Chapter I: WELL remember when I was a schoolgirl, my father taking an old farm (2)

WEST-COUNTRYMEN are very sensitive to ridicule. That is why a stranger might inquire from Bath to Bredon without obtaining a single admission concerning the Black Dog of the Cotswolds. But let him live amongst us; let him gain our confidence, and he may interview witnesses by the dozen. Few, indeed, have met the creature face to face, though many claim a distant glimpse, and it would be hard to find a shepherd past middle-age who had not come upon the foot-prints of the phantom, starting from nowhere and leading nowhere, in the early morning snow. Always in the snow he comes and always by moonlight. It is now some three years since old Dick Slingbraces passed to rest, leaving the following story to perpetuate his memory.

“Dogs or foxes had been making havoc with the early lambs,” said he; “and one February night I took my gun to watch for the varmints in the lee of the sheeppens, there being mebbe an inch of snow on the land. The east wind was like a knife from the grindstone, with clouds racing past the moon well on in her second quarter. I might have closed my eyes for a second or two with the cold, and when I opened them, sir, there he stood not thirty yards away—a coal-black hound bigger than a prize ram, and of no breed on earth. I knew him in an instant—the Black Dog of the Wolds. Now you don’t shoot a dog until he takes a lamb if you want the law on your side, but, fearing for my life, I pointed my gun at him—and he vanished to nowhere. I dropped the muzzle and, all of a shake, I peeped over my shoulder, only to see him behind me, the moonlight striking into his eyes like blue flames. With a choking, dizzy feeling I screwed my old gums together and up with my gun again—and again he vanished. Ay, and again he was behind me. How long he played with me in this fashion I don’t recollect, but, in the end, the gun went off of itself, and the next thing my grandson George, was helping me up and asking me if I felt better. And being three-score and ten, the following week I put by my crook and took to my old age pension. They say,” added the old shepherd, “he mostly comes as a warning that ‘tis time to retire; but I will mention that morning showed the snow trampled like a fold-yard, but never a print beyond the boundary wall.”

It Happened in Ireland

MANY years ago, I used to visit a brother and sister-in-law living in a rambling old house in Ireland. Nightly, the household would gather in the dining-room for prayers, after which we retired to our rooms—the maids to their quarters at the far end of the house—my brother and sister-in-law would leave me at my door and then pass down the corridor to their own room.

I am usually a sound sleeper. Nevertheless, midnight would find me awake listening to the ructions in the dining-room below—the click, click of glasses and decanters, excited voices, doors opening, banging—after a little while, silence. On the first occasion I asked my brother why he made so much unnecessary noise at midnight. He looked troubled and simply remarked that he had not gone downstairs again. I tackled my sister-in-law, but all to no purpose. Deciding that they were indulging in drinking bouts on the sly, I said no more.

One night, however, feeling very tired and unable to sleep because of the noise, I was furious and decided to see for myself what my relations were up to. I slipped on my dressing-gown and slippers and made for my door; but not before the handle was turned violently and, although in total darkness, I could feel a current of air from the open door (I always locked it before retiring). Then a tremendous “Force” seemed to be pushing me backwards towards the bed, where, conscious of another “presence” in the room, I fell back exhausted.

My brother and sister-in-law listened attentively to the recital of the previous night’s happenings, expressed their regret for so disturbed a night, and advised me to forget all about it.

Not a little chagrined at their reticence, I resolved to return home at once.

On the way to the station, I met the clergyman—a very intellectual man—who happened to be a frequent visitor at the house. I related the midnight happenings, my surmise, and, lastly, the unaccountable experience of the previous night. I quite expected him to pooh-pooh the whole thing. Instead, he looked very grave, said that in olden times the surrounding hills were infested by a band of particularly murderous brigands who made that house their occasional headquarters. Men were decoyed, robbed and disposed of within its gates. “And,” he ended, “we can but pray and hope that the poor, unquiet spirits may be granted a final resting-place. Do not, my child, make it a subject of idle gossip.”

A School Teacher's Story

SOME years ago, I, along with a sister ten years older than myself, was teaching in a Midland town. We had the greatest difficulty in obtaining rooms, no one seemed to want lady teachers. At last we succeeded, but not to our liking, as the house was old and gloomy and the landlady of a very saturnine countenance. We found she and her daughter were the only other occupants of the house.

As it was winter time, we asked if she had an attic where we could store our bikes. We were told that there was no attic.

We were nightly disturbed by strange sounds as of someone going up and down stairs and raking the fire—this, after the landlady and her daughter had retired hours before. When questioned, the landlady only replied that the house was old and creaky.

I was eighteen and full of ghosts, but my sister was of the cool unimaginative kind and not in the least nervy. She was constantly reassuring me that everything was all right, but I knew she thought different, as she never left me alone, and we always went up stairs together, even in the day time.

Our bedroom looked out on to the river, and the Midland railway ran between.

A chest of drawers stood in one corner, and one of the drawers was full of papers, which the landlady informed us were left by a previous boarder who had occupied our rooms, and promised to return for them. Several were legal-looking documents, and the rest a mass of old correspondence.

One day, as I was leaving the bath-room, a gleam of winter sunshine revealed an opening in the panelling opposite. On looking I saw a stair and a tray at the bottom with the remains of a meal. I immediately brought my sister. To say we were amazed is putting it mildly, after our landlady’s denial of an attic. We felt this had been the repast of our nightly disturber, but did not mention it to the landlady.

A few nights after, there was a singular happening. I awoke in the early hours to find my sister sitting up in bed. I drowsily asked her if she was ill, but she answered rather abruptly and told me to go to sleep. I was roused by her manner and sat up trying to peer into her face. After much questioning, she said: “There has been a man in this room.” Although I was terrified, I tried to laugh and say “That is impossible as our door is locked and bolted.”

My thoughts had gone to the occupant of the attic. She said: “This was no human visitor; he went over to the chest and examined the papers, and then came and leaned over the bed in a grief-stricken attitude.” She was so calm whilst telling it and described the man as very tall and slightly bent, with a sad face and iron-grey hair.

Needless to add, we prayed for daylight and got to school as early as possible, where our ghost caused great excitement, the other teachers giving credence to the story, coming from my sister and not my imaginative self.

On returning to our rooms for lunch, the landlady came in with a newspaper and pointed out a paragraph giving an account of a man being cut to pieces on the railway just at the back of the house. She said, “He had your rooms Miss, and those were his papers.” My sister said he was a tall man and went on to give the landlady a description of our midnight visitor. She said: “Why, Miss, did you know him,” and then my sister told her the story. She said it was an exact likeness of the man who had always promised to return for the papers. That explains our ghostly visitor. We made a hasty exit that same day.

Weeks after, we heard of the police raiding the house and capturing an escaped prisoner. It was the landlady’s husband, and she had had him in hiding all those weeks. That explained the tread on the stairs and the raking of the fire when the prisoner escaped from his attic hiding.

OTHER STORIES OF HAUNTED HOUSES

A MAGISTRATE’S STORY

THIS comes from a Justice of the Peace in the Western Counties:

Retiring to bed one Sunday night to my room situate off a rather long landing in an old farmhouse near here, I slept from about 10:30 p.m. to about 1:30 a.m. I was then awakened by hissing noises—very similar to those made by a flock of geese—coming from the landing. This was followed by footsteps proceeding to a spare room at the end of the landing. The footsteps died away, and immediately there commenced a violent rattling of empty milk pans and other odd things stored in that room. The footsteps would again be heard, and this was followed by severe shaking of my own and other bedroom doors in the house. I sat up in bed and tried to call to the person in the next room, but found I was unable to do so, apparently from shock. These noises continued without a break until 4 a.m. Then the footsteps seemed to go along the landing, down the stairs, across the hall, and through the front door, which seemed to close with a huge bang. When all seemed quiet again I gained courage enough to go downstairs, and found the house in order as at the time of retiring to bed, and, stranger still, the front door was still bolted and barred as usual on the inside. The rest of the household had heard exactly the same sounds as myself. Some who had come to stay in the house for a holiday hurriedly returned to their homes in Birmingham the same morning, thus losing their proposed fortnight's stay. I also changed my residence, and did not sleep in the house again.

Moreover, I knew personally a tenant of the same house who heard strange noises there; he actually sat up at nights with a friend to try and find out the cause and went so far as to take up the flooring. The mysterious noises both in my own case and on three other occasions within twelve months could never be explained, and to-day I am unable to offer any solution.

THE MISSING PAPERS

I can vouch (writes a clergyman from Yorkshire) for the truth of the following story:—

A clergyman of the Church of England was asked to preach at some special services in the Midlands. He spent the weekend with the local squire, and when he came to take his departure he said to his host, “Would you mind letting one of your servants take me round the house?” “Certainly, I'll show you round myself.” The clergyman was shown all over the mansion, but was still unsatisfied. “There's still a room in the house that I have not seen, and I want to see it.” The squire protested that he had been all over the house, but the clergyman was obdurate. At length the squire remembered an old disused attic. “But,” said he, “no one has been there for years.” “I want to see that attic.” Accordingly the door of this attic was forced open, and the party made their way in. “Ah, this is the room,” said the vicar, “and somewhere in this room there is a cupboard—there it is. I want it opened.”

The cupboard was forced open and a bundle of papers fell at the feet of the vicar, who picked them up and handed them to the squire. The squire opened them and uttered a gasp of astonishment. “Why, these are the deeds of my estate. I have been searching for them for months. Had I not found them very soon the chances are that I should have been involved in serious financial loss. But how did you know they were here?”

“I didn’t know they were here,” said the vicar slowly, “but last night I was conscious of the presence of someone in my room, and I became aware that somewhere in this house was a room I wanted to see, in which was a cupboard I wanted to open.”

THE HAUNTED LANE AT HENDON

THE district between Hendon and Kingsbury is believed to be haunted.

Thirty-five years ago, Welsh Harp Fair was bigger than to-day. On Bank Holidays I used to visit friends at Neasden, near Wembley, and we boys used to walk across the fields to Hendon.

The homeward road (Cool Oak-lane), after crossing the Welsh Harp, wound up a hill between tall dark trees and silent ponds, and past the blank wall of the grounds surrounding a large house.

Although only five miles from the Marble Arch, it was very lonely: being cut off from London by the Harp, a sheet of water a mile long.

The people of Neasden believed that the road was haunted. I remember the boys speaking of actually seeing a tall white ghost. This story may have been originated in the contrast between the brilliantly illuminated fair and the dark country road. Of course, the fair was not always on, so there was some other reason for the superstition. Anyhow, the neighbourhood is unchanged, and the children of to-day keep away from the place at nights.

CHESHIRE

SOME years ago, I, with my wife and family, lived in a house which was undoubtedly haunted. One day, my wife was in the hall with the baby in her arms when, suddenly, a figure in white appeared, and she had to draw to one side to allow it to pass her. She saw the same apparition on several occasions and, later, a nurse, who we had in the house during my wife's illness, also saw it at different times. One day she was in the bathroom when the figure appeared, walked through the room, opened the door, and passed out. On another occasion she was having breakfast in the nursery adjoining the bedroom when she saw a figure in white standing in the doorway. She thought it was my wife who had got out of bed against instructions, and she immediately went into the room next door to “blow up” the patient, and found she had never left her bed. Ultimately, I myself saw it one evening when in the bedroom (the door of which was open) brushing my hair before the mirror, I suddenly became conscious of something unusual and saw a figure mount the stairs, pause at the top and then proceed on its way upwards.

Subsequently, we were very much disturbed by loud hammerings which always commenced immediately we went to bed at night, continued the whole night through, but finished always immediately the servant got up in the morning. These noises became so violent that we finally had to give up the house. On making inquiries, I found that in the vicinity of the spot where the house was situated, a young woman, whose husband was a captain and had lost his life at sea, had lived and had drowned herself in a pit not very far away, some years previously.

KENT

SOME years ago, I went home to stay with my parents for holiday. They had recently moved into an old mansion which had been converted into a double dwelling-house, both parties using the same staircase and hall. During my stay, my mother and father took the opportunity to go away for a week end, leaving me to get meals for a friend who lived with them, and whose duties as a postal servant often brought him home in the early hours of the morning. My mother feared, as I was young, I might not rise in time to get his breakfast. I gave my promise I would do it, but did not mention how. Accordingly, I sat up all night busy with fancy work until it was time for me to get ready a nice hot breakfast. I felt sure if I went to bed at my usual hour I should not waken. When all was ready—about 2 a.m.— I went into the hall to listen for any sound of the friend coming. The door of the room I was in faced the staircase which was very wide, and, right in front of me, about half way down the staircase, stood a tall gentleman clad in brown velvet jacket, cord breeches, leggings and huntsman's cap. Thinking it might be a friend of the people in the other half of the house, I went in and closed the door, wondering why he was roaming about the house at that hour. When the friend arrived for breakfast, I told him what I had seen. He laughed heartily and then said: “So you have seen him?” I asked where the joke came in, and he calmly told me he saw the same gentleman repeatedly—he haunted the house. Needless to say, I did not spend another night in sitting up.

When mother returned and I told her my experience, she was ever so sorry she had left me; she did not dream I would stay up. She then told me that night after night she and father were kept awake with music and dancing somewhere close to their bedroom, and they could find out nothing to account for it. Some time after, the place was pulled down and a large jar of golden coins was found embedded in one of the walls of the bedroom in which my parents slept. This may sound to some people like a fairy tale, but it is perfectly true, and, whenever I think of the place, I can see that gentleman who, they told me, always vanished as soon as you had seen him.

SEAFORD

WE were living, in 1912, in a quiet Midland town, and the household comprised my husband, small son, maid and myself. The son was recovering from an attack of croup, and my husband and I took it in turns to sleep with him in the large bedroom. As the doctor gave a good report of the invalid, I was looking forward to a good night's rest in the smaller room. When bedtime came, I opened the window and door, and, after a short time, was fast asleep. I do not know how long it was before I became wide awake, feeling that something evil was hovering around me. There was nothing to be seen, but a bad influence or presence made itself felt, and I was simply terrified. I was in a cold sweat of fear, afraid to move lest something should happen to me. What that something was, I did not know then, neither do I know now.

My husband slept in the room on the next night, and he said he was troubled by bad nightmare dreams—but would say nothing more.

When the doctor called, he advised that our son should go into the smaller room in the daytime for a change, so we soon had him comfortably settled there in bed. But he wanted amusement, like most boys do when they are well enough, so we fetched the kitten upstairs and placed it on the bed, for they were very fond of each other.

Alas! before we could ask ourselves what was the matter, the kitten seemed to turn pale, and, tucking his tail between his legs, he absolutely bolted off the bed and rushed headlong downstairs. Of course, we joked about it to our son, and called to the maid to carry the kitten and a saucer of milk upstairs again. Again we tried to tempt the kitten to remain on the bed, but it was impossible. Again it rushed downstairs as if terrified.

What was to be done? I determined to sleep there at night, as we arranged and, again, I was awakened by the knowledge that some evil was present in the room around me. I was still terrified and unable to move, but was able to pray to God to save me, body, soul and spirit, and, after about ten minutes’ silent prayer, the influence or presence, or whatever it was, went, and the air in the room became light and fresh and buoyant as it used to be. The next day the kitten remained upstairs and was a joy to the invalid.

Can these experiences be accounted for? I wonder! I was afterwards told that a crime of continual cruelty had occurred in that room a few years before. If so, why did the evil influence revisit the room, and not the perpetrators of the cruelty?

This is a true account of what actually happened in a pretty little house near ———, in Warwickshire.

CAMBRIDGE

A FEW years ago, when I was studying for my degree in a university college, my friends and I had a strange experience. The women's hostel in which we lived, had formerly been a gentleman's house, and it was rumoured that at times this country squire, who was now dead, used to revisit his old home. Most of us laughed at this as a “ghost tale,” but the following incident made even the most sceptical wonder.

One night, my friend and I, who shared a room, went to bed as usual. After putting out the light, we pulled up the blind. This was a regular habit of ours, so that we should wake up easily in the morning. About 2 a.m. I awoke, and found, to my astonishment, the electric light switched on, and the blind down. I awakened my friend, and asked her if she was responsible, but she had been asleep the whole time. Neither of us had ever walked in our sleep, so, feeling that something uncanny had happened, we got up to investigate. Listening intently, we heard weird noises on the floor below, a sort of rattling and scraping. This continued for some time, and then gradually grew fainter and died away. Feeling very nervous, we sat waiting for the sounds to return, but nothing more happened, and we were glad when morning came.

At breakfast, we reported the night’s happenings. When we had finished, a “fresher” spoke up—one who knew nothing of the hostel legend. She said that during the night, a gentleman had stood by her bed and smiled kindly at her. We eagerly questioned her, and she was able to tell us exactly what he was wearing. When she had finished, our Warden exclaimed: “Why, that was old Mr. C., the late owner of this house; the last time I saw him he was dressed like that!”

Was the same old gentleman responsible for turning on our light, and for the other strange happenings of that night?

READING

WHILST living at a “school house” in a lonely country district, where my father was a schoolmaster, I was startled one day, when sitting in my bedroom reading, by someone walking upstairs as though with a stick. I rushed out and, on finding no one, I ran downstairs to ascertain whether the rest of the family had heard the same noise. Everyone paid “No!”

A few months afterwards, my mother happened to be ill, and a maid, who had lived in the same house when it was occupied by a former schoolmaster, came to live with us. One afternoon, while the rest of us were out, mother asked this maid to sit upstairs with her, and, strange though it may seem, they were both startled by the same noise as I had heard months before—someone walking upstairs with a stick. “Oh, it’s quite all right,” said the maid, “that's only Miss S., who died here a few years ago; she was troubled with fits and always walked with a stick.”

Funnily enough, this girl said that Miss S. used to place the stick on the landing on top of the stairs before walking to her bedroom, which she did (if it really was her “ghost”) on those two occasions.

SUTTON SCOTNEY

MY father made the acquaintance of a retired colonel, who lived six miles from our home. Sometimes father went over to tea with him. On one occasion father saw a short thick man pass through the drawing-room without opening the door. He felt so uncomfortable, that the colonel asked him what was the matter. Father explained. “Oh,” said the colonel, “that was only our little pedlar. The legend is that a pedlar was seen to come to this house, but he never left it. His pedlary is said to be put behind that fireplace.”

“Why don't you have it opened?” asked my father. “No fear, I don't want to, the pedlar doesn't worry me.”

COLEFORD

SOME years ago, I was sitting alone in the sitting-room one Sunday night, after the rest of the family had retired, and I was reading the case of little “Teddy Slingsby.” The banging of a door which opened out of the kitchen to the scullery aroused me to investigate, and to secure it for the night, as always was done, with a bolt. When I reached the centre of the kitchen I could see that the door was wide open and, it being a nice moonlight night, I could see the trees in the garden and the ivy hanging on the old wall. I stepped up to the door, putting out my hand to close it and, to my horror, I found that the door was then closed and bolted securely, and my view of the moonlit garden was at once cut out.

I turned for the staircase and, upon arriving at the top, I entered my mother's room, too scared and speechless to tell her what I had seen. I placed my back against the wall for support, and slid down, sitting on the floor. When I had recovered, I explained to mother what I had seen. She advised me to get to bed at once, which I did. I had not buried myself in bed very long before I heard a rustling, as that of paper, and, looking up, I saw a figure all in white standing with hand to its head, and elbow against my bedroom door. I could not utter a word, and I watched the figure completely disappear.

This I told the remainder of the family next morning, and my mother could then say that she had seen the same thing herself. Also I heard from the people who had lived in the house previously, that members of that family had seen the same apparition.

IPSWICH

EIGHT years ago my friend, a dark-haired girl, and I took a job as servants, at a large mansion near here. To my surprise, I was given a most beautiful and luxuriantly-appointed bedroom in the front of the house, my friend sleeping in the servants quarters.

About a week later, I was wakened at two o'clock in the morning by my bedroom door opening, and a dark-haired woman approached the bed. Thinking it was my friend, who wanted something, I sat up and asked: “What do you want, Olive?” The figure turned towards the dressing-table and disappeared. I ran along to my friend's room. She was sleeping, and I spent the night with her. The next morning, the housekeeper informed me that there had been similar complaints from guests and the room had been closed for years, but they had wondered if it would be all right after the lapse. Needless to add, I refused to sleep in the room again.

HULL

SOME years ago, I worked in a drug warehouse with a labourer, Mr. T. (since dead), who had a supernatural experience. He and his wife and family moved into a house which had been empty a long time. The removal took place after he left his day's work, and the beds were hastily improvised for the night. He and his wife were awakened by a crash, which sounded just over the bed head. Both simultaneously asked: “Did you hear that noise?” Mr. T. arose next morning to go downstairs to make the fire, and, from the top of the stairs, saw the figure of a woman sitting on the bottom step nursing a child. The apparition faded away as he reached the bottom. He dared not mention it to his wife, but he found another residence, and left the house the same week. Subsequent inquiries revealed the fact that there had been a murder committed in the house.

READING

DURING the war I went to live for a time with some relatives in the suburbs of a large city in the Midlands. One Sunday night, as I lay awake longing for sleep which would not come, I was startled by a strange noise close beside my bed, like the deep, heavy breathing of a very large dog, but much louder than anything of the kind I had ever heard before. Then I felt the weight of a very heavy hand or paw across my right foot. The moments seemed like hours and I became paralysed with terror and unable to move or make a sound. I think, eventually, I became unconscious. In the morning I told a member of the family of my horrible experience and asked her not to mention it, as I did not wish to frighten the young people in the house.

After I had been away some months, I received a letter from the relative to whom I had told this, saying that her sister had been frightened by the same noise in this bedroom, and her husband had declared there was someone in the room. They got up and searched the room but found nothing.

Can anyone give a solution of these strange noises? I should be glad to have it explained. Do I believe in ghosts? No! Not until I see one, which I have no desire to do.

COWES

SOME years ago, some cousins of mine, who lived in an old house at Reading, frequently saw a little old lady who used to come and sit in one of the bedrooms at night. They were so used to seeing her that they lost their fear. Later, the house was pulled down, and a box containing a skeleton was discovered. They made inquiries and found that, years before they lived there, a murder had been committed. An old uncle of mine, who was a missionary, and who sometimes paid my cousins a visit, always saw the old lady when he slept there.

MARKYATE

MY husband was a man who would laugh if you talked of ghosts, saying he didn't believe there were such things. However, he had to go away to work five years ago, and he and a mate got lodgings with an old lady whose mother, at the age of ninety, died not long before. The first night his mate had plenty to drink so slept soundly. My husband, however, being in a strange place, couldn't sleep. During the night the clothes were lifted off his feet and strange knockings went around the bed. He lit the candle, but found nothing. In the morning he told his mate, and the next night his mate woke him and said: “Hill, light the candle; this place is haunted!” They couldn't sleep for the tugging at the clothes and the knocking around the bed. They told their experience to a man from the village who was working with them, and he said the old lady was supposed to have left money in the bed. They stayed on for the week, and each night the same thing occurred. On the Saturday morning they stripped the bed and made a thorough search, but found nothing. When my husband returned home he looked like a man who had had a severe illness. He told us the story; now he believes in ghosts.

BOSCOMBE

IN the wartime I spent a holiday in a Dorset village, and the first night, whilst sleeping in a bedroom in a lonely cottage, I was awakened by the door noiselessly opening, and the figure of a man dressed in white garments passing through the room and talking softly to himself. There was only a woman in the cottage and she was fast asleep.

A year after, I read in some old memoirs of two of Nelson's lieutenants who, whilst ashore at Weymouth, met two women and accompanied them home. During supper they quarrelled, and one woman threw a flat-iron at Lieutenant ——— and killed him. His companion was horrified and, urging the women to be silent, he took the body on his horse to a lonely spot in Dorset, and buried it and rejoined his ship.

The spot where the lieutenant was buried was the spot on which stands the cottage in which I had this strange experience.

CROYDON

SOME years ago, whilst spending a night in an old inn, I was awakened by the disagreeable impression that I was not alone. To my amazement, at the foot of my bed (an old-fashioned four-poster), stood a girl, with a baby in her outstretched arms. Her eyes were fixed imploringly on mine, as though begging for help or protection. I noticed that she had a mob cap on her head, and a quaint wrapper of some fashion unknown to me.

I begged her to tell me what I could do for her, but she made no reply, and, a moment later, she had disappeared.

I rose at once and searched the room. Door and windows were securely fastened, and I could find no trace of my mysterious visitor. Convinced at last that I had been dreaming, I returned to bed. Presently, the woman with her baby reappeared, this time at the side of the bed! She spoke no word, but, with the same expression of anguish, gazed imploringly at me. Then she vanished. When for the third time, I became aware of her presence beside my pillow, I was seized with terror and called loudly for help. Then I must have fainted for, when I came to myself, it was broad daylight. When questioned, my hostess could give me no explanation. She admitted, however, that she had heard my cries, but that neither she nor her servants dared enter the chamber after nightfall. The room was supposed to be haunted, and other visitors had seen the woman and her baby as described by me. The inn has since been pulled down and a hostel erected in its place.

LEVERSHULME

MY father became tenant of the Manor House in a village in the Midlands and moved in with mother and six children, five girls (including me) and one boy. I was then twelve years old. Many were the warnings kindly given to us by the villagers that the house was haunted, but, being a merry family, and father and brother keen on shooting, they laughingly warned off any intruders from outside. We younger were not so dubious. The rooms were large and opened off long passages and had an eerie effect, especially at night.

The first I remember of anything disturbing was when my brother injured his foot and was laid up for a time. My eldest sister used to attend to him, and was surprised one morning, when she took his breakfast, by him asking why she came into his room during the night without speaking. She questioned him, and he told her someone came into his room and leaned over him as if to see if he was asleep, and, when he spoke, and got no answer, he felt to see if his watch was there, thinking it was someone after valuables. As he raised himself, the visitor disappeared. This happened several nights in succession. On another occasion, my mother was ill and, during the night, called to my sisters to take down the dog, which she said had jumped on her bed. They, too, could not explain what had happened, as the dog was peacefully sleeping downstairs and never was allowed upstairs. Father also had his share, for, while sitting reading one night, after everyone else had retired, and all doors locked and bolted, he was suddenly aroused from his book by hearing footsteps. Then the door at the end of a long passage was unlocked, and there came a gust of wind as if it was opened. The door closed, and was bolted again, and footsteps came towards the room. He asked who was there and, receiving no reply, went to investigate, but nothing was to be seen, and the door was still locked and bolted.

Father told the landlord of the experience and the latter stated he had the same thing happen when living there and could offer no explanation. I can well remember my feelings of relief when we removed to another house in a neighbouring village. That, too, had the reputation of being haunted, but, although we lived there some years, nothing happened to verify the statement.

WIDNES

JUST before the war I thought I would remove to a house I noticed had been vacant for a long period. On interviewing the landlord of the house, I was informed I could have the tenancy of the house two shillings per week cheaper than other tenants paid for houses in the same row. He would offer no explanation for this generous act. I, accordingly, moved into the house the same day. Retiring to bed the first night, I awoke about 12:30 a.m. to find standing in the moonlight that was streaming through the window, a man who I knew, but had not heard of for years. He was bleeding from a deep wound in the neck that had obviously been inflicted by a blood-stained carving knife he held in his right hand. Too horrified to utter a sound, I watched him draw the knife slowly across his throat, inflicting another wound, while he stared me straight in the eyes. After a low moan, he disappeared.

The next night, about the same time, I was awakened by hearing someone moaning in the room. This moaning was heard by the remainder of my family.

Determined to find out the cause of these happenings, I asked the next-door neighbour if he could explain them. “Don't you know?” he asked. “Jack” (mentioning the man I had seen) “committed suicide in your house. The landlord lets it cheaper than the others, but nobody will stay in it!”

Needless to say, I did not stay. I moved back to my old home, the same day. At the present time, although there is a shortage of houses, you can often see in the window of this house, the sign “To Let.”

TEMPLECOMBE

WHILST engaged in domestic service at a large county house on the Dorset border, a young scullery-maid, who was ill, told us the lady had been to see her, but she was, somehow, afraid of her, and she did not speak. We other three who were there thought this odd, and I asked what was she dressed in. The girl replied black, and she had shiny things in her hair and round her neck. I had happened to meet the lady in the corridor and she was wearing a blue tea gown, so we persuaded her she had been dreaming. In course of time, I met an old lady of eighty-five, who had lived in the house in the days of her youth. She asked me had I seen the ghost. I said no, and asked what it was like. She replied: “A lady in black with lots of diamonds on; she used to walk right the length of the first floor. The butler used to try to catch her, but never could.”

It was part of my duty every evening during the two years I lived there to shut shutters and fix bells on all the windows on this particular floor, yet I never saw anything, whereas the poor girl I have mentioned was in the house only three weeks and was so frightened.

SOUTH WALES

SOME years ago I was living in a small mining village in South Wales. Being a widow with a family, I was glad to let a married daughter and her husband rent part of the house. When I first went to live in that particular house the neighbours told me that a previous tenant, an old man who lived alone, was one morning found dead, sitting in a chair. I was, however, not at all superstitious, so thought no more about it.

We had got quite settled in our house, when, one night, on retiring to bed, we heard footsteps coming upstairs and stop at my bedroom door.

My daughter, aged thirteen years, was sleeping with me at the time, and, although we had been in bed some time, we were neither of us asleep, and lay waiting to see our door open, thinking it was either my married daughter or her husband, who were sleeping in the room below us. After several minutes had passed, we heard the same footsteps going downstairs, and, when they reached the bottom, we heard the catch of the bedroom door below, as if someone had passed in and closed the door. Judge of my surprise to find next morning that no one had been upstairs. But my daughter told me that, twice her bedroom door opened and her husband got out of bed and latched it again. Then they heard footsteps coming downstairs and, for the third time the door opened. This time my son-in-law got a light and went on a voyage of discovery, but could see no one. We agreed not to say anything about this in front of the younger children for fear of frightening them.

A day or so after, I was talking to a neighbour about some needlework she wished me to do for her. My little girl, aged eight years, was sitting in the kitchen with me, when, all at once, she gave one scream and rushed over to me, looking simply awful. When I could get the child calm enough to question her, she said a great white thing had sprung over the stairs banisters, and had nearly touched her. We hunted all over the house, but could not find anything to account for the apparition, which, she said, went into the coal place under the stairs. I tried to console her by saying it was a white cat that had got in, but she would not have this, as she said it was “heaps too big for a cat.”

The strange part about it was neither my neighbour nor myself had seen anything. We did not stay long in that house.

The two girls are women now, but they often talk about this, and wonder what it meant.

CLAPHAM

THERE is a certain house in ——— which is really haunted, although few people know it. This house belonged to a lady I used to know. I was very young then, and was able to run about in the pitch darkness with no childish fears whatever; yet, every time I entered this house, I always grew afraid. Of what I do not know; my mother also experienced this awful fear.

This lady had a brother who used to sleep in the attic. One night he awoke, and, to his horror, he beheld an old and ugly woman standing by his bed. I say “standing,” but he could see her only from the waist upwards. She was staring at him with an evil expression on her face. As he looked at her she gradually faded away. He said that the room was dark, but a light seemed to come from her. Her eyes were black and glittering; these were the last to fade. This man confessed that he was terrified and he spent the rest of the night under the bed clothes. He said that noises were heard in the unoccupied rooms, like people fighting.

This house, to the best of my knowledge is unoccupied now.

BARROW-IN-FURNESS

IN the village where I was born, at a point where four crossroads met, stood a house where lived an aged couple. One night the old man was found lying dead on the ground, having fallen from the bedroom window; a short time after, the old lady died.

The house was then rented by an elderly man with his family. These people could not sleep at night because of strange noises which resembled furniture being pushed about. The father declared a ghost entered his bedroom, took money from his pockets, counted it, and laid it on the dressing-table. The family became so frightened they quitted the house, and it was then let to a maiden lady.

One night the friends of this lady, who lived at a farm a mile away, were awakened by her knocking at their door. She was barefooted and in her nightdress. She was in an exhausted condition, and said somebody was in her house moving the furniture about.

She never returned to the house and died shortly after from shock, it was said.

No one could ever account for the ghostly visitor or the noises, and, as long as I remained in the village, the house stood empty and was always said to be “haunted.”

BARNES

ABOUT twenty years ago, I was living with my husband and children in Barnes. My daughter was studying for an examination and frequently sat up till one or two o'clock working. Sometimes we heard her calling out, and she complained of being visited by a middle-aged lady dressed in grey.

One night we had all gone to bed, when I heard her calling in great distress. I made up my mind to go and sleep with her, thinking she was over-wrought by her studies. I had hardly laid down beside her when the door opened and a lady in grey came slowly in. I felt myself shaking, and my daughter called out: “What is the matter, mother? You are trembling.” I was anxious to hide the fact that I saw anything, and remained silent. “Mother, there she goes,” she called out, and I saw the apparition disappear through the wall.

Afterwards, I heard from a woman who had been servant in the house before we bought it, that a lady answering to my description of our visitor had died in that room.

HANDSWORTH

SOME twenty years ago, my mother, sister, brother and self, went to stay with friends at an Essex manor house. In the afternoon our host took the horse and trap to stay the night at an outlying town in order to be ready for the horse fair next day. My brother and I were left in bed with a light. After a time the door opened and a big man stood there and nodded to us. In the dim light, we, thinking by his size he was our host, called out “Goodnight, Mr. B.” He then closed the door. My mother and sister went to bed, bolting their door. During the night my mother heard shuffling in the corridor, extra loud where a tall man would have to stoop. Then her door was tried and, whoever it was, continued into the next bedroom, which was our hostess’s. In the morning my mother's door was open. On recounting our experiences over breakfast, one of our host’s sons blurted out “Why, it's only old R.'s ghost walking again; they are doing his grave up.” Our host had not been home at all that night.

My mother and sister returned home that day, but we stayed on. We were only about nine or ten years old. When we saw the grave it had a tarpaulin cover over it and was being done up. R. had committed suicide. Owing to the noises in the house and the stories told about it, our friends had been able to get the place at a reduced rent. All the above facts can be verified and vouched for.

BURTON LATIMER

AS a young married woman, I went from a large town to live in a small village in Buckinghamshire where my husband had got work. We thought we were very lucky to get a nice old-fashioned house that stood by itself in a lane. It seems that the house had been empty some time. I made many friends, but none ever told me the house had a bad name, or anything about it. Did I believe in ghosts? Certainly not! But, after six months in that uncanny house, I would believe anything. The first signs in this peculiar house began when we had been there about a month. Chairs were scraped across the floor in the small kitchen (always in the evening), sounds of crockery smashing, bumps overhead, and doors banging. My two small children were mysteriously moved from one bed to another nightly for about a fortnight. At first we were not alarmed and tried hard to find out who was playing a game with us. None of the villagers would come near the house because they said it was haunted. I never saw anything, but my husband did, and it so got on his nerves that he would not stay in the house by himself.

The house was supposed to be haunted by a tall lady in rustling silk. I certainly heard the rustle and the moaning, but I never saw the lady. Anyhow, she certainly made us as restless as she was herself. Later on, my husband got work away, only coming home for week-ends, for we were very anxious to get away from the house and to be peaceful again. I understand that no one would take the old house after we left it, and it was pulled down and rebuilt. I wonder if that laid the ghost? I could never understand what caused the trouble there, but after that experience, do I believe in ghosts? Yes, I think so!

A MILITARY MAN

SOME years ago I was nursing an old lady and went with her to stay at her brother's—an old country manor house. One night the maids forgot to bring the milk my patient always had, so, about 2:00 a.m., I set out for the larder to fetch it. Our room opened into a long corridor which had several large windows. It was a moonlight night. I knew everyone had long since gone to bed so was very surprised to see someone coming to meet me. But my surprise turned to horror when I saw that it was no member of the household, but the figure of a very tall dark man in the military uniform of over a century ago. He seemed to glide, not walk. I waited until the figure was within a few feet of me and then I fled back to my patient. She begged me to say nothing of what I had seen, as the family already found it difficult to keep maids, owing to the frequent occurrence of strange noises as if the house was being ransacked and all the china smashed. A few years after my experience the property was sold as the owners could stand no more of the ghostly racket, and it has constantly changed tenants since.

“YOU ARE IN MY BED”

THIS may interest your readers. It happened to me in London in the year 1887. On going to live in London, not far from Kilburn, with people who were quite strangers to me, I had the following strange experience during my first night. I retired just after ten and was soon sound asleep, when a voice beside the bed said, "You are in my bed," and repeated it several times. I looked both sides of the bed, but could see nothing, but, over by the dressing table, I saw a young man of about twenty-six. He was wearing a white shirt, braces and grey striped trousers and his black hair showed plainly against a very white face.

Next morning I told of what I had seen and was informed that a young man such as I described was the previous occupier of the room and had died there only a few weeks earlier.

THE WOMAN IN BROWN

ABOUT twenty-five years ago Mr. and Mrs. D. took up their residence in a house in a small Oxfordshire village. Previous to their arrival Mrs. D. had not seen the house nor had she heard anything to suggest that the house was haunted.