of our minds, till it was recalled some months later thus:

  My cousin, the same Mrs Oliver called upon me one day, stating she had received a letter from a relative of hers, begging her to visit a friend of his who had taken a house in Granville Crescent, and who, having no friends or acquaintances there, began to find Bath lonely.

  ‘Will you come with me?’ asked my cousin; ‘for I don’t know the lady – besides which, I really think (from the address given me by my brother-in-law) that it is no other than Clara’s “haunted house” in which they have taken up their abode!’

  ‘Oh! do let us go and see!’ I exclaimed; and we started together.

  Directly we got to the house we both exclaimed: ‘Just as we thought! It is Clara’s “haunted house”! Now we shall hear something about it worth hearing!’

  Mrs Oliver laughed, and said: ‘Well, we won’t alarm the inmates, supposing they have heard or seen nothing!’

  So we rang, and waited.

  After waiting some minutes – ‘Did you knock as well as ring?’ I asked.

  ‘No, I don’t think I did! but I will do so now.’

  Mrs Oliver knocked, and rang again, and again we waited. Then we both knocked, and rang violently; but no one came to the door.

  We tried to look in at the windows, but in vain! Thick muslin curtains effectually hid the view; then we peered down into the area, – but it seemed untenanted.

  ‘There must be a mistake in the address,’ I suggested, and we were on the point of giving up any further efforts, when a woman of the ‘caretaker’ genus, came up from the area of one of the neighbouring houses, looked mysterious, and approaching me near enough to be just audible, said in a stage-whisper: ‘That ’ouse is h-empty!’

  She then hastily descended once more into the darkness below, not pausing for one moment, but tearing down the steps as though some unseen and dreaded pursuer were on her track. After violently slamming and locking the area door, she returned to her chair at the basement window, and watched us intently; to note (apparently) the effect of her oracular words.

  We stood there for a few minutes, but as no signs of entreaty could persuade her to come out to us again, we were constrained to depart without any explanation; and curiously enough, we did not connect the circumstances in any way with Clara’s impressions about the house! We simply thought some mistake had been made concerning the address, which was very dull of us!

  When my cousin got home, she wrote at once to her relation, saying she had not neglected his request, but that he must have given her the wrong address, or number, as no one lived in the house he had indicated; but that if he would rectify the mistake, she would gladly call again on his friend, when she hoped she should be more successful.

  A few days later my cousin again appeared, in a state of great excitement. She brought with her a letter from the lady we had so fruitlessly sought to see, which fully explained the extraordinary circumstance.

  After a few civil regrets over her loss of Mrs Oliver’s visit, she wrote: ‘We went to Granville Crescent, the house having been strongly recommended to us by the agent; but what we went through there it is impossible to describe! Indeed, we packed up and left very soon – in fact, in a few days; – being content and happy rather to sacrifice our rent (if needs be) than to subject ourselves to mysterious terrors, and possible dangers. Besides, our exodus was scarcely optional; for none of the servants would stay – and really we could not be surprised, for neither could we! “And why?” I can hear you ask.

  ‘Well – listen! We were followed all day by an invisible something! Whether we went up or downstairs, a footstep either followed or preceded us. If we walked across the room, someone was ever at our side; if we sat down, we felt a presence. We knew we were never alone. But – at night! Ah! that was worse still! The house was full of crooked passages, and one night I came suddenly round a corner, and face to face with the attenuated figure of an emaciated-looking page-boy, who stood quite still and looked at me. He had long thin hands, with very white fingers, and one hand he held behind him as though he held, and were concealing, something which trailed behind him. I screamed for one of the servants, but by the time they came the figure had disappeared.

  ‘My sister also saw him; she met him at the bottom of the stairs; he appeared suddenly – looking at her over the banisters, and she fell down in a faint.

  ‘Wherever there was a curtained door-way, or a sudden turn in any passage, one never felt sure of not meeting the pale, haggard-looking page, with his one long white hand in front, while the other was concealed behind him trailing something on the ground.

  ‘At last we got thoroughly terrified, and left! We wrote to the agent, after leaving, and reproached him, feeling sure he must have known something about the apparition.

  ‘He acknowledged that some months before, a miserable page-boy had committed suicide in the house, by hanging himself with a rope, to the stair-banisters. And he added in the letter, “he supposed he must haunt the building, trailing the rope.”

  ‘We all wished the agent had told us this story before we had entered the house! For he evidently knew a great deal; but he did not insist upon his rent!’

  The lady ended her letter by saying that after her departure, someone sent her a local-newspaper, giving a full account of the suicide, and of the coroner’s inquest.

  Mysterious Maisie

  WIRT GERRARE

  Wirt Gerrare was the curious nom-de-plume adopted by William Oliver Greener (1862 – 1935) for the bulk of his literary output. Greener was a historian and expert on small arms who wrote two textbooks on guns and shooting at the turn of the century. Under his own name, he seems to have published just two books, both spy stories, but under the name Gerrare he turned out a small but widely varied range of titles. His first book RUFIN’S LEGACY appeared in 1892 and his last published work appears to have been THE EXPLOITS OF JO SALIS, A BRITISH SPY (1905). In between he published books on the history of Moscow, spying in Port
Arthur, sharpshooting, and a futuristic novel THE WARSTOCK (1898).

  ‘Mysterious Maisie’ comes from PHANTASMS (1895), which appeared under the Gerrare pseudonym. Subtitled ‘Original stories illustrating posthumous personality and character’ it was published by an obscure London firm. It was notable for carrying a unique sales advertisement. Described as ‘the sole edition’, it stated on the flyleaf that copies of it would be unobtainable after 31 March 1895. It would be interesting to find out just how many extra copies of this odd little book that advertisement managed to sell. It is certainly one of the rarest items in the macabre fiction collector’s list.

  PHANTASMS was a loosely connected series of tales of ghosts and hauntings, all ‘investigated’ by two psychic detectives. In general, the two investigators were introduced by the author merely to top and tail the stories, as in ‘Mysterious Maisie’. What I like about this story is the sheer exuberance of its special effects. Very few tales of this era carried such gruesome passengers, or indeed, carried such shocking hints of diabolical scheming. I think you’ll enjoy meeting Wirt Gerrare’s Miss Mure.

  Dear Mr Vesey – It is very good of you to interest yourself in my behalf in our quest for ‘Mysterious Maisie’ – so we have named the kind creature – and I lose no time in giving you not only all the facts concerning her visits, but many details of my sister’s strange experiences. For the best of reasons I cannot add to the particulars now given; you have the whole story, and nothing extraneous to it, save such slight embellishments as my sister herself has written in her letters and journal, and some explanatory comments by myself to references which would be unintelligible to a stranger.

  I will preface the story by stating that my sister Laura was seventeen when our father died; in our straitened circumstances, and with mother’s health failing, it was needful that she should at once earn her living. She was not fitted for teaching, and had she been so, I think my experiences as assistant mistress of a High School were well enough known to her to act as an efficient repellant from embarking upon a like career. She was accomplished, fond of literature, painted a little, played well, and was of such a kindly disposition that she seemed eminently fitted for the post of companion to an elderly or invalid lady, and we were glad to accept a situation of this kind for her. True it was obtained through an agency, but the references were quite satisfactory, and such enquiries as we could make brought replies which reassured us, and we were confident that Laura would quickly gain the affection of all with whom she came in contact. My sister at that time was very pretty; she had a really beautiful face, but she was petite, very slight, very fragile; a delicately nurtured child, but full of verve, and not wanting in courage. She was not unduly timorous, nor was she over imaginative, and so truthful in all she said, and honest in all she did, that I accept as actual fact every statement she has made, exaggerated though those accounts may appear, and extraordinary as they undoubtedly are. But to the story. My sister wrote in her journal, under the date of October 22nd, 1889:

  “Arrived safely at Willesden Junction at 4.33; after waiting, nearly half-an-hour, took the train to –, reaching that station in less than twenty minutes; took a ‘four-wheeler’ to Miss Mure’s. The streets had a very dingy appearance, – is a dowdy suburb. Soon we turned down a winding lane, very badly fenced, not many houses in it, they were all old and were built on one side of the road; plenty of trees, nearly all of them bare of leaves. The car stopped in a wider road just out of the lane; the house looks old and badly kept from the outside; it stands back about twelve yards from the road. The garden in front is very badly kept – I have not yet seen that at the back - it is walled in, with iron palisades on the top of the wall, and ivy and other creepers grow over the fence as well as over the house. The front gate is in an iron arch, and was locked. The maid, whose name is Agnes, was a long time answering our appeal; then, when she saw who it was, she went back into the house for the key, so the cabman put my box on the footway, I paid him, and he drove away. I did not at all like the look of the house or the garden, and the cold flagstones with which the walk from the gate to the front door is paved are very ugly and cheerless. Agnes locked the gate again before we went into the house. In the little hall it was so dark I could not see anything, but when the door was shut, and we opened another leading to the stairs, I felt that the front door was lined with sheet iron. Every time I see such a door I think of the house in which Bill Sikes made his last stand, but I do not want to frighten myself. My room is large; it has a four-post bedstead with green rep hangings, a chest-upon-chest, an old closed press, and some old-fashioned chairs. The only lights are candles, the window is small, overgrown with a creeper from which the leaves are fast falling, and is barred with five iron bars and some ornamental scroll work. There are very curious prints on the wall, and some designs, which I cannot make out, on the ceiling. In the walls there are three doors, not counting the one in use; one of those has no bolts, but is locked. I have placed my box against it.

  ‘I have not seen Miss Mure. Agnes tells me she does not wish to see me until tomorrow. I have had tea in the front room downstairs. It is a long, narrow room, with three tall and very narrow windows looking into the front garden, and a smaller window at the side, by the fire-place, also looking out upon the garden. There is a door leading to the drawing-room, which is at the back of the house. The room seemed to be very dark, but perhaps that was due to the dismal light out of doors, and the thick growth of trees and shrubs in front. When the candles were lit – we have no gas nor lamps – I saw that the room had a papered ceiling, a dirty, cream-coloured ground, with an open floral design in blue. The walls are panelled half way, the upper half is covered with an ornamental net reaching up to the cornice; at the back of the netting the wall is plastered over with canvas, which some time was painted stone colour. There are no pictures in the room. It is not home-like or cosy, and I do not admire the style; but I have never seen anything like it before, perhaps it will be better when I am accustomed to it; at present there is an air of mystery about the house and its inmates.

  ‘Since I wrote the above I have had a talk with Agnes. I hope nothing she told me was true. She is a strange woman; but she says she has been here over fourteen years, so I cannot think things are so bad as she represents them to be. If her idea was to frighten me, she failed; I do not believe her silly tales. At first I was amused at her talk, for she speaks the true cockney dialect, and with a peculiar inflexion, very different to the accent habitual to people of the Midlands. I think Agnes is good-natured, but it was cruel to attempt to frighten me with silly superstitions; she is very ignorant if she does not know that all she said is false. I hope Miss Mure is more enlightened, otherwise my sojourn here will not be pleasant. I judge them to be funny people; they must be eccentric, or they would not keep a crocodile for a pet.

  ‘Agnes says that my room is called the dragon room, from the pattern upon the ceiling. I am to go later into “Caduceus”, but she persuaded Miss Mure to let me have the larger room at first, as being more homelike. I wonder what “Caduceus” is like! There are seven bedrooms – some of them must be very small – and one over the back kitchen; in that Agnes sleeps, and it is reached by different stairs.

  ‘After her silly tales about hauntings, I asked her why she did not keep a dog. She replied that she had tried several times to get one to stay, but they all ran away. “They sees ’em, and they won’t stop. Why there’s Draysen’s bull terrier, what’ll kill anythin’ livin’; when ‘e came with the meat one day. I ’ticed him in through the side entrance, and put him in the back garden. He were right savage when I shut the door on him, but ‘e no sooner turned round and looked the otherway than his tail dropped, and he whined that awful I were glad to let ’im out there and then. But we must ha’ summut, so we’ve got Sivvy.”

  ‘For answer, Agnes commenced to explain that Miss Mure is a spiritualist, and constantly attended by a lot of spiritual companions, so that dogs and other animals dread her. At this
I laughed heartily. Agnes was not offended, but she said I evidently knew very little of such matters. We were then silent for a few minutes, and I heard mumblings and acratchings. “Is that Sivvy?” I asked laughingly. “No,” she replied very seriously, “they’re at it agen,” by they meaning the spirits, I suppose; but after listening she said it was the “sooterkin,” at which I was, of course, as wise as before. I shall have to enlarge my vocabulary very considerably before understanding the inmates of this house. Sivvy frightened me much more than any ghost is likely to do. She is a huge crocodile, nearly four feet in length, and she ran, or rather waddled, straight towards me as soon as the door to the kitchen was opened; she hissed the whole time, and sent one of the chairs spinning by a blow from her tail. Agnes had ready a rough and much torn Turkish towel, which she threw over Siwy’s head; the reptile snapped savagely at it, and got its teeth entangled in the threads, and being also blindfolded by the towel, was quiet until Agnes seized its snout with her left hand, and taking its right thigh in her other, lifted it from the floor. It then commenced to lash savagely with its tail, and if Agnes was not badly hurt by the blows, she must be destitute of feeling; but it was only for an instant, for she slipped the reptile into a tank underneath the side-table by the window. She looked hot and flurried when the business was over, but she gave me to understand that the vicious thing was always loose in the outer kitchen, and that I must not presume to pass that way unless she accompanied me. She said also that Sivvy was in and out of the tank in her kitchen all night; a significant hint that neither I nor Miss Mure must venture beyond our own quarters after Sivvy’s supper time.