After all, banging on the doors was nothing to what we had been through. As usual, the thing came that night, knocking at the doors; after it had gone I fell into a deep sleep.
Next morning, when I awoke, there was a great noise; everyone seemed to be talking outside in the passage, and someone was crying hysterically. Above all I heard Philip’s calm, deep voice restoring order. A few moments afterwards he came to my room, and I saw that beneath his outward calm he was very worried, ji He told me that the milkman, making his early rounds, had been attracted by somebody lying under a yew tree. It was a young boy with his throat cut. There was a blood-stained razor in his clenched hand; it looked like a clear case of suicide.
I hastily donned some clothes, while Philip sent the women away with a few stern words about behaving in a foolish manner. All of us men went with Philip to see the body. It was that of a boy of about eighteen. He must have been a handsome lad, for his features were curiously classical and looked, under the hand of death, as if they were chiselled in marble. A long strand of hair fell across his face, and on his throat was a horrible mass of gashes and cuts, evidently wrought by an inexperienced hand.
Only - such a boy! What could have impelled him to this deed? Had he, too, been enmeshed in the evil of the place? Here came to me the desolation, human and spiritual, which I know no words to describe. The wind moved the branches of the tree and a shower of drops fell, as if even Nature wept at such a tragedy.
It is only a confused memory now of what was done and said. I felt that I could have joined the women in their hysterical sobs, but there was Philip to be thought of. They told me afterwards that I kept my head and gave out orders like a robot, with an unmoved face.
'The police, such as they were, took most of the responsibility. The old man in charge did not appear unduly surprised; indeed, he took it quite as a matter of course. He walked up to the house with Philip and I, and sat down in the study for a talk. Mechanically, Philip handed him a cigar, and, amid the heavy fumes of smoke, I remember hearing his voice in a rich Irish brogue.
‘Well, sir,’ he said, warming to his task, ‘you don’t know this place. There is something here which attracts them to come and die here. There have been some from the house too. ’Tis an evil place, and cursed so that none can live here, though ’tis a fine place. But I suppose that you did not know, sir. Anyhow, if I were you, sir, I would leave and go away.’ He finished with rather an air of triumph at having proved his point to a couple of prosaic Englishmen.
As for Philip, he had sat staring out of the window all this time. Now he roused himself and gave the sergeant a handsome tip for his trouble, and begged him to say as little as possible.
When he had gone we stood at the window and watched the men preparing to take the corpse away. At last the little dark-clad procession passed out of view. Philip turned to me and said: ‘Ever heard of an exorcist? I have sent for one to see if he can expel the evil spirit from this place. The car left early this morning; he should be here this evening.’
Our new guest arrived in time for the evening meal. He was short and jovial and kept us all amused by his chatter, but he never made any mention of spirits or ghosts. He seemed to know most of the details when Philip tried to tell him. He warned us that the thing would make more noise that night, but he promised that no harm should come to us.
All was quiet as usual until the hour struck. Then the thing came out and raged up and down. When it came to the door of the exorcist it rattled at the handle and screamed with rage. At last it wearied of its wanderings and returned to the room. The exorcist told us that he had passed the night in prayer.
Next morning, after breakfast, the ceremony of expelling the evil spirit took place. We all waited outside in the passage while the exorcist went alone into the room, having enjoined us not to come in, whatever happened.
In a loud, clear voice he began the prayers, holding a book and a lighted candle in his hands. First thing the candle went out; then his face began to distort itself in various grimaces. When the prayer was finished candle and book fell to the ground. He appeared to be fighting for breath, and cried out that he was being throttled.
We tried to move, but were transfixed. There were strange moanings, cries and groans; then he was thrown with violence into the passage and the door banged to.
The spell being broken, we bent anxiously over the victim, but he had gone into a dead faint and there were red marks on his throat. We carried him to his room and laid him on the bed. |,When he recovered consciousness it was very evident that he had been face to face with something very dreadful even for a man i used to evil and sinister things.
We were debating to send for a doctor, but he overheard, and forbade us. He said these things were among the incomprehensible and beyond the sphere of man. He spoke to Philip alone, and told him that the place was evil and it was better to go, for there was a terrible power hidden in that room. When Philip came out he told us all to pack, as he had decided to leave next day.
We were all so occupied that it was only when we heard the powerful engines of a car coming up the drive that we remembered Guy Dennis was expected. He was very popular, with his good nature and cheery ways. He asked if we were not glad to see him, and why we all looked like a pack of ghosts. Then Philip started to explain in a mild way what had happened. Guy burst into fits of laughter. So Philip lost his temper and told him the bare truth, and we all bore witness to it. Guy saw that we were really serious about it.
‘Dreadfully sorry,’ he said, ‘to be such an unbelieving sinner.’ And he laughed again.
There was something very cheering to have him there laughing at our fears, with his six-foot-four of common sense.
‘I suggest a drink all round now, and request that I may sleep in your haunted room,’ he said.
El The first part of the request was granted, but Philip was very firm in his ‘No’ to the other.
I must confess that, under Guy’s influence, I almost thought that the whole thing was only overwrought imagination, but a sense of fear and depression soon returned. That evening passed fairly quickly. We all got into bed with a feeling of relief that it was to be our last night in that place!
I fell almost immediately into a heavy sleep, and I dreamt that I was in a prison cell and that all around me were people being tortured. They brought in a huge man, bound, and commenced to put out his eyes. His screams were dreadful to hear. Then I woke to find myself in bed, but the cry still rang in my ears. I leapt out of bed, for it was coming from the passage. I stumbled out with a candle, and found the others there before me.
It was with a great shock that I saw Guy Dennis rolling about in the passage, alternately laughing and crying; for he was raving mad. I heard a voice say he had tried to sleep in that room just so as to be able to laugh at us in the morning, and this was what had happened!
We all stood there watching Guy laughing and showing his teeth. Then suddenly his mood changed and he rushed at us in a rage. There was a grim fight; candles fell to the ground and were trodden out, but in the end we overpowered him and bound him with sheets. Most of us were bleeding, for Guy had used teeth and nails against us.
The struggle had exhausted him. He went off into a faint, while the foam dried on his lips. We threw water on him and rubbed his temples. He opened his eyes with a groan and started moving his lips, but he was inaudible at first; then he started talking as if in a dream.
‘I sorry - wanted to sleep there... light, such a queer light. No, it was a pillar of whitish matter, near, very near. There was something green in the middle... damp and wet. It came out. ...I can see it! It is all eyes... no, all hands... no, all face, all claws! It has hundreds of eyes. I must look at it! They are dreadful eyes; they scorch... no, they freeze me, but I must look. Now it has only half a face; but the eyes! ...It laughs at me and gibbers. It is thrusting me but. I want to go back. The door is shut and the master calls me. Master, I cannot get back; it is not my fault.’ He tried to rise an
d fell back, quieter.
For a short time he slept, but about two o’clock he woke again and started moaning and praying.
‘Take me away, take me away, for Heaven’s sake take me away! Have pity, have pity! ’ He tossed to and fro in his agony and fear. ‘It is calling me; I must go back! ’ he moaned.
We were a weird group round the figure on the bed, all dressed in oddments of clothes.
The exorcist said that he must get him away at once, out of the house; that the power of evil was very prevalent that night.
Six of us carried Guy between us. He had gone into a trance again, so it was not difficult. Down the dark passage and the great oak staircase we went, men up against the great unknown, and very fearful.
Philip had locked and barred the door with care that night. We were obliged to put our burden down to struggle with the fastenings; as our hands were trembling, it took some time. At last the great door swung open on its hinges.
We stepped out into the warm darkness, and the procession continued down the drive, our way lit by a storm lantern. Long, dark shadows stole across the path, and every dark bush seemed to contain some lurking terror. Then, with a soft whirl of wings, an owl flew across our path.
When we reached the gates they were as welcome for us flying from evil in the dark night, as those of Paradise. The gamekeeper’s cottage was quite near, Philip said; so we walked on in silence.
The little cabin was all in darkness, but it did not take very long to rouse the good man and his wife. The Irish are very quick to understand and they did not ask an undue number of questions until we were ready to tell them. Nor were they incredulous at our story.
The good woman made a bed for Guy and we laid him on it. Poor Guy, he never recovered from that night; we were obliged to leave him in an asylum in Dublin. From time to time he would break out in violent fits when the memory of what he had seen broke upon him. I often go and see him.
The next day Philip and I went back to shut up the house. It looked very pleasant in the sunlight, that haunt of evil. We did as little as possible; it was too full of awful memories to linger. At the lodge gates we looked back for the last time. The sun was blazing down and the gardens were bright with colour; then the gate shut behind us on the dreadful secret evil which reigned there.
Roger Pater: The Astrologer's Legacy
from MYSTIC VOICES
Burns, Oates and Washbourne, 1923
***
26 May, St Philip’s feast, is the squire’s birthday, and every year he celebrates the day by giving a little dinner party to a few very intimate friends. But, as he says, rather sadly, ‘I have outlived most of my generation;’ and, for some years past, the whole number, including the host and a guest or two who may be staying at the Hall, has seldom reached as many as ten.
On the first birthday for which I was present there were only half a dozen of us in all at the dinner. These were, first, Father Bertrand, an English Dominican Friar, and one of the squire’s oldest friends, who usually spent some weeks with him every summer. Second, Sir John Gervase, a local baronet and antiquarian, who, besides being an F.S.A., and one of the greatest living authorities on stained glass, was also one of the few Catholic gentry in the neighbourhood of Stanton Rivers. The third was Herr Aufrecht, a German professor, who had come to England to study some manuscripts in the British Museum, and had brought a letter of introduction from a common friend in Munich. Fourth, there was the rector of the next parish, who had been a Fellow of one of the colleges at Cambridge for most of his life, but had accepted the living, which was in the gift of his college, a few years previously, and had since become very intimate with the old squire, who, with myself, completed the number.
The mansion of Stanton Rivers is built round a little quadrangle, of which the servants’ quarters and kitchen occupy the north side, the dining-room being at the north end of the west wing. When we are alone, however, the squire has all meals served in the morning-room; a small, cheerful apartment on the east side of the house, with dull, ivory-coloured walls, hung with exquisite old French pastels, and furnished entirely with Chippendale furniture, designed expressly for the squire’s grandfather by the famous cabinet-maker; the original contract and bills for which are preserved in the family archives.
The birthday dinner, however, as befits an ‘institution’, is always served in the dining-room proper, which is approached through the beautiful long apartment, stretching the whole length of the west wing, which the squire has made into the library. The dining-room is large and finely proportioned, and has its original Jacobean decoration, the walls being panelled in dark oak, with a carved cornice and plaster ceiling delicately moulded with a strapwork design, in which the cockle shells of the Rivers escutcheon are repeated again and again in combination with the leopards’ heads of Stanton. The broad, deep fireplace has polished steel ‘dogs’ instead of a grate, and above it is a carved overmantel reaching to the ceiling, and emblazoned with all the quarterings the united families can boast, with their two mottoes, which combine so happily. Sans Dieu rien and Garde ta Foy.
I think the squire would prefer not to use the dining-room even for his birthday dinner, but he hasn’t the heart to sadden Avison, the butler, by suggesting this. Indeed, the occasion is Avison’s annual opportunity, and he glories in decking out the table with the finest things the house possesses in the way of family plate, glass, and china: while Mrs Parkin, the cook, and Saunders, the gardener, in their respective capacities, second his efforts with the utmost zeal.
The evening was an exquisite one, and we sat in the library talking and watching the changing effects of the fading lights as they played on the garden before the windows, until Avison threw open the folding doors and announced that dinner was served. Hitherto I had only seen the room in dSshabille, and it was quite a surprise to see how beautiful it now looked. The dark panelling, reflecting the warm sunset glow which came in through the broad mullioned windows, formed a perfect background to the dinner-table, with its shaded candles, delicate flowers, and gleams of light from glass and plate: and I felt that Avison’s effort was really an artistic triumph. The same thought, I fancy, struck the rest of the guests, for no sooner had Father Bertrand said grace than Sir John burst out in admiration:
‘My dear squire, what exquisite things you do possess! Some day I shall come and commit a burglary on you. Your glass and silver are a positive temptation.’
The host smiled, but I noticed that his eyes were fixed on the centre of the table, and that the eyelids were slightly drawn down, an expression I had learned to recognize as a sign of annoyance, carefully controlled. Following his gaze, I glanced at the table-centre, but before I could decide what it was, the German professor, who was sitting next me, broke out in a genial roar:
'Mein Gott, Herr Pater, but what is this?’ and he pointed to the exquisite piece of plate in the centre of the table.
‘We call it the Cellini fountain, Herr Aufrecht,’ answered the squire, ‘though it is certainly not a fountain, but a rose-water dish, and I can give you very little evidence that it is really Cellini’s work.’
‘Effidence,’ exclaimed the German - ‘it has its own effidence. What more want you? None but Benvenuto could broduce such a one. But how did you come to possess it?’
There was no doubt about the eyelids now, and I feared the other guests would notice their host’s annoyance, but the squire controlled his voice perfectly as he answered:
‘Oh, it has been in the family for more than three centuries; Sir Hubert Rivers, the ancestor whose portrait hangs at the foot of the stairs, is believed to have brought it back from Italy.’
I thought I could guess the cause of his annoyance now, for the ancestor in question had possessed a most unenviable reputation, and, by a strange trick of heredity, the squire’s features were practically a reproduction of Sir Hubert’s - a fact which was a source of no little secret chagrin to the saintly old priest. Fortunately, at this point, the rector turned the conv
ersation down another channel; Herr Aufrecht did not pursue the subject further, and the squire’s eyelids soon regained their normal elevation.
As the meal advanced the German came out as quite a brilliant talker, and the conversational ball was kept up so busily between Father Bertrand, the rector, and himself that the other three of us had little to do but listen and be entertained. A good deal of the talk was above my head, however, and during these periods my attention came back to the great rose-water dish which shone and glittered in the centre of the table.
In the first place I had never seen it before, which struck me as a little odd, for Avison had discovered my enthusiasm for old silver, and so had taken me to the pantry and displayed all the plate for my benefit. However, I concluded that so valuable a piece was probably put away in the strong-room, which would account for its not appearing with the rest.
What puzzled me more was the unusual character of the design, for every curve and line of the beautiful piece seemed purposely arranged to concentrate the attention on a large globe of rock crystal, which formed the centre and summit of the whole. The actual basin, filled with rose-water, extended beneath this ball, which was supported by four exquisite silver figures, and the constant play of reflected lights between the water and the crystal was so fascinating that I wondered the idea had never been repeated; yet, so far as my knowledge went, the design was unique.
Seated as I was, at the foot of the table, I faced the squire, and after a while I noticed that he, too, had dropped out of the conversation, and had his gaze fixed on the crystal globe. All at once his eyes dilated and his lips parted quickly, as if in surprise, while his gaze became concentrated with an intensity that startled me. This lasted for fully a minute, and then Avison happened to take away his plate. The distraction evidently broke the spell, whatever it was, for he began to talk again, and, as it seemed to me, kept his eyes carefully away from the crystal during the rest of the meal.
THE SUPERNATURAL OMNIBUS Page 52