THE NIGHT WIND HOWLS

by Frederick Cowles

  One night he and I were sitting in the club library weighing up the merits of the prospective runners in the Lincoln when Sharman, who is on the staff of the Evening Sun, joined us. He sank into a chair, ordered a glass of sherry, lit a cigarette, and then exclaimed, ‘I say, you chaps, I’ve discovered a new religion.’

  ‘Is there such a thing?’ inquired Carey blandly.

  ‘Of course there is,’ Sharman replied. ‘New religions are always cropping up, and this one is something out of the ordinary. These people actually worship trees.’

  ‘I hope, for the sake of your own reputation, you haven’t featured the story,’ said Dennis. ‘A glance at Frazer’s Golden Bough would have convinced you that tree-worship is one of the oldest forms of religion.’

  Poor Sharman was visibly put out. ‘But surely,’ he protested, ‘the worship of trees is something new to this country?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, old boy,’ answered Dennis. ‘The Druids had their sacred groves, and early Christian missionaries to these islands found it necessary to publish strong edicts condemning those who worshipped rocks and trees. Veneration of trees and forests was a feature of medieval witchcraft and, if I remember rightly, the society you have just discovered was actually in existence long before the war.’

  ‘Then I have been done,’ complained Sharman bitterly. ‘The man who took me to see these people performing their antics in a wood in Surrey, told me it was something quite new.’

  ‘He was probably ignorant of the antiquity of this form of religion. But I can assure you that tree-worshipping sects crop up from time to time in most European countries, and in certain savage tribes the whole religious life of the community is centered in trees.’

  ‘Hell!’ groaned the reporter. ‘And I thought I had got on to a new line. Do you think there is anything in the business at all?’

  ‘Not as a newspaper stunt,’ was the reply. ‘But there may be quite a lot in it from the occult point of view. Some authorities still maintain that nature spirits dwell in trees: others say that certain trees exude an evil influence.’

  ‘But surely that’s all rot?’ I interpolated.

  ‘Perhaps it is and perhaps it isn’t. You must have noticed that some trees differ very much from others in the impression they make upon a reasonably sensitive mind. A chestnut in bloom usually gives me a feeling of peace and calm: a lilac appeals to the senses: limes are glamorous, romantic trees: a silver birch is wistful: and beeches, with their leaves rustling in the breeze, are vaguely disturbing. On the whole trees are friendly things, but sometimes, in the heart of a forest or even in some isolated position, you may come upon one which seems to be strangely sinister and evil.’

  ‘Yes, I have noticed that,’ admitted Sharman. ‘But it proves nothing.’

  ‘It is always difficult to convince a journalist of the existence of anything he cannot see and touch,’ laughed Dennis. ‘It is not for me to attempt to prove that every tree has a separate entity—in fact I am not certain that I believe it myself. But I did have one queer experience that had to do with a tree. If you like I’ll tell you the story.’

  We both eagerly assented, and Sharman touched the bell and ordered our glasses to be refilled. When the waiter had brought the drinks and departed, Dennis lit his pipe and settled down in the chair.

  ‘I wonder if the name of Canton Hall in Somerset means anything to either of you?’ he began.

  It meant nothing to me, but Sharman at once exclaimed, ‘Good God! Isn’t that the place where some scandalous affair occurred about three years ago? The daughter of the house committed suicide or something.’

  ‘Right first time,’ Dennis went on. ‘My story concerns that ghastly business. Lady Canton was rather a friend of mine and, for that matter, is still, although I haven’t seen her for some time. In June 1934 I received an urgent letter asking if I would go down to Canton Hall immediately. At the time, I remember, I was preparing for a holiday in Italy, but Lady Canton’s request seemed to promise something more interesting. I wired at once saying I would catch the 9.10 train to Taunton on the following morning, and asking for a car to meet me there.

  ‘Canton Hall is about twelve miles to the west of Taunton, and is a fine Elizabethan mansion set in a lovely park. It was a glorious day when I arrived and I thoroughly enjoyed the late afternoon drive through the pleasant countryside. Magnificent wrought iron gates admitted us to the park, but we drove on for nearly two miles before the house came into view. Then, suddenly, it lay before us in a hollow, with its windows shining in the sunlight and its queer, twisted chimneys standing up against the blue sky like distorted fingers.

  ‘It was then I noticed a small coppice on the hillside behind the house. The trees appeared black against the bright green of the meadows, and I got a momentary impression of something evil. Turning to the chauffeur (I was sitting with him in the front of the car) I said, in a casual manner, “What do you call that wood on the hill?”

  ‘ “It’s called Fairy Wood, sir,” was the reply. I made no comment, but the name hardly suited that black mass of trees. Just then the road dipped to the house and the coppice passed out of sight.

  ‘Lady Canton was at the door to greet me. You may remember that Lord Canton was killed in the War, and there was no male heir to carry on the title, only a daughter—Eileen. This young lady had, for a few months, painted London red, and then suddenly returned to Somerset.

  ‘My hostess took me to my room and requested me to join her in the library as soon as I had washed. It did not take me long to tidy myself, and I was descending the splendid staircase when an interesting portrait caught my eye. There are many paintings on the stairs, but this particular one seemed to stand out from the rest. It represented a very elegantly dressed young man of the Elizabethan period. The features of the costume were pictured in elaborate detail, but it was the face that intrigued me. Although it was that of a youth the features were stamped with a century of evil. The eyes were intensely blue, and seemed to stare out at me with malignant defiance. On the frame was written “James Canton, 1st Baron Canton. 1521–97”. Either the portrait must have been painted whilst the Baron was still a youth and the dates inserted after his death or the artist must have made some mistake, thought I.

  ‘Lady Canton was awaiting me in the oriel window of the library and at once rang for tea. Until this was served our conversation was confined to commonplaces. As soon as the servant had left the room my hostess drew her chair nearer to mine, and in a low voice said, “Thank you so much for coming, Dennis. I’m in great trouble, and you’re about the only man in England who won’t laugh at me. It’s Eileen.”

  ‘In spite of her faith in me a facetious remark rose to my lips, but I never uttered it. Just in time I caught sight of Lady Canton’s eyes and they were the eyes of a woman haunted by a great fear.

  ‘ “Tell me all about it,” I said, “and if I can help you I will.”

  ‘ “Oh!” she cried. “The whole story seems so fantastic. Even you will hardly believe me when I tell you a tale that should belong to the Middle Ages. You will remember how gay and carefree Eileen was during that London season?”

  I nodded, for I had good cause to remember some of the young lady’s gaiety which had found expression in very daring escapades.

  ‘ “You may have wondered why it came to an end so suddenly,” she went on. “Eileen had a strange dream. She dreamt that a man was waiting for her in Fairy Wood, a tiny coppice on the hillside at the back of this house, and that she must keep a rendezvous with him. The dream made such a great impression upon her mind that she insisted on returning to Somerset immediately. In vain I reasoned with her. She was determined to return, and so we came back.

  ‘ “On the very night we arrived here, immediately after dinner, she left the house and one of the gardeners saw her climbing up to Fairy Wood. Midnight came and she had not returned. We scoured the coppice from end to end, but there was no trace of her. For two days we searched the surrounding countryside
without result, and then, on the evening of the second day, she calmly walked out of Fairy Wood in the sight of at least five people. She seemed to be under the impression that she had been out of the house only for a short time and could tell me nothing of what had happened to her. In fact she appeared to be in a kind of trance for several days, and then it wore off and she became her normal self—at least she seemed to be her normal self.

  ‘ “Since then she has refused to leave Somerset, and has disappeared in a similar manner on two other occasions. The second time was in the middle of an afternoon. We were sitting in the sunken garden and she suddenly sprang to her feet, shouted ‘I am coming’, and made off for the wood. I followed her as quickly as I could and saw her vanish among the trees. Jenkins, one of the under-gardeners, was with me, and I sent him back to call all the available men together. Eight of them searched the wood from end to end, but there was no sign of Eileen. Then, just when they had given up the hunt, she appeared amongst the trees.

  ‘ “On the third occasion a maid, who was suffering from a headache and was sitting by her bedroom window at midnight, saw Eileen leave the house and go up to the wood. The girl at once informed the housekeeper, who brought the news to me. Again I called upon every available man and, armed with torches, we literally combed the wood. There was no trace of her. When morning dawned some of the other servants joined us and we again searched among the trees and on the hillside beyond. She seemed to have vanished into thin air.

  ‘ “All day we hunted and called her name, and then, about seven o’clock in the evening, she came walking down the hill. A queer, secret kind of smile was on her lips, but she could not or would not say what had happened.”

  ‘ “But, my dear Lady Canton,” I exclaimed. “There must be some reasonable explanation. Is there no hiding-place in the wood which the searchers may have missed?”

  ‘ “The wood has been searched inch by inch, and there is no place where a rabbit could hide, let alone a grown woman. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I give you my word it’s all true.”

  ‘Well, of course, I have been brought up against some queer things in my life, but this savoured of something outside my experience.

  ‘ “Tell me,” I asked. “Is there any legend or tradition associated with Fairy Wood?”

  ‘ “There is one story you should know, I think,” she replied with some hesitation. “It is connected with the first Lord Canton, the man who built this house.”

  ‘ “The youth whose portrait is on the staircase?”

  ‘ “Yes. His portrait is on the staircase, but he was not a youth when it was painted. He was actually over seventy years old.”

  ‘ “Ridiculous,” I rudely exclaimed. “Why, the features are those of a young man of twenty-two or -three.”

  ‘ “That is so, but James Canton retained his youth in a mysterious manner. He is said to have been a sorcerer, a dabbler in black magic, and to have sold his soul to the Devil in return for the gift of eternal youth. Many tales are told of him. They say that every woman adored him and that at one time he was the lover of Queen Elizabeth.

  ‘ “Fairy Wood is reputed to have been the place where he was accustomed to meet his satanic master. Their rendezvous was an old oak, still known as the Devil’s Oak. It was there he died. There used to be a bridle path through the wood, and he was riding home along this one evening when his horse shied and threw him. He was flung against the trunk of the Devil’s Oak, and his neck was broken. The men who found the body recognised it only by the clothes and jewellery. The face was that of an old man.”

  ‘ “And since then,” I prompted, “I suppose the wood has been haunted?”

  ‘ “I don’t know that anything has been seen there, but it has an unsavoury reputation. On three or four occasions young girls from the village have been found dead beneath the great oak. Each of them had been outraged and strangled, and the crimes were never brought home to anyone.”

  ‘That was all Lady Canton could tell me, but it was enough to set me thinking. I retired to my room to change for dinner and when the gong rang for the meal I was still puzzling over the strange affair.

  ‘Eileen joined us in the dining-room and seemed quite normal. We chatted about the latest plays, but when I suggested it was time she visited London again she became strangely silent. By some means I manoeuvred the conversation round to the Canton estate and, addressing Eileen direct, said, “What’s the attraction up in Fairy Wood? I hear you visit it a lot. Do you ever see any fairies?”

  ‘A blush suffused her cheeks and she replied, “Fairy Wood is a hateful, horrible place. I don’t know why I go there, but something seems to attract me to it against my will. I wish I could keep away.”

  ‘You will realise that by this remark she had given me a clue. Some power, outside herself, was compelling her to visit the wood. It was my job to break that influence.

  ‘With Lady Canton’s permission I tried an experiment after dinner. I talked to Eileen like a Dutch uncle and told her that we must fight together against Fairy Wood. She agreed quite eagerly, and even consented to allow me to place her in a hypnotic trance. By this means I hoped to discover the source of the evil power that was slowly but surely gaining possession of her will. She proved to be a fairly easy subject, and having got her under control, I demanded to be told what took place in the wood.

  ‘The poor girl’s eyelids flickered and she endeavoured to speak. At first the words would not come, and then slowly, as if they were being forced from her, she said: “He—comes—from—the—tree—He—is—my—lover.”

  ‘ “His name? Tell me his name,” I urged.

  ‘Again she struggled to articulate, and a word was trembling on her lips when a shadow fell across her face—it was the shadow of a fleshless skull. With a scream she collapsed, and I looked in vain for the thing that had wrecked the experiment.

  ‘Eileen soon recovered, but she was badly shaken and I sent her to bed at once. I also arranged with Lady Canton that two trustworthy servants should watch at the girl’s door throughout the night and report to me if anything unusual happened. Nothing did, and I was not disturbed.

  ‘Soon after breakfast on the following morning I strolled down to the church which is within the park gates. It dates from the days of Henry VII, and is a beautiful little building. I went there because Lady Canton had casually mentioned that the vicar was a well-known historian and had sorted and indexed all the family documents.

  ‘Fortunately the parson was in the church and gave me a very friendly welcome. I lost no time in stating the reason for my visit and asked what he could tell me about James, first Baron Canton.

  ‘ “He was a nasty piece of work,” said the vicar. “He is reputed to have sold his soul to the Devil in return for the gift of everlasting youth. Then he tried to swindle Old Nick and paid the penalty. His horse threw him at Devil’s Oak in Fairy Wood and his neck was broken.

  ‘ “There is a mysterious letter of his up at the Hall. I have never been able to understand it, although it is certainly an instruction for something to be done after his death. It is addressed to Miles Roper, his servant, and directs that he shall dispose ‘in the manner I have indicated, that for which I have paid my life, lest my curse be upon you all my days’. ”

  ‘I mentioned that Lady Canton had referred to certain young women who had been done to death in Fairy Wood.

  ‘ “It was before my time,” the clergyman answered, “and the deaths took place at long intervals from each other. If you like we will look them up in the registers.”

  ‘I gratefully assented and, after a long search, we found the entries. The first referred to Mary Hayward, aged eighteen, who was discovered raped and strangled in Fairy Wood on March 16th, 1725. The second victim was a Jane Short who met with a similar fate in the same place on June 10th, 1836. The third was Lucy Dean, described as a serving-maid at the Hall, who was outraged and murdered on November 2nd, 1899.

  ‘ “It is very strange,” remarked the vic
ar, “that these poor girls should have died in the same fashion and in the same spot.”

  ‘ “Very strange, indeed,” I agreed, and, thanking the parson for his assistance, I made my way back to the Hall.

  ‘It still wanted an hour or so to lunch-time so, skirting the house, I climbed to Fairy Wood. As soon as I passed under the shadow of the trees I was conscious of a sense of overpowering evil. It became even more intense as I penetrated the coppice, and I had no difficulty in tracing it to a large oak in the heart of the tiny wood. Never in my life have I experienced anything quite like the evil vibrations that came from that tree. And yet there was nothing unnatural in its appearance. To all outward seeming it was just an ordinary oak with a gnarled trunk to which strands of ivy clung. But I dared not go close to it.

  ‘Convinced that I had discovered the source of all the trouble I returned to the house. Would that I had overcome my fear and examined the tree more closely. I might have averted the tragedy that followed.

  ‘That night I was aroused from sleep about half an hour after midnight by one of the servants, who informed me that Lady Eileen had gone downstairs, and was leaving the house. Donning a dressing-gown and slipping an electric torch into my pocket I hurried after her. She was climbing the hill to the wood. I followed closely and could have touched her as she entered the grove. She went straight to the Devil’s Oak, and this is the part of the story that is going to tax your credulity. There was a fairly bright moon, and its light fell upon the oak and enabled me to see everything. The girl drew close to the tree, and suddenly two white arms shot out from it and embraced her. They seemed to hug her to the trunk of the tree until she vanished into it.’