Walking out of Philadelphia a day or two after his return, accompanied by his wife, on their way to the house of a friend, Captain Hackett suddenly stood still and hailed a man who was rapidly disappearing up a path near Tulling’s house. It was Tulling himself.
“Why, he’s running away — don’t want to know me again!” observed Captain Hackett, with astonishment. And then he suddenly added, “Why, he must have come over in the same ship with me — it was the first one leaving. But damme if I saw him on board!”
Mrs. Hackett was ten times more astonished than her husband. But she only asked, “Do you know that man?”
“Why, yes, and so do you. He brought me news of you in London; never told me his name, and I forgot to ask you about him yesterday.”
“You saw him in London? When? What did he say?”
“Came to me in a coffee-house. He said, ‘Aren’t you Captain. Hackett?’ ‘Yes,’ says I. ‘Then,’ says he, ‘Mrs. Hackett, in Philadelphia, who is a neighbour of mine, is troubled in her mind about your safety. You are a good deal overdue, and she hasn’t seen a letter from you for some months. Are you going to write to her?’ ‘No,’ I said, ‘I shan’t write now because I am going over by the next ship, but I wrote a month or two ago;’ and then I told him about the ship being taken, and everything relative. There were many folk in the coffee-house, and presently, I can’t tell how, we got separated, and I never saw any more of him, although I hunted the place inside and out. And now he runs away from me! But how he could have come across, and I never clap eyes on him all the way, is what beats me. Who is he?”
Exactly who or what he was Mrs. Hackett would never venture to guess, but she told her husband that his name was Tulling. Why Captain Hackett had never seen him in the vessel which had just arrived she quite understood, for Mr. Maurice Agra Tulling had never left Pennsylvania, at any rate in the body, since first settling there, shortly after Hackett had last sailed.
THE HAUNTED HOUSE AT WILLINGTON
MIDWAY between Newcastle-on-Tyne and North Shields lies the town of Willington. It is a much larger town now than it was nearly fifty years ago, when it stood, a mere little hamlet, in a hollow lying between the River Tyne and the line of railway from North Shields to Newcastle, and its one factory was a steam flour mill in the occupation of Messrs. Unthank and Proctor, a Quaker firm. A little way apart from the mill stood a house of residence, inhabited by the family of Mr. Joseph Proctor. This was a plain, substantial brick house, built in the first year of the century; not, in its appearance, at any rate, the sort of house which would seem likely to be the scene of ghostly visitations. Indeed, there was nothing about the house indicative of such a character excepting the fact that during the process of its erection there were vague reports of some crime committed by a workman employed on the building. There would seem to have been no record of exactly what this crime was, but that trouble of some kind took place was beyond dispute. The house stood on the bank of a small watercourse, which ran almost dry at low water, and a bend of which ran round the greater part of three of the walls. The house had no cellars, and the interior was not approachable except through the doors.
It had been for years a matter of common knowledge in the neighbourhood that Mr. Proctor’s family had been subjected to much annoyance by mysterious sights and sounds. The servants were frequently changed, most refusing to stay in a house liable to such uncanny visitations. All sorts of rumours were abroad, but Mr. Proctor refused to satisfy the curiosity of neighbours, and declined to allow the circumstances to be made public at the time, naturally neither wishing to advertise his family affairs nor to make a show place of his home.
Among many intelligent people to whose ears these reports came, and who expressed the utmost disbelief in them, was Mr. Drury, of Sunderland. He asked permission of Mr. Proctor to stay a night in the house alone, or with his dog, if possible in the room said to be most subject to spectral visitations. This permission was granted. Mr. Proctor’s family were temporarily absent from home, and on July 3rd, 1840, Mr. Drury, accompanied by an equally sceptical friend, Mr. Thomas Hudson, arrived at the house with the purpose of spending the night.
They were first shown over the whole premises by the man left in charge, who at the same time told them that of late the disturbances had been less frequent than had before been usual, and that it was quite possible that they might pass the night without witnessing or hearing anything strange whatsoever.
The house was locked up, and the two investigators satisfied themselves that no person was concealed in any part of the building. Every corner, every nook in the place, was most carefully scrutinised, and the visitors became fully convinced that if anything of a ghostly nature occurred during the night it would not be the work of human beings. The more particularly haunted part of the house was reputed to be the third floor, and the apparition was said to issue from a sort of large closet, which was therefore most carefully examined. It was empty, and much too shallow to serve as a hiding-place for any ordinary person, even if any person had been there to hide.
The inspection over, at less than an hour before midnight, Mr. Drury and Mr. Hudson sat down on the third storey landing, waiting, in very strong unbelief, for whatever sights or noises might ensue, and ready to investigate and scientifically account for them.
After waiting rather more than half-an-hour the two friends suddenly heard the noise of pattering feet — the noise of many bare feet, in fact — upon the floor, although so singular was the sound that it was quite impossible to say exactly whence it proceeded. This went on for some little time and then stopped.
There were some minutes of quietness, and then was heard a sound of tapping on the floor at their feet — in fact, a sound as of a person stooping down and rapping with his knuckles about their heels. Nothing was visible which could possibly have caused this. Mr. Drury took a piece of paper and carefully noted down the fact of both these sounds being heard and the time. Then the rapping upon the floor came again. Then, as the last rap sounded, there came, most clearly and distinctly, from the shallow closet the sound of a hollow cough.
A candle was lit, and the door opened. The closet was as empty as when they before examined it. They shut the door and returned to the landing.
A little before half-past twelve another noise was heard. This time it proceeded from the lower part of the stairs and gradually ascended. It was a brushing, rustling noise, as though caused by a person coming upstairs and rubbing against the wall on the way. The noise came as high as the third-floor landing, where Drury and his friend stood, and then ceased.
About a quarter of an hour after this, nothing having occurred in the meantime, and Hudson having fallen asleep, Drury suggested that perhaps as it was cold it might be well to take a spell in bed, keeping a sharp look-out in the meantime. Hudson, however, whom he awoke in order to make the suggestion, would not hear of leaving the landing and letting out of sight the closet door. He certainly would not go to bed till daylight, he said, and almost immediately fell asleep again.
Drury yawned, looked round, and then picked up his notes, which he glanced over again by the light of the candle. Then he pulled out his watch. It was ten minutes to one, he noticed, and then raised his eyes, which, after another glance round, were suddenly arrested by the slow opening of the closet door.
The door opened wide, and disclosed the greyish figure of a woman. The head hung downward, and the left hand grasped the breast in a manner expressive of intense pain. With the forefinger of the other hand it pointed downward to the floor.
Slowly and with separate, cautious, set steps — not with the glide usually associated with such apparitions — the figure advanced towards the watchers. As it approached the face became more distinctly visible, and Drury saw that it was a face of human lineament except that it had no eyes. It came within a yard, and then, with the hand which had been pointing, reached out toward Drury’s sleeping friend.
Seeing this, Drury rushed at the spectre with a loud y
ell, snatching and beating at it with his hands, feeling nothing, however, and falling between it and Hudson — indeed, partly through it.
For two or three hours after this Drury was in a sort of delirium, and saw and remembered nothing. Hudson, awakened by the cry, saw for a second a misty white form floating away above the stairs, and then nothing else. Drury, with the help of the man in charge of the premises, was carried downstairs in a trembling paroxysm.
The news of the adventure of Messrs. Drury and Hudson was soon spread abroad, and appeared in several newspapers. This brought Mr. Proctor letters from various parts of the country, the writers themselves occupying houses afflicted with similar manifestations, but finding it difficult to make others believe their statements.
Messrs. Drury and Hudson were not the only persons whose disbelief did not survive a visit to the house. Mr. Proctor’s brother-in-law, anything but a nervous man, and one of the strongest common sense, slept at the house, resolving that any abnormal sights or sounds should not find him unprepared, and that, if anything of the sort occurred he would speak and demand who caused it.
While in bed one-night he heard, accompanied by a loud banging noise as of a large stick upon the handrail, heavy footsteps ascending the bedroom stairs. As the sound of the steps reached the door he attempted to call out, but, although he had at the time no feeling of fear, he found it quite impossible to utter a sound. He got out of bed and threw open the door. There he could see nothing. But as he stood, the steps were heard again heavily descending the stairs before his eyes, still accompanied by the knocking, although nothing whatever was visible. Going to Mr. Proctor’s room he found that he also had heard the sounds, but although lights were at once lit, and a search made, nothing was discovered to account for them. Such occurrences were, indeed, anything but unusual to the regular inmates of the house, who, however, very naturally avoided as much as possible spreading the story abroad.
Two young ladies, sisters, and friends of the family, had a terrifying experience while on a visit at Mr. Proctor’s. They slept together in a room on the third floor. Very soon after retiring on the first night they, to their intense fright, felt the bed slowly lifted up from beneath. Naturally assuming that burglars were in hiding, they screamed aloud, and speedily brought the other occupants of the house to the room. But although every examination was made, and although it would have been quite impossible for any person to leave the room unobserved, nobody was found. Nothing further occurred to disturb them that night and, indeed, for several succeeding nights all went well. Then came a night when, as they were in bed, and about to fall asleep, the bed began to rock violently from side to side, and suddenly, before they had time to call out, the bed curtains were pulled up all round to the tester, in the manner of blinds, The sisters clung to one another in fright, and screamed loudly. Then the curtains fell, and were violently pulled up and down again several times. By this time the cries of the terrified girls had brought Mr. Proctor and his family, and the disturbance ceased. Another search was made, as fruitless as the first. For the rest of the night they were not molested.
The less courageous of these two young ladies was for leaving the house in the morning, but her sister persuaded her to stay, on the promise that the curtains should be removed altogether from the bed. She had, she said, a feeling that horrible forms lurked behind those curtains, and that fearful eyes peered from between their folds. The curtains were taken away, and the sisters went to bed that night as usual.
The night was moonlight, and every object in the room was clearly distinguishable. The time at which the previous disturbances had taken place passed without incident, and supposing that they were not to be troubled, the sisters fell asleep. Later in the night, however, they both awoke together, with a feeling of nervous dread, and then witnessed the most alarming manifestation of all. The night was still light and the furniture was clearly visible, but as they looked upward a grey female figure came out of the wall above their heads horizontally, face downward, leaning over them, and the face had no eyes.
Intense terror paralysed their every faculty, and they could only lie speechless, helpless, and half dead with an agony of fear. For a time which they could never afterwards calculate, but which was probably really only a few seconds, the figure remained motionless above their faces and then passed slowly away again into the wall.
Recovering the use of their limbs, the girls, supporting one another as best they might, dragged themselves from the room, and, gaining the neighbourhood of the other bed-rooms, fainted.
The younger sister left the house, and would never return except at daylight and in company. The elder, however, was provided with another bed-room, and completed her stay at the house without further interference.
The younger sister stayed at the house occupied by the foreman of the mill, and it was the foreman’s wife who one evening called her, with her own daughter and her husband, to observe an apparition which was frequently seen by the villagers — so frequently, indeed, that familiarity bred contempt, and the spectre — that of a man — was known among them as “old Jeffery,” What she saw, and what was often seen by others before and since, was the figure of a bareheaded old man in a long robe, which glided before a second storey window, and disappeared and reappeared into and out of the wall of the house. The figure was most distinct and luminous, and was seen by several persons who had been called by the foreman’s wife.
The exact nature of the crime which was said to have been committed when the house was in course of erection was never properly ascertained; and some few years after the experiences narrated above, Mr. Proctor discovered an old record setting forth that, exactly two hundred years before, exactly similar hauntings had afflicted an old house standing upon the same spot, which the newer building had replaced.
Fifteen years altogether was Mr. Proctor in occupation of the place, which, upon his quitting it, was divided into tenements for workpeople, although the third floor was always found uninhabitable.
No. 15 ST. SWITHIN’S LANE
THE difference which thirty years will make in the appearance of a London street is well exemplified in St. Swithin’s Lane. Brand new stone-fronted shops and offices stand where, a generation ago and less, were the old houses once inhabited by city merchants — houses which had stood since the Great Fire of 1666.
The stranger who walks down St. Swithin’s Lane to-day from the Bank will find No. 15, if he looks for it, on the right hand side, some little way past New Court and Salter’s Hall. It is a substantial stone and glazed-brick fronted new building, and is used as a bank — quite a different structure to the one which it replaced. The old No. 15 — or Nos. 14 and 15 as the one building was called at the time of this story — was a very large, dark, old-fashioned place, built after the Great Fire, and having underneath many extensive cellars, as well as, it was rumoured, many secret passages which had remained unexplored for generations.
In the year 1854, before the practice of city men to live in the city had quite died out, the upper floors of this strange old house were occupied by a Mr. John Simpson and his family. Mr. Simpson was a general agent in a fairly extensive way of business, and his family was a large one. Their part of the house was separated from that below by a strong gate of ornamental iron on the stairs. This gave them practically a separate house, for the gate was kept shut, visitors having to ring before being admitted, just as would have happened at an ordinary front door.
On the top floor was a large dining-room facing the street, with three windows. At each end of this room there was a fireplace, and on the side opposite the windows was one door leading to the stairs and another leading into a bed-room. Immediately below the dining-room was the drawing-room, and on this floor also was the kitchen; below these again were Mr. John Simpson’s offices, and all this part of the house, including other rooms, bed-rooms, etc. — which are not connected with the story — was cut off from all below by the gate previously alluded to. The rooms below the gate were u
sed as offices, Mr. Marshall, a builder, and Mr. John Scott, a solicitor, being the occupants.
One evening, soon after taking up residence, Mrs. Simpson heard the prolonged cry of a baby proceeding from the kitchen. The servants were out, with the exception of one, who was in the upper part of the house. A visit to the kitchen failed to reveal any baby, although, singularly enough, the noise continued. This was frequently repeated, and the only supposition possible was that it came from some adjoining house, and was magnified by some extraordinary acoustic property of the kitchen. But when, a year or more afterwards, the cries were still continually heard and were still unmistakably those of a new-born child, as weak as ever — and, in fact, were the same cries exactly repeated — it became plain that this was scarcely an adequate explanation.
These noises had been heard once or twice, when, one night, Mrs. Simpson, while in her bed-room, heard clearly and distinctly a voice singing. It was a soft and mournful air, the words not being distinguishable, and it proceeded from a recess close to the bed-room door. Suddenly the singing changed into a long wail, succeeded by a short, sharp scream, as of pain. Then silence.
This occurred time after time, and could not possibly have proceeded from other premises. While the recess — in the middle of the house, and not near an outer wall — was visibly empty, the sounds continued, and the singing always ended with precisely the same scream.
Mrs. Simpson mentioned these things to her husband, but he only laughed at what he supposed to be her nervous fancies. The servants, however, complained of the noises, and more than one testified to having seen strange shadowy things in the house. One servant left in consequence. Inquiries of a neighbour elicited the information that the previous tenants had been driven away by the same disturbances. Of course, nothing whatever was said of these matters to the children, and their innocent behaviour later, when themselves witnessing stranger manifestations, proves that they could have been told nothing of them. Mr. Simpson lost patience with what he had considered the foolish tales of the servants, and refused to believe that the noises which they spoke of were anything but those caused by the wind among the corners and gratings of the old house.
Delphi Complete Works of Arthur Morrison Page 154