Christmas Ghost Stories

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, Tourists! The year has come to another end and we're very appreciative of our Tourists old and new. We are putting out the call to bring back the Victorian tradition of telling ghost stories at Christmas, so we got the ball rolling and brought you a couple ghost stories! See you in the new year, Tourists!

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Episode Transcript

(00:12):
Down this road is a small city. One's thriving and full of life,
but now desolate and abandoned. Well, abandons say for the horrors rumored to
reside with it, which I presumeis why you're here now. There's nothing
wrong with a little morbid curiosity,but please remember to stay close to your
guides. We wouldn't want anyone toget left behind. Now, happy holidays,

(00:43):
tourists, Welcome to our beautiful city. You see how it's all decked
out and all the lovely spiderwebs.We got some Christmas lights in there somewhere.
Probably are they Christmas lights or there'ssomething else? But dead lights are
us. So what they're called fairiesat the faye could be the fae.
You don't know. It could bethem. Don't mess with them. By
the way, that's why you shouldnever have an elf on the shelf.

(01:06):
You're inviting a fee into your home. Stop it. Stop that I have
a gremlin. Her name is Cassie. Her name is Cassie Opia. So
welcoming you back to Nobeville. Youcan enjoy your holiday with us. Where
are your tour guides? I'm Jenand I'm Christine, and we're gonna bring
back a tradition. We're we're puttingout the call for this. We're bringing

(01:27):
about the tradition to tell Victorian ghoststories because back during the Victorian era they
would tell ghost stories during Christmas.And why not that sounds like a fun
idea. Yeah, Victorian or not, ghost stories are it? Yes?
And it should be Halloween year round, of course, because ghosts aren't only
around during Halloween. And to CharlesDickens' credit, there's Christmas Carol where he

(01:53):
literally talks about ghosts. Mm hmm. And of course there's that Christmas song
where they talk about it how itis the most wonderful time of year.
And we tell scary ghost stories andtales of the glories of Christmases long long
ago. So the stories we havebrought to you today aren't necessarily from the
Victorian era, but of the tradition. Yes. So to start us off,

(02:19):
I have a story that takes placein a Victorian house. All right,
that fits? There's that. Thestory is called Dark Christmas by Jeannette
Winterson. What a seasonal name.Yeah, we had borrowed the house from
a friend. None of us seemedto know. High Fallen House stood on
an eminence overlooking the sea. Itwas a square Victorian gentleman's residence. The

(02:44):
large bay windows looked down through thepines towards the shore. Six stone steps
led the visitor up the double frontdoor, where a gothic bell pull released
a loud, mournful clang deep intothe distances of the house. Laurel lined
the drive. The stable block wasdis used. The walled garden had been
locked up in nineteen fourteen when thegardeners went to war. Only one had

(03:06):
returned. I had been warned thatthe high brick wall enclosing the garden was
unsafe. As I passed it slowlyin the car, I saw a faded
notice falling off the paint peeled door. Do not enter. I was the
first to arrive. My friends werefollowing by train, and I was to
collect them the next day, andthen we would settle down to Christmas.
I had driven from Bristol and Iwas tired. There was a Christmas tree

(03:28):
roped to the top of my fourby four and a trunkload of provisions.
We were not near any town,but the housekeeper had left stacked wood to
build a fire, and I hadbrought a shepherd's pie and a bottle of
rioha for my first night. Thekitchen was cheerful enough once I had got
the fire going and the radio playing. While I unpacked our festive supplies,
I checked my phone. No signal. Still, I knew the time of

(03:49):
the train tomorrow, and it wasa relief to feel that the world had
gone away. I put my foodin the oven to heat up, poured
a glass of wine, and wentupstairs to find myself a bedroom. The
first landing had three bedroom leading offit. Each had a moth eaten rug,
a metal bed, and a mahoganychest of drawers. At the far
end of the landing was a secondset of stairs up to the attic floor.
I am not a romantic about maid'srooms or nurseries, and there was

(04:13):
something about that second set of stairsthat made me hesitate. The landing was
bright in the sudden way of latesun on a winter's afternoon, yet the
light ended abruptly at the foot ofthe stairs, as though it couldn't go
any farther. I didn't want tobe near that set of stairs, so
I chose the room at the frontof the house, as I want to
bring up my bag. The housebell started to ring, its jerky metallic

(04:33):
hammers, sounding somewhere in the gutsof the house. I was surprised,
but not alarmed. I expected thehousekeeper. I opened the door. There
was no one there. I wentdown the steps and looked around. I
admit I was frightened. The nightwas clear and soundless. There was no
car in the distance, no footstepswalking away. Determined to conquer my fear,

(04:54):
I walked around a little, then, turning back to the house,
I saw it. The bell wireran along the side of the house under
a shell dragon gutter. Perhaps thirtyor forty bats were dangling upside down on
the vibrating wire. It's a lotof bats. That's a lot of bats.
The same number swooped and swerved ina dark mass. Obviously their movement

(05:14):
on the wire had set the belloff. I like bats, clever bats.
Good Now, supper, I ate, I drank. I wondered why
love is so hard and life isso short. As you do, it's
a little too relatable. I wentto bed. The room was warmer now,
and I was ready to sleep.The sound of the sea ebbed into

(05:34):
the flow of my dreams. Iwoke from a dead sleep in dead darkness
to hear what what can I hear? It sounded like a bell bearing or
a marble rolling on the bare floorabove my head. It rolled hard,
on hard, then hit the wall. Then it rolled again in the other
direction. This might not have mattered, except that the other direction was upwards.

(05:56):
Things can come loose and roll downwards, but they cannot come loose and
roll up unless someone that thought wasso unwelcome that I dismissed it along with
the law of gravity. But whateverwas rolling over my head must be a
natural dislodging. The house was draftyand unused. The attics were under the
eaves, where any kind of weathermight get in. Weather or an animal,

(06:17):
remember the bats. I pulled upthe covers to my eyebrows and pretended
not to listen. Blanket defense,Yeah, exactly, there you go.
There It was again, hard,on, hard, on, hit on,
pause, on roll. I waitedfor sleep, waiting for daylight.
We are lucky, even the worstof us, because daylight comes. It
was a brooding day that twenty firstof December, the shortest day of the

(06:40):
year. Coffee coat on car keys. Shouldn't I just check the attic?
No? First rule of horror movies. No, you think you should do
something, don't unless it's leave thehouse. Yes. The second set of
stairs was narrow, a servants staircase. It led to a lathe and plaster
cord or a bare with the wideI started coughing. Breathing was difficult.

(07:03):
Damp had dropped the plaster in thick, crumbling heaps on the floorboards. As
below, there were three doors.Two were closed. The door to the
room above my room was ajar.I made myself go forward. The room
was under the eaves, as Ihad guessed. The floor was rough.
There was no bed, only awashstand and clothes rail. What surprised me

(07:24):
was the Nativity scene in the corner. Hmmm, yeah, that's creepy.
Standing about two feet tall. Itwas more like a doll's house than a
Christmas decoration. Inside the open frontedstable stood the animals, the shepherds,
the crib Joseph. Above the roof, on a bit of wire was a
battered star. It was old,handmade in a workmanlike but not craftsmanlike sort

(07:45):
of whey. The painted wood nowrubbed and faded like pigments of time.
I thought I would carry it downstairs. And put it by a Christmas tree.
It must have been made for thechildren when there were children here.
I stuffed my pockets with the figuresand animals and left quickly, leaving the
door open. I had to setoff for the station. Stephen and Susie
could help me with the rest later. As soon as I was out of

(08:05):
the house, m lungs felt clearagain. It must be the plaster dust.
The drive to the station was alongthe coast road, lonely and unyielding.
The road turned in a series ofblind bends and tight corners. I
met no one and I saw noone. Gulls circled over the sea.
The station itself was a simple shelteron a long single track. There were
no information boards. I checked myphone, no signal. At last,

(08:28):
the train appeared distantly down the track. I was excited. Memories of visiting
my father as a child when hewas stationed at his RAF base give me
a rush of pleasure whenever I travelby train or come to meet one.
The train slowed and halted. Theguard stood down for a moment. I
watched the doors. It wasn't abig train, this branch line train,
but none of the doors opened.I waved at the guard who came over.

(08:50):
I am meeting my friends. Heshook his head. Train's empty.
Next stop is the end of theline. I was confused. Had they
got off at the earlier stop?I described them. The guard shook his
head again. I noticed strangers.They would have board it at Carlisle asked
me where to get off? Alwaysdo? Is there another train before tomorrow?
One a day, and that's yourlot and more than anybody needs in

(09:11):
a place like this. Where areyou staying high Fallen House? Do you
know it? Oh? I weall know it. He looked as if
he were about to say something else. Instead, he blew his whistle.
That's not what you want to hear. I'm like, ohh, I know
that place. Nah, yes,we all know it. The empty train
pulled away, leaving me staring downthe long track, watching the red light

(09:33):
like a warning. I needed toget a signal on my phone. I
drove on past the station, followingthe steep hill, hoping some height would
connect me to the rest of theworld. At the top of the hill,
I stopped the car and got out, pulled up the collar of my
coat. The first snow hit myface with insect insistence, sharp and spiteful,
like little bites. I looked outacross the Buaitning Bay. That must

(09:54):
be high fallen house. But what'sthat? Two figures walking on the beach.
Was its even in Susie? Hadthey driven here after all? Then,
as I strained my eyes against thedeceit of distance, I realized that
the second figure was much smaller thanthe first. They were walking purposely toward
the house. When I arrived back, it was nearly dark. I put

(10:15):
on the lights, blew the fireinto a blaze. There was no sign
of the mysterious couple I had seenfrom the hill. Perhaps it had been
the housekeeper and her daughter, cometo make sure that everything was all right.
I had a telephone for Missus Wormwood, but without a signal, I
could not call her. The snowwas thickening in windy swirls. Relax,
have a whiskey, solid plan.Yeah. I leaned on the warm kitchen

(10:35):
range with my whiskey in my hand. The wooden figures I had brought down
from the attic were lying on thekitchen table. I should go up and
get the stable. I don't wantto. It's dark now. I bounded
up the first set of stairs,using energy to force out unease at my
bedroom. I put on the lightthat felt better. The second set of

(10:56):
stairs stood in shadow. At theend of the long landing. I felt
that constriction in my lungs again.Why am I holding onto the handrail like
an old man? I could seethe only light to the attic was at
the top of the stairs. Ifound the round brown bake lights, which
I flicked down the nipple. Asingle bulb lit up reluctantly. The room
was straight ahead. The door wasclosed. Hadn't I left it open?

(11:18):
I turned the handle and stood inthe doorway, the room dimly lit by
the light from the stairs, washstand, nativity clothes rail. On the clothes
rail was a child's dress. Ihadn't noticed that before. I suppose I
had been in a hurry. Pushingaside any misgivings. I went in purposely
and bent down to pick up thewooden nativity. It was heavy, and

(11:39):
I had just got it secure inmy arms when the light on the landing
went out. Hello, who's there? There's someone breathing like they can barely
breathe, not faint, struggling forbreath. I mustn't turn around, because
whoever or whatever it is is behindme. I stood still for a minute,
studying my nerve. Then I shuffledforward towards the edge of light coming

(12:03):
up from downstairs at the doorway.I heard a step behind me, lost
my balance and put out a handto steady myself. My hand gripped something
wet the clothes rail. It mustbe the dress. My heart was overbeating.
Don't panic, bake light, badwiring, strange house, darkness,
aloneness. But you're not alone,are you? Back in the kitchen with

(12:26):
whiskey radio four impasta boiling. Iexamined the dress. It was for a
small child, and it was handknitted. The wool was smelly and sopping.
I washed it out and left ithanging over the sink to drip.
I guess there must be a holein the roof, and the dress had
been soaking up the rain for along time. Wouldn't it have fallen apart?
I would think, so, Yeah, threads aren't that great. I

(12:46):
ate my supper, tried to read, told myself it had been nothing,
nothing at all. It was onlyeight pm. I didn't want to go
to bed, though. The snowoutside was like a quilt. I decided
to arrange the nativity Donkey, sheep, animals, Wiseman, shepherd, star,
Joseph. The crib was there,but it was empty. There was
no Christ Child and there was nomarry had I dropped them in the dark

(13:07):
room. I hadn't heard anything fall, and these wooden figures were six inches
tall. Joseph was wearing a woolentunic, but his wooden legs had painted
puddies. I pulled off the tunic. Underneath wooden Joseph wore a painted uniform
First World War. When I turnedhim round, I saw there was a
gash in his back, like astab wound. My phone beated. I

(13:28):
dropped Joseph grabbed the phone. Itwas a text message from Susie, trying
to call you leave tomorrow. Ipressed call nothing. I tried to send
a text nothing, But what didit matter? Suddenly I felt relief and
calm. They had been delayed.That was all tomorrow they would be here.
I sat down again with the Nativity. Perhaps the missing figures were inside.
I put in my hand, myfingers closed around a metal object.

(13:52):
It was a small iron key witha hoop top. Maybe it was the
key to the attic door. Outside. Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
The sky had cleared, the moonsped above the sea. I had
gone to bed, and I wasdeep asleep when I heard it clearly above
me, footsteps pacing down the room, hesitate, turn return. I lay

(14:16):
in bed, eyes staring blindly atthe blind ceiling. Why do we open
our eyes when we can't see anything? And what was there to see?
I don't believe in ghosts. Iwanted to put on the light. But
what if the light didn't come on? Why would it be worse to be
in darkness? I had not chosenthan darkness. I was choosing, but
it would be worse. I satup in bed and pulled back the curtain
a little. The moon had beenso bright tonight, surely there would be

(14:37):
light. There was light outside thehouse. Hand in hand stood the still
and silent figures of a mother andchild. I did not sleep again till
daylight, And when I slept andwoke again, it was almost midday and
already the light was lowering. Hurryingto get coffee, I saw that the
dress was gone. I had leftit dripping over the sink, and it
was gone. Get out of thehouse. Oh shit. I set off

(15:00):
for the station. There was anair frost that had coated the trees and
glittering white. It was beautiful anddeathly, the world held in ice.
On the road. There were nocar tracks, no noise but the roar
and drop of the sea. Imoved slowly and saw no one in the
white, unmoving landscape. I wonderedif there was anyone else left alive at
the station. I waited. Iwaited some time past the time until the

(15:22):
train whistled on the track. Thetrain stopped. The guard got down and
saw me. He shook his head. There's no one, he said,
no one at all. I thoughtI would cry. I took out my
mute phone. I flashed up themessage, trying to call you leave tomorrow.
The guard looked at it happen.It's you who should be leaving.
He said, there's no more trainspast Carlisle now until the twenty seventh.

(15:45):
Tomorrow was the last, and that'sbeen canceled. Whether I wrote down a
number and gave it to the guard. Will you phone my friends and tell
them I am on my way home. On the slow journey back to high
fallen House, I filled my mindwith my departure. It would be slow
and dangerous to travel at night,but I could not consider another night alone
or not alone. All I hadto do was manage forty miles to Inchbarn.

(16:06):
There was a pub and a guesthouseand remote but normal life. The
text message kept playing in my head. Had it really meant that I should
leave? And why because Susie andSteven couldn't come, Whether illness, It's
all a guessing game. The factis I have to go. The house
seemed subdued when I returned. Ihad left the lights on and I went
straight upstairs to pack my bag.At once I saw the light to the

(16:27):
attic was on. I paused,breathed, of course it's on. I
never switched it off. That provesit's a wiring fold. I must tell
the housekeeper. My bag packed,I threw the food into a box and
put everything back in the car.I had the whiskey in the front,
a blanket I stole from the bed, and I made a hot water bottle
just in case. It was onlyfive o'clock. At worst, I'd be

(16:48):
at Inchbarn by nine pm. Igot in the car and turned the key.
The radio came on for a second. Died, and as the ignition
clicked and clicked, I knew thatthe battery was flat. Two hours ago
at the station, the car hadstarted first time, even if I had
left the lights on. But Ihadn't left the lights on. A cold
panic hit me. I took aswig of the whiskey. I couldn't sleep

(17:08):
in the car all night. Iwould die. I don't want to die.
Back in the house, I wonderedwhat I was going to do all
night. I must not fall asleep. I had noticed some old books and
volumes when I had explored downstairs yesterday, the sordid, dusty adventure stories and
tales of empire. As I sortedthrough them, I came across a faded
velvet photograph album. In the cold, deserted sitting room, I began to

(17:30):
discover the past high fallen house nineteenten. The women in long skirts with
miraculous waists, the men in shootingtweeds, the stable boys and waistcoats,
the gardening boys in flat caps,the maids in starched aprons. And here
they are again in their Sunday best. A wedding photograph Joseph and Mary Locke
nineteen twelve. He was a gardener, she was a maid. In the

(17:53):
back of the album, loose andunsorted, were further photographs and newspaper cuttings
nineteen fourteen. The men in uniformThere was Joseph. I took the album
back into the kitchen and put itnext to my wooden soldier. I had
on my coat and scarf. Ipropped myself up in two chairs by the
wood fired range and dozed and waitedand waited, and waited and dozed.

(18:15):
It was perhaps two o'clock when Iheard a child crying. Not a child
who has scraped his knee or losta toy, but an abandoned child,
a child whose own voice is hislast hold on life, A child who
cries and knows that no one willcome. The sound was not above me,
It was above the above me.I knew where it was coming from.
I put my hands over my earsand my head between my knees.

(18:37):
I could not shut out the sound. A locked up child, a hungry
child, a child who was coldand wet and frightened. Twice I got
up and went to the door.Twice I sat down again. The crying
stopped. Silence, A dreadful silence. I raised my head. Footsteps were
coming down the stairs, not onefoot in front of the other, but
one foot dragging slightly, then theother joining it, steadying, stepping again.

(19:03):
At the bottom of the stairs,the footsteps paused. Then they did
what I knew they would do withall the terror in my body. The
footsteps came towards the kitchen door.Whatever was out there was standing twelve feet
away on the other side of thedoor. I stood behind the table and
picked up a knife. The doorswung open with violent force that rammed the
brass door knob into the plaster ofthe wall. Wind and snow blew into

(19:26):
the kitchen, whirling up the photographsand cuttings on the table. I saw
that the front door itself was wideopen the entrance hall like a wind tunnel.
Holding the knife, I went forwardinto the hall to shut the door.
The pendent metal lantern that hung fromthe ceiling was swinging wildly on its
long chain. A sudden gust lurchedit forward like a child's swing. Pushed

(19:48):
too high, it fell back atforce against the semicircular fan light over the
front door. The fan light shatteredand fell round my shoulders in shards of
sharp brain flicker, buzz, darkness. The house lights were out. No
wind now, no cries. Silenceagain, glass hit in the snowlit hall.
I walked out of the front doorand into the night. At the

(20:11):
drive, I turned left and Isaw them, the mother and child.
The child was wearing the woolen dress. She had no shoes. She held
up her arms piteously to her mother, who stood like stone. I ran
forward. I grabbed the child inmy arms. There was no child.
I had fallen face down in thesnow. Help me. That's not my
voice. I'm on my feet again. The mother is ahead of me.

(20:32):
I follow her. She's going towardsthe walled garden. She seems to pass
through the door, leaving me onthe other side. Do not enter.
I tried the rusty loop handle.It broke off, taking a piece of
the door with it. I kickedthe door open. It fell off its
hinges. The ruined and abandoned gardenlay before me, a walled garden of
one acre used to feed twenty people, but that was a long time ago.

(20:55):
There were footprints in the snow.I followed them. They led me
to the bothy roof patched with corrugatediron. There was no door, but
the inside seemed dry and sound.There was a tear off calendar still on
the wall. Twenty second December nineteensixteen. I put my hand in my
pocket and realized that the key fromthe Nativity scene was there. At the
same time, I heard a chairscrape on the floor. In the room

(21:17):
beyond, I had no fear anymore, as the body first shivers and
then numbs with cold. My feelingswere frozen. I was moving through shadows
as one who dreams. In theroom beyond, there was a low fire
in the tiny tin fireplace. Oneither side of the fire sat the mother
and child. The child was absorbedplaying with a marble. Her bare feet
were blue, but she did notseem to feel the cold any more than

(21:38):
I did. Are we dead?Then the woman with a shawl over her
head looked at me with deep,expressionless eyes. I recognized her. It
was Mary Locke. She nodded atme, or not at me, at
some other me in some other timeI do not know. Her gaze went
to a tall cupboard. I knewthat my key fitted this cupboard, and
that I must open it. Idid so a dusty uniform fell out,

(22:02):
crumpling like a puppet. The uniformwas not quite empty of its occupant.
The back of the faded wool jackethad a long slash where the lungs would
have been. I looked at theknife in my hand. Open the door.
Are you in there? Open thedoor? I woke to blinding white.
Where am I? Something's rocking.It's the car. I am in
my car. A heavy glove wasbrushing off the snow. I sat up,

(22:26):
found my keys, pressed the unlockedbutton. It was morning. Outside
was the guard from the train anda woman who announced herself as Missus Wormwood.
Fine mess you've made here, shesaid. It went into the kitchen.
I was shivering so much that MissusWormwood relented and began to make coffee.
Alfie fetched me, she said.After he spoke to your friends.
There's a body, I said,in the walled garden. Is that where

(22:48):
it is? Said Missus Wormwood.At Christmas nineteen fourteen, Joseph Locke had
gone to war. Before he leftfor Flanders, he had made a nativity
scene for his little girl. Whenhe came back in nineteen sixteen, he
had and gassed. They heard himclimbing the stairs, gasping for breath through
froth corrupted lungs. His mind hadgone, they said. At night in
the attic where he slept with hiswife and child, he leaned vacantly against

(23:11):
the wall, rolling the child's marblesup and down, down and up,
pacing, pacing, pacing. Onenight, just before Christmas, he strangled
his wife and daughter. He leftthem for dead in the bed and went
out, but his wife was notdead. She followed him. In the
morning, they found her sitting bythe Nativity, her dress dark with blood,
his finger marks livid at her throat. She was singing a lullaby and

(23:33):
pushing the point of the knife intothe back of the wooden figure. Joseph
was never found. Are you goingto call the police? I said,
what for? Said missus wormwood?Let the dead, bury the dead.
ALFI the guard went out to seeto my car. It started first time,
the exhaust blue in the white air. I left them clearing up and
was about to set off when Iremembered I had left my radio in the
kitchen. I went back inside.The kitchen was empty. I could hear

(23:56):
the two of them up in theattic. I picked up the radio.
The Nativity was on the table asI had left it, but it wasn't
as I had left it. Josephwas there, and the animals and the
shepherds and the worn out star,and in the center was the crib.
Next to the crib were the woodenfigures of a mother and child. A
lot happened at the end there.I know. I'm like, wait,

(24:19):
what what's going on? I don'tunderstand so many twists and turns. Okay,
that was a creepy Christmas story.They're welcome. Never go to a
haunted place by yourself. I mean, yeah, what happens? Mine is
called sme by am Barrage. Allright, no, said Jackson with a

(24:41):
deprecatory smile. I'm sorry. Idon't want to upset your game. I
shan't be doing that because you'll haveplenty without me. But I'm not playing
any games of hide and seek.It was Christmas Eve and we were a
party of fourteen with just a properleavening of youth. We had dined well.
It was a season for childish games, and we were all in the
mood for playing them. All thatis except Jackson. When somebody suggested hide

(25:04):
and seek. There was rapturous andalmost unanimous approval. His was the one
dissentient voice. It was not likeJackson to spoil sport or refused to do
as others wanted. Somebody asked himif he were feeling seedy. No,
he answered, I feel perfectly fit. Thanks, But he added with a
smile which softened without retracting the flatrefusal, I'm not playing hide and seek.

(25:27):
One of us asked him why not. He hesitated for some seconds before
replying, I sometimes go and sayat a house where a girl was killed
through playing hide and seek in thedark. She didn't know the house very
well. There was a servants staircasewith a door to it. When she
was pursued, she opened the doorand jumped into what she must have thought
was one of the bedrooms, andshe broke her neck at the bottom of

(25:47):
the stairs. We all looked concerned, and missus Fernley said, how awful.
And you were there when it happened. Jackson shook his head very gravely.
No, he said, but Iwas there when something else happened,
something worse. I shouldn't have thoughtanything could be worse. This was said
Jackson, and shuddered visibly. Orso it seemed to me. I think
he wanted to tell the story andwas angling for encouragement. A few requests,

(26:11):
which may have seemed to him tolack urgency, he affected to ignore
and went off at a tangent.I wonder if any of you have played
a game called Smee. It's agreat improvement on the ordinary game of hide
and seek. The name derived fromthe ungrammatical colloquialism it's me. You might
care to play. If you're goingto play a game of that sort,
let me tell you the rules.Every player is presented with a sheet of

(26:33):
paper. All the sheets are blank, except one, on which is written
Smee. Nobody knows who is Smee, except Smee himself or herself, as
the case may be. The lightsare then turned out, and Smee slips
from the room and goes off tohide, And after an interval, the
other players go off in search,without knowing whom they are actually in search
of. One player meeting another,challenges with the words smee, and the

(26:55):
other player, if not the oneconcerned, answers to sme The real Smee
makes no answer when challenged, andthe second player remains quietly by him.
Presently, they will be discovered bya third player, who, having challenged
and received no answer, will linkup with the first two. This goes
on until all the players have formeda chain, and the last to join
is marked down for a forfeit.It's a good, noisy romping game,
and in a big house, itoften takes a long time to complete the

(27:18):
chain. You might care to tryit, and I'll pay my forfeit and
smoke one of Tim's excellent cigars hereby the fire until you get tired of
it. I remark that it soundeda good game and asked Jackson if he
had played it himself. Yes,he answered, I played it in the
house I was telling you about.And she was there, the girl who
broke no. No missus, friendlyinterrupted, He told us he wasn't there
when it happened. Jackson considered,I don't know if she was there or

(27:41):
not. I'm afraid she was.I know that there were thirteen of us,
and there ought only to have beentwelve, and al swear that I
didn't know her name or I thinkI should have gone clean off my head
when I heard that whisper in thedark. No you don't catch me playing
that game or any other like itanymore. It spoiled my nerve quite a
while, and I can't afford totake long holidays. Besides, it saves
a lot of trouble and inconvenience toown up at once to be encowered.

(28:04):
Tim vows the best of hosts smiledaround at us, and in that smile
there was a meaning which is sometimesvulgarly expressed by the slow closing of an
eye. There's a story coming,he announced. There's certainly a story of
sorts, said Jackson. But whetherit's coming or not, he paused and
shrugged his shoulders. Well you're goingto have to pay a forfeit instead of

(28:25):
playing. Please, but have aheart and let me down lightly. It's
not just a sheer custedness on mypart. Payment in advance, said Tim,
insures honesty and promotes good feeling.You're therefore a sentence to tell the
story here and now and here followsJackson's story, unrevised by me, and
pass on without comment to a widerpublic. Some of you I know have
run across the Sangston's Christopher Sangston andhis wife. I mean, they're distant

(28:48):
connections of mine, at least VioletSangston is. About eight years ago they
bought a house between the North andSouth Downs on the Surrey and Sussex border,
and five years ago they invited meto come and spend Christmas with them.
It was a fairly old house Icouldn't say exactly of what period,
and it certainly deserved the epithet rambling. It wasn't a particularly big house,
but the original architect, whoever hemay have been, had not concerned himself

(29:11):
with economizing in space, and atfirst you could get lost in it quite
easily. Well, I went downfor that Christmas assured by violence letter that
I knew most of my fellow guests, and that the two or three who
might be strangers to me were allLambs. Unfortunately, I'm one of the
world's workers and couldn't get away untilChristmas Eve, although the other members of
the party had assembled on the precedingday. I know what that feels like.

(29:34):
Even then, I had to cutit rather fine to be there for
dinner on my first night. Theywere all dressing when I arrived, and
I had to go straight to myroom and waste no time. I might
even have kept dinner waiting a bitfor I was last down, and it
was announced within a minute of myentering the drawing room. There was just
time to say hello to everybody Iknew, to be briefly introduced to the

(29:55):
two or three I didn't know,and then I had to give my arm
to missus Gorman. I meant,and this says the reason why I didn't
catch the name of a tall,dark, handsome girl I hadn't met before.
Everything was rather hurried, and I'malways bad at catching people's names.
She looked cold and clever and ratherforbidding, the sort of a girl who
gives the impression of knowing all aboutmen, and the more she knows of

(30:15):
them, the less she likes them. I felt that I wasn't going to
hit it off with this particular lambof violets, but she looked interesting all
the same, and I wondered whoshe was. I didn't ask, because
I was pretty sure of hearing somebodyaddress her by name before very long.
Unluckily, though, I was along way off at her table, and
as missus Gorman was at the topof her form that night, I soon

(30:36):
forgot to worry about who she mightbe Missus. Gorman is one of the
most amusing women I know. Anoutrageous but quite innocent flirt with a very
sprightly wit which isn't always unkind.She can think half a dozen moves ahead
in conversation, just as an expertcan in a game of chess. We
were soon sparring, or rather Iwas covering against the ropes, and I
quite forgot to ask her, inan undertone, the name of the cold,

(30:59):
proud beauty. The lady on theother side of me was a stranger,
or had been until a few minutessince, and I didn't think of
seeking information. In that quarter.There was a round dozen of us,
including the Sangsons themselves, and wewere all young or trying to be.
The Sangsons themselves were the oldest membersof the party, and their son,
Reggie, in his last year atMarlborough, must have been the youngest.
When there was talk of playing gamesafter dinner, it was he who suggested

(31:22):
it to me. He told ushow to play it, just as I've
described it to you. His fathertipped in as soon as we all understood
what was going to be required ofus. If there are any games of
that sort going on in this house, he said, for goodness sake,
be careful of the back stairs onthe first floor landing. There's a door
to them, and I've often meantto take it down in the dark.
Anybody who doesn't know the house verywell might think they were walking into a

(31:44):
room. A girl actually did breakher neck on those stairs about ten years
ago, when the Anstills lived here. I asked how it happened, Oh,
said Sangson. There was a partyhere one Christmas time and they were
playing hide and seek, as youproposed doing. The girl was one of
the hiders. She heard somebody coming, ran along the passage to get away,
and opened the door of what shethought was the bedroom, evidently with

(32:05):
the intention of hiding behind it whileher pursuer went past. Unfortunately, it
was the door leading to the backstairs, and that staircase is as straight and
almost as steep as the shaft ofa pit. She was dead when they
picked her up. We all promisedfor our own sakes to be careful.
Missus Gorman said that she was surenothing could happen to her, since she
was insured by three different firms,and her next of kin was a brother
whose consistent ill luck was a bywordin the family. Being insured doesn't stop

(32:30):
things from happening. You what you'relike, I'm fine, I'm insured.
Like, No, your family isgonna be fine when you die. Your
family's fine. You're not the fuckyou see. None of us had known
the unfortunate girl, and as thetragedy was ten years old, there is
no need to pull long faces aboutit. Rude. Right, Maybe if

(32:51):
she was insured, it wouldn't havehappened. Yeah, maybe we knew her
better. We'd care well what happenedin your house? Right? Like you
knew were the fuck well? Westarted the game almost immediately after dinner.
The men allowed themselves only five minutesbefore joining the ladies, and then young
Reggie Sangston went round and assured himselfthat the lights were out all over the

(33:13):
house except in the servants quarters andin the drawing room where we were assembled.
We then got busy with twelve sheetsof paper, which he twisted into
pellets and shook up between his handsbefore passing them around. Eleven of them
were blank, and SMEE was writtenon the twelfth. The person drawing the
ladder was the one who had tohide. I looked and saw that mine
was a blank. A moment later, out went the electric lights, and
in the darkness I heard somebody getup and creep to the door. After

(33:36):
a minute or so, somebody gavea signal and we made a rush for
the door. I, for one, hadn't the least idea which of the
party was Smee. For five orten minutes we were all rushing up and
down passages and in and out ofrooms, challenging one another, answering,
Smee, it's me. After abit, the alarms and excursions died down,
and I guess that Smee was found. Eventually I found a chain of
people, all sitting still and holdingtheir breath, on some narrow stairs leading

(34:00):
up to a row of attics.I hastily joined it, having challenge had
been answered with silence, And presentlytwo more stragglers arrived, each racing the
other two avoid being last. Sangsonwas one of them. Indeed, it
was he who was marked down fora forfeit, and after a little while
he remarked, in an undertone,I think we're all here now, aren't
we. He struck a match,looked up the shaft of the staircase and

(34:20):
began to count. It wasn't hard, although we just about filled the staircase,
for we were sitting each a stepor two above the next, and
all our heads are visible. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen,
he concluded, and then laughed,dash it all, that's one too
many. The match had burned out, and he struck another and began to
count. He got as far astwelve, and then uttered an exclamation.

(34:43):
There are thirteen people here, heexclaimed. I haven't counted myself yet.
Oh nonsense, I laughed. Youprobably began with yourself, and now you
want to count yourself twice. Outcame his son's electric torch, giving a
brighter and steadier light, and weall began to count. Of course we
number twelve. Sangson laughed. Well, he said, I could have sworn
I counted thirteen twice. From halfwayup the stairs came Violet Sangston's voice,

(35:05):
with a little nervous trill in it. I thought there was somebody sitting two
steps above me. Have you movedup, Captain Ransom? Ransom said that
he hadn't. He also said thathe thought there was somebody sitting between Violet
and himself, just for a momentthere was an uncomfortable something in the air,
a little cold ripple which touched usall. For that little moment,
it seemed to all of us.I think that something odd and unpleasant had
happened and was liable to happen again. Then we laughed at ourselves and at

(35:29):
one another, and were comfortable oncemore. There were only twelve of us,
and there could only have been twelveof us, and there was no
argument about it. Still laughing,we trooped back to the drawing room to
begin again. This time I wasSmee and Violet Sangston ran me to earth
while I was still looking for ahiding place. That round didn't last long,
and we were a chain of twelvewithin two or three minutes. Afterwards,

(35:50):
there was a short interval. Violetwanted a rap fetch for her,
and her husband went up to getit from her room. He was no
sooner gone than Reggie pulled me bythe sleeve. I saw that he was
looking pale and sick. Quick hewhispered, while follower's out of the way,
take me to the smug room andgive me a brandy or whiskey or
something outside the room. I askedhim what was the matter. But he
didn't answer at first, and Ithought it better to dose him first and

(36:12):
question him after, so I mixedhim a pretty dark complexion brandy and soda,
which he drank at a gulp andthen began to puff as if he
had been running. I've had rathera turn, he said to me,
with a sheepish grin. What's thematter? I don't know you were Smee
just now, weren't you. Well, of course I didn't know who Smee
was. And while mother and theothers ran into the west wing and found
you, I turned east. There'sa deep clothes cupboard in my bedroom.

(36:35):
I'd marked it down as a goodplace to hide when it was my turn,
and I had an idea that Smeemight be there. I opened the
door in the dark, felt roundand touched somebody's hand. Smee. I
whispered, and, not getting anyanswered, I thought I had found Smee.
We I don't know how it was, but an odd, creepy feeling
came over me. I can't describeit, but I felt that something was
wrong. So I turned on myelectric torch and there was nobody there.

(36:58):
Now, I swear I touched ahand, and I was filling up the
doorway of the cupboard at the sametime so nobody could get out past me.
He puffed again. What do youmake of it, he asked,
you imagine that you had touched ahand? I answered, naturally enough.
He edited a short laugh. Ofcourse, I knew you were going to
say that, He said, Imust have imagined it, mustn't I He
paused and swelled. I mean,it couldn't have been anything else but imagination,

(37:20):
could it. I assured him thatit couldn't, meaning what I said,
and he accepted this, but ratherwith the philosophy of one who knows
he is right but doesn't expect tobe believed. We returned together to the
drawing room, where by that timethey were all waiting for us and ready
to start again. It may havebeen my imagination, although I'm almost sure
it wasn't, But it seemed tome that all enthusiasm for the game has
suddenly melted like a white frost andstrong sunlight. If anybody had suggested another

(37:45):
game, I'm sure we should allhave been grateful and abandoned me. Only
nobody did. Nobody seemed to liketo I, for one, and I
can speak for some of the otherstoo, was oppressed with the feeling that
there was something wrong. I couldn'thave said what I thought was wrong.
Indeed I did and think about itat all, But somehow all the sparkle
had gone out of the fun,and hovering over my mind like a shadow

(38:05):
was the warning of some sixth sense, which told me that there was an
influence in the house which was neithersane, sound, nor healthy. Why
did I feel like that? BecauseSangston had counted thirteen of us instead of
twelve, and his son had thoughthe had touched somebody in an empty cupboard.
No, there was more in itthan just that. One would have
laughed at such things in the ordinaryway, and it was just that feeling
of something being wrong which stopped mefrom laughing. Well, we started again,

(38:30):
and when we went in pursuit ofthe unknown Smee, we were as
noisy as ever, But it seemedto me that most of us were acting
frankly for no reason other than theone I've given you. We've stopped enjoying
the game. I had an instinctto hunt with the main pack, but
after a few minutes during which nosme had been found my instinct to play
winning games and be first if possible, set me searching on my own account.

(38:52):
And on the first floor of thewest wing, following the wall,
which was actually the shell of thehouse, I blundered against a pair of
human kneed I put out my handand touch a soft, heavy curtain.
Then I knew where I was.There were tall, deeply recessed windows,
with seats along the landing, andcurtains of the recesses to the ground.
Somebody was sitting in a corner ofthis window, seat behind the curtain.

(39:15):
Aha, I'd caught, Smee.So I drew the curtain aside, stepped
in and touched the bare arm ofa woman. It was a dark night
outside, and moreover, the windowwas not only curtained, but a blind
hung down to where the bottom panesjoined up with the frame. Between the
curtain and the window, it wasas dark as the plague of Egypt.
I could not have seen my handheld six inches before my face, much
less the woman sitting in the corner, Smee, I whispered. I had

(39:37):
no answer, Smee, when challengedoes not answer, So I sat beside
her first in the field to waitthe others. Then, having settled myself,
I leaned over to her and whispered, who is it? What's your
name? Smee? And out ofthe darkness beside me the whisper came back,
Brenda Ford. I didn't know thename, but because I didn't know

(39:57):
it, I guessed at once whoshe was. The tall, pale,
dark girl was the only person inthe house I didn't know by name.
Ergo, my companion was a tall, pale, dark girl. It seemed
rather intriguing to be with her shutin between a heavy curtain and a window,
and I rather wondered whether she wasenjoying the game we were all playing.
Somehow, she hadn't seemed to meto be one of the romping sort.

(40:19):
I muttered one or two commonplace questionsto her and had no answer.
Smee is a game of silence,smee, and the person or persons who
have found sme are supposed to keepquiet to make it hard for the others.
But there is nobody else about,and it occurred to me that she
was playing the game a little toomuch to the letter. I spoke again
and got no answer, and thenI began to be annoyed. She was
of that cold, superior type whichaffects to despise Ben. She didn't like

(40:44):
me, and she was sheltering behindthe rules of a game for children to
be discourteous. Well, if shedidn't like sitting there with me, I
certainly didn't want to be sitting therewith her. I half turned from her
and began to hope that we shouldboth be discovered without much more delay,
having discovered that I didn't like beingthere alone with her. It was queer.
How soon I found myself hating it, and that for a reason very

(41:04):
different from the one which had atfirst wedded my annoyance. The girl I
had met for the first time beforedinner and seen diagonally across the table had
a sort of cold charm about herwhich had attracted while it had half angered
me. For the girl who waswith me, imprison in the opaque darkness
between the curtain and the window,I felt no attraction at all. It
was so very much the reverse thatI should have wondered at it myself if,

(41:27):
after the first shock of the discoverythat she had suddenly become repellent to
me, I had had room inmy mind for anything besides the consciousness that
her close presence was an increasing horrorto me. Jeez, I know whose
guy? She doesn't like me?Why I can't stand her? She doesn't
like me? She's horrible too.Okay, this is horrific. It came

(41:49):
upon me. Just as quickly asI uttered the words. My flesh suddenly
shrank from her, as you seea strip of gelatine shrink and wither before
the heat of a fire. Thatfeeling of something being wrong had come back
to me, but multiplied to anextent which turned foreboding into actual terror.
I firmly believed that I should havegot up and run. If I had
not felt that at my first movement, she would have divined my intention and

(42:10):
compelled me to stay by some meansof which I could not bear to think.
The memory of having touched her barearm made me WinCE and draw in
my lips. I prayed that somebodyelse would come along soon. My prayer
was answered. Light footfall sounded onthe landing. Somebody on the other side
of the curtain brushed against my knee. The curtain was drawn aside, and
a woman's hand, fumbling in thedarkness, presently rested on my shoulder.

(42:32):
Smee whispered a voice which I instantlyrecognized as Missus Gorman's. Of course,
she received no answer. She cameand settled down beside me with a rustle,
and I can't describe the sense ofrelief she brought me. It's Tony,
isn't it. She whispered back.Yes, I whispered back, You're
not Smee, are you? No? She's on my other side. She
reached a hand across me, andI heard one of her nails scratch the

(42:53):
surface of a woman's silk gown.Hello, smee, how are you?
Who are you? Oh? Isit as the rules to talk? Never
mind? Tony will break the rules? Do you know? Tony? This
game is beginning to irk me alittle. I hope they're not going to
run it to death by playing itall evening. I'd like to play some
game where we can all be togetherin the same room with a nice bright
fire same here. I agree fervently. Can't you suggest something when we go

(43:15):
down? There's something rather uncanny inthis particular amusement. I can't quite shed
the delusion that there's somebody in thisgame who oughtn't be in it at all.
That was just how I had beenfeeling, but I didn't say so.
But for my part, the worstof my qualms were now gone.
The arrival of Missus Gorman had dissipatedthem. We sat on talking, wondering
from time to time when the restof the party would arrive. I don't

(43:37):
know how long it lapsed before weheard a clatter of feet on the landing
and Young Reggie's voice shouting, Hello, Hello, there anybody there? Yes,
I answered Missus Gorman with you,Yes, Well you're a nice pair.
You're both forfeited. We've all beenwaiting you for hours. Why you
haven't found Sme yet? I objected, You haven't? You mean I happen
to have been Smee myself. ButSmee's here with us, I cried,

(44:00):
Yes, agreed Missus Gorman. Thecurtain was stripped aside, and in a
moment we were blinking into the eyeof Reggie's electric torch. I looked at
Missus Gorman, and then on myother side. Between me and the wall,
there was an empty space on thewindow seat. I stood up at
once and wished I hadn't, forI found myself sick and dizzy. There
was somebody there I maintained because Itouched her, so did I said missus

(44:22):
Gorman, in a voice which hadlost with steadiness. And I don't see
how she could have got up andgone without our knowing it. Reggie uttered
a queer shaken laugh. He toohad had an unpleasant experience that evening.
Somebody's been playing the goat, heremarked. Coming down, we were not
very popular. When we arrived inthe drawing room, Reggie rather tactlessly gave
it out that he had found ussitting on a window seat behind the curtain.

(44:44):
I taxed the tall dark girl withhaving pretended to be Smee, and
afterwards slipping away. She denied it, after which we settled down and played
other games. Smee was lone withher for the evening, and I,
for one, was glad of it. Some long while later, during an
interval, Sankston told me, ifI I wanted to drink, to go
into the smoke room and help myself. I went, and he presently followed
me. I could see that hewas rather peved with me, and the

(45:06):
reason came out during the following minuteor two. It seemed that, in
his opinion, if I must sitout and flirt with missus Gormant in circumstances
which would have been considered highly compromisingin his young days. I needn't do
it during a round game and keepeverybody waiting for us. But there was
somebody else there, I protested,somebody pretending to be smeet. I believe
it was that tall, dark girl, Miss Forge, although she denied it.

(45:28):
She even whispered her name to me. Sangston stared at me and nearly
dropped his glass. Miss who,he shouted, Brenda Ford? She told
me her name was Sangston, putdown his glass and laid a hand on
my shoulder. Look here, oldman, he said. I don't mind
a joke, but don't want togo too far. We don't want all
the women in this house getting hysterical. Brenda Ford is the name of the
girl who broke her neck on thestairs playing hide and seek here ten years

(45:51):
ago. The end, gasp,boogy. I would never play a game
like that. Fuck, you kiddingout in the dark, right, just
mindlessly running around a house and darklooking for a single person. You kidding?
Yeah? But how's that different fromhide and seek? Exactly? I
don't want to play hide and seek, but let's play this game. It's

(46:12):
the same thing. Yeah, theonly difference is there's one hider And however,
many other seekers like that's stupid.Yeah, God, I don't want
to play hide and Seek, butlet's play this, which is like,
yeah, let's play this other gamethat's very similar, so weird. Well,
we hope you've enjoyed your spooky storyspooky holiday stories with us. Let's

(46:34):
bring back the tradition of telling goosestories at Christmas. Yeah, if you
want to give us some stories totell, I'd love to hear them.
Can't fire stories, yeah, becausewe missed doing that. We know some
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(46:59):
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(47:21):
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(47:43):
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(48:05):
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Bye. Excellent. I see mostof you returned and relatively unscathed. Bravo.

(48:32):
I hope you enjoyed your visit toNobville and look forward to seeing you
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