Victorian Christmas: Fingering Death: 85

In which Carla shares lots of good news, and reads more Victorian horror for the holidays.
Sources and Recommended Reading:
The Valancourt Book of Victorian Christmas Ghost Stories (pp. 117-123) https://bookshop.org/a/6560/9781943910564
Ada Buisson on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18335715.Ada_Buisson
Belgravia catalog archive: https://catalog.hathitrust.org/Record/000680041

There Might Be Cupcakes on IMDb:
https://www.imdb.com/title/tt22815734/episodes
https://www.imdb.com/title/tt22815734/

Referenced Episodes:
4: …And Things That Go Bump in the Night
21: Nine Days and Two Car Seats
35: Unexpected UVA Voices
47: The Goblin and the Paw
75: Holly Jolly Christmas

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Episode Transcript

(00:15):
Hi, this is Carla, andwelcome back to their might big cupcakes.
I apologize for the long hiatus.I have been physically struggling. I got
COVID and then proceeded to have itfor an entire month, and then found
out that COVID makes pots much worse, much worse. I feel like I

(00:40):
have either been asleep, trying notto fall down, or feeling drunk ever
since. And that was the beginningof October. Luckily, I have a
marvelous cardiologist and she's setting me upwith referrals and testing galore. Good news,
my book is now for preorder.I was so excited. My story

(01:03):
Holly Jolly Christmas, which I readfor last Christmas. Horror is in Antimony
and Elder Lace Press's first volume oftheir two volume Monster set, published under
my maiden name, Carla Pettigrew,which I'm going to start podcasting under as
well, because that's going to bemy writing name. The cover is gorgeous
gorgeous, and the link for preorders in the show notes and Oliver social

(01:26):
media Substack and Patreon. I've beena braggin. If you're a patron or
a paid member of substack, I'llbe paying for your copy, so please
email me at Carla if there mightbe cupcakes dot com and confirm the email
address for me to use for yourorder. Happy Holidays. You deserve it

(01:47):
for supporting me. I love you, bunches. The other good news is
that the podcast is now on theInternet Movie Database. How cool is that
The link is in the show notes. All I need to do is finish
adding the special image and the shownotes for each episode. I love it.
It's so cool. If you feelso inclined, just like Podchaser,
you can rate the podcast and eachindividual episode. Please help a lady out

(02:14):
one more item. I just guessedit on Bi Pumpkin podcast Again. I
love Princess so much. We talkedto her almost two hours about the really
dark reality TV show The Two Corriesstarring Corey Ham and Corey Feldman. I
think I'm gonna listen to Feldman's autobiographychoreography and do a follow up episode here.

(02:35):
Princess is going to come on mypodcast after the first of the year,
and we're going to discuss our mutual, lifelong love of books and how
it's shaped us as people. TheTwo Coories episode is on her Patreon for
all levels. I highly recommend joining. Listening to her is like having a
friend in your ears, it reallyis. It's very comforting. And she's
so funny. Okay, so muchgood news, and it's so lovely to

(03:00):
feel like being back and to beback. And I missed talking to you
guys, and I missed writing thescripts, and I missed it a lot.
It's that time again, time togo back to Victorian Christmas and their
enjoyment of horror. Y'all have toldme that these are your favorite episodes,

(03:20):
so let's do this. The Victorianperiod is officially from eighteen thirty seven to
nineteen oh one. And if youhear that little clicking noise, it is
not my yule glog fire. Itis my dog Arlow, pacing back and
forth wondering why I turned his belovedair cleaner off. He has Ellie's a
little bed behind my chair, andthe air cleaner is next to it,

(03:45):
and the air cleaner comforts him,and I turned it off so I can
record, and he is now discomfited, and so he is pacing. So
you hear a little kick, andit is not something wrong with my mic
I have started a you'll fire.It's my anxious senior dog. I apologize,
It's part of the ambiance. Andnow there is a whimpering puppy in

(04:10):
the other room. Toby is cryingbecause his daddy is busy doing something else,
because Daddy cannot hold him. Twentyfour seven. Toby thinks he is
tiny. Toby is a staffy pitmix. My dogs are as eccentric as
I am. Anyhow, where wasI? The Victorian period is officially from

(04:32):
eighteen thirty seven to nineteen oh one. Why this period specifically, because I've
discussed, as I've discussed in previousepisodes, so many of our current holiday
traditions come from this period. Christmascards and the custom of sending them through
the mail, the Christmas tree,our idea of Santa what Santa Claus looks
like and sounds like, Oh,Christmas Carols, the Yule log and caroling

(04:57):
from house to house, and aChristmas Carol itself, And as I revealed
an episode forty seven, the Goblinand the Paw, Santa Claus's current incarnation
and a Christmas Carol come from thesame place an earlier short story of Charles
Dickens Go head a listen. Addto all that, the Victorian's tradition of
appreciating the darkest part of the yearwith my favorite genre, horror and my

(05:20):
friends. We have a perfect storm, don't we. But before I tell
you today's story and about today's author, I have a current spooky Christmas story
to tell you. You know,I've been celebrating my fifth anniversary in this
my sixth year, by revisiting myfirst five years of episodes. Well,
you guys know all about my trueghost stories experiences I have had and the

(05:45):
electronic voice phenomena I captured at theUVA Civil War Cemetery and that's episode thirty
five Unexpected Uva Voices. Well,things are continuing to happen at the house.
I see they're escalating. I heardwin chimes this morning. We don't
own winchimes. But that's not theChristmas story here it is. Dad brought

(06:08):
over a small box of Christmas ornamentsfrom my childhood last week from my little
baby tree in my office. WhenI opened the box, on top was
this laminated wallet sized photo of meand Sannah when I was in high school.
Our mom Sannah was so realistic thatI just had to go sit on
his lap and he was a completedoll about this sixteen year old coming over

(06:29):
and standing in the line. It'sa great photo, and I'd completely forgotten
about it. Now let me mentionthe scarboard box is shallow. It's no
deeper than a box of laptop wouldcome in. I can see the bottom
through the ornaments. I looked in, I saw the photo. I got
really excited, and I watched itdisappear. It was there and then it

(06:51):
wasn't. Now, I do havebrain fog as a symptom of pots,
as a symptom of errol s danlos, and as a symptom fibermalgia, so
it's compounded times three. So Iknew it was marginally possible that it had
fallen out of the box and hadmissed it. So my husband tore apart
the chair had been sitting in andlooked under it, and I took everything

(07:13):
out of the box, and Ishook out my clothing. Everything we could
do. No dogs were in theoffice, the pottle was gone, so
the only thing I could assume iswhat I saw it had disappeared. I
had read about other experiences like thison the Glitch and the Matrix subreddit,
and if you remember, I've hadanother experience like this with my car keys

(07:35):
in high school episode four and thingsthat go bump in the night, where
they disappeared out of my hand infront of me and my best friend,
were gone for twenty minutes or so, and then fell from the inside roof
of the car like that scene inPoltergeist, you know, where all the
objects that belonged to the people thatwere buried just fell out of the ceiling

(07:55):
in the house. So it wasnot out of the room with my experience
for something to go poof, butthis was upsetting. I mean, watched
it disappear. I opened the boxseveral times over the past week, including
yesterday morning to check for the photoornament not there. I opened the box

(08:18):
yesterday evening to put ornaments on thetree, and the photo was on top
of all the ornaments, like ithad been placed there. I'm still kind
of spooked. I don't know ifit's a so called glitch in the matrix
and it went somewhere else for alittle while, or if whatever haunts this
house is messing with me. Butif it's the latter, that's kind of

(08:41):
a step too far. I orderedsome stage it should be here soon and
we'll see. So, now thatI've told you my modern Christmas a scary
story and I've kind of got chills, here's your Victorian one for this episode.
Written by female author this time.Aida Bousson was an English author known

(09:03):
for her ghost stories. It's buiss N. Unfortunately, Aida died at
the castle early age of twenty seven. She was born in March twenty sixth
eighteen thirty nine, the third ofseven children of a French merchant and an
englishwoman in Battersea, Surrey, whichis a district of South London, southwest
of charing Cross and including the southernbank of the River Thames. Even though

(09:28):
Battersea is a high industry area,her merchant father had to declare bankruptcy when
she was three years old. Ineighteen fifty, when she was eleven,
the family picked up and moved tothe seaside town of Brighton, about fifty
miles south of London, where hermother died in eighteen fifty two. Presumably
they moved for the sea air curefor her to no avail for a year

(09:48):
starting in eighteen fifty four, Aidaand sisters, this is a tough one,
Leantine. It's l e O andt I n E like Leon Tyne.
But that can't be it. Itmust be French. Leontine and Irma
studied natural history and moral philosophy coursesat the women's only Bedford College in London,

(10:13):
which was definitely unusual pursuit at thetime. Bedford had only been founded
in eighteen forty nine as the veryfirst women's higher institute of learning in the
United Kingdom. It became part ofthe University of London in nineteen hundred.
Tangent here Elizabeth Jesser starch Read foundedBedford College with a stipend and left to

(10:35):
her from her husband. She belongedto women's literary salons and she and these
friends believed in education for women,so she used this money to lease the
house at forty seven Bedford Street inthe literary Bloomsbury district of London, which
should ring a bell for James Joyce. Fans placed a chunk of money with
three male trustees and placed female friendsas board members and teachers. It was

(10:58):
the first British instit run by women. Reid began to be alarmed by the
low educational levels of some of herstudents, and when she interviewed them.
She found their only education prior toBedford had been with governesses in their own
homes. So she founded Bedford CollegeSchool next Door as a pre entrance school
intended to improve young ladies education levelsin Great Britain. In eighteen sixty it

(11:22):
expanded into It's next door and becamea boarding school with matrons, women helping
women and educational improvements. Who knowshow many wonderful minds came out of those
schools, besides Aida and her sisterLeontine, who became a teacher, suffragist
and trade organizer in Australia. Ihad to make that tangent okay back to

(11:45):
Victorian Null. While she was alive, Ada published one novel, Put to
the Test, in eighteen sixty five, when she was twenty six, a
year before she died. The restof her work was published after her death.
A second novel, A Terrible Wrong, and short stories published in Belgravia
magazine by her friend and fellow writerMary Elizabeth Bradden. Ada had met Mary

(12:07):
through Mary's husband, John Maxwell,who had published Put to the Test.
Mary Lizabeth Bradden is an interesting charactersomeone for an entire episode on her own.
If you've ever read Montague Summer's seminalwork on Gothic Literature. H you
might see Ada's short stories unfortunately attributedto Mary. So I'll list Ada's stories

(12:28):
here. They are The Baron's Coffin, a story told in the church,
My Aunt's Pearl Ring under the Lilies, and the Ghosts Summons, which I'll
be reading today. I had todo some detective work for this list,
for one collection of her work hasonly three of her stories, and the
one that has the full five stubbornlydoes not list his table of contents.

(12:52):
Strangely enough, neither Ada nor theBelgravia magazine are archived on Project Guttenberg.
That really surprised me. So Iwent to the archive at Bolgravia Magazine,
which is nicely scanned and hosted byseveral different universities, and I searched each
volume by hand. That's the loveof literature right there, folks. I

(13:13):
might have to end up reading allfive at some point to honor her short
life and misattributed by bibliography. Iknow I'm going to have to edit her
Wikipedia page for God bless her.So for this author who only knew her
fame as a horror author. Trulyafter her death on December twenty seventh,
eighteen sixty six. At such ayoung age. Let's dim the gas lights

(13:35):
and light the yulelogue in her honor. This story is typical for Victorian horror
tales to be from the point ofview of a domestic servant or a household
helper, someone who has an intimateview of the family but does not have
their full story, their secrets beyondwhat they see around door jams and in
laundry stains, and hear in whisperedconversations, and in conversations heard while they

(13:58):
stand in the room like unseen furniture. This time it's a doctor. So
gather around the fire, grab sofaand hassock. Each, take your proffered
cup of wassaille or cocoa, andlet me read to you this tale from
this unusually educated young lady, takenfrom as far too soon, blessed and

(14:18):
spooky Yule to you all the ghostsummons. The Aida Busson wanted Sir a
patient. It was in the earlydays of my professional career, when patients
were scarce and fees scarcer, andthough I was in the act of sitting
down to my chop, and Ihad promised myself a glass of steaming punch

(14:41):
afterwards, in honor of the Christmasseason. I hurried instantly into my surgery.
I entered briskly, but no soonerdid I catch sight of the figure
standing leaning against the counter than Istarted back with a strange feeling of horror,
which, for the life of meI could not comprehend. Never shall
I forget the ghastliness of that face, the white horror stamped upon every feature,

(15:03):
the agony which seemed to sink thevery eyes beneath the contracted brows.
It was awful for me to behold, accustomed as I was, to see
himself terror. You seek advice,I began, with some hesitation. No
I am not ill you require thenhush, he interrupted, approaching more nearly,

(15:28):
and dropping his already low murmured toa mere whisper. I believe you
were not rich. Would you bewilling to earn a thousand pounds? A
thousand pounds? His words seemed toburn my very ears. I should be
thankful if I could do so.Honestly, I replied, with dignity,
what is the service required of me? A peculiar look of intense horror passed

(15:54):
over the white face before me,But the blue black lips answered firmly to
attend deathbed. A thousand pounds toattend a deathbed? Where am I to
go? Then? Whose is itmine? The voice in which this was
said sounded so hollow and distant thatinvoluntarily I shrank back yours. What nonsense.

(16:19):
You're not a dying man. You'repale, but you appeared perfectly healthy.
Hush, you interrupted, I knowall this. You cannot be more
convinced to my physical health than Iam myself. Yet I know that before
the clock tolls the first hour aftermidnight, I shall be a dead man.

(16:40):
But he shuddered slightly, but stretchingout his hand commandingly motioned me to
be silent. I am but toowell informed of what I affirm, he
said quietly. I've received a mysterioussummons from the dead. No mortal aid
can avail me. I am asdoomed as the wretch upon whom the judge
has passed. I do not comeeither to seek your advice or to argue

(17:03):
the matter with you, but simplyto buy your services. I offer you
a thousand pounds to pass the nightin my chamber, and to witness the
scene which takes place. Some mayappear to you extravagant, but I have
no further need to count the costof any gratification, and the spectacle you
will have to witness is no commonsight of horror. The words, strange

(17:25):
as they were, were spoken calmlyenough, But as the last sentence dropped
slowly from the livid lips, anexpression of such wild horror again passed over
the stranger's face. And in spiteof the immense fee, I hesitated to
answer. You fear to trust thepromise of a dead man? See here
and be convinced, he exclaimed eagerly. And the next instant, on the

(17:48):
counter between us lay a parchment document, and following the indication of that white
muscular hand, I read the words, and to mister Frederick read a fourteen
high Street, Alton, I bequeaththe sum of one thousand pounds for certain
service rendered to me. I havehad that will drawn up within the last
twenty four hours, and I signedit an hour ago in the presence of

(18:08):
competent witnesses. I am prepared.You see, now, do you accept
my offer or not? My answerwas to walk across the room and take
down my hat, and then lockthe door of the surgery, communicating with
the house. It was a dark, icy, cold night, and somehow
the courage and determination which the sideof my own name, in connection with

(18:29):
a thousand pounds had given me flaggedconsiderably as I found myself hurried along through
the silent darkness by a man towhose deathbed I was about to attend.
He was grimly silent, but ashis hand touched mine, in spite of
the frost, it felt like aburning coal. On we went tramp through
the snow until even I grew weary, and at length, upon my appalled

(18:53):
ear, struck the chimes of achurch clock. While closed in hand I
distinguished the snowy hillocks of a churchchart. Heavens, was this the awful
scene of which I was to bethe witness to take place veritably amongst the
dead? Eleven grimmed the doom man. Gracious God, but two hours more,
and that ghostly messenger will bring thesevens come, come for Mercy's sake,

(19:17):
Let us hasten. There was buta short road separating us now from
a wall which surrounded a large mansion, and along this we hastened until we
reached a small door. Passing throughthis, in a few minutes we were
stealthily ascending the private staircase to asplendidly furnished apartment which left no doubt of
the wealth of its owner. Allwas intensely silent, however, through the

(19:40):
house, and about this room inparticular, there was a stillness that,
as I gazed around, struck meas almost ghastly. My companion glanced at
the clock on the mantel shelf andsank into a large chair by the side
of the fire with a shutter onlyan hour and a half longer. He
muttered, Great Heaven, I thoughtI had more fortitude. This horror unmans

(20:02):
me. Then, in a fiercertone, and clutching my arm, he
added, ha, you mock me, you think me mad. But wait
till you see, Wait till yousee. I put my hand on his
wrist, for now there was afever in his sunken eyes, which checked
the superstitious chill which had been gatheringover me, and made me hope that
after all my first suspicion was correct, and that my patient was but the

(20:23):
victim of some fearful hallucination. Mockyou, I answered soothingly. Far from
it. I sympathize intensely with you, and would do much to aid you.
You require sleep, Buy down andleave me to watch. He groaned,
but rose and began throwing off hisclothes and watching my opportunity. I
slept a sleeping powder, which Ihad managed to put in my pocket before

(20:47):
leaving the surgery, into the tumblerof claret that stood beside him. The
more I saw, the more Ifelt convinced. There was the nervous system
of my patient which required my attention, and it was with sincere satisfaction I
saw him drink the wine and thenstretched himself in a luxurious bed. Ha,
thought I as the clock struck twelve, and instead of a groan,
the deep breathing of the sleeper soundedthrough the room. You won't receive any

(21:11):
summons tonight, and I may makemyself comfortable noiselessly. Therefore I replenished the
fire, poured myself out a largeglass of wine, and drawing the curtain
so that the firelight should not disturbthe sleeper. I put myself in a
position to follow his example. Howlong I slept I knew not, but
Suddenly I aroused with a start,and its ghostly a thrill of horror as

(21:33):
ever I remembered to have felt inmy life. Something what I knew not
seemed near, something nameless but unutterlyawful. I gazed round the fire admitted
a faint blue glow, just sufficientto enable me to see that the room
was exactly the same as when Ifell asleep, but that the long hand

(21:55):
of the clock wanted but five minutesof the mysterious hour, which was to
be the moment of the summoned man. Was there anything in it, then,
any truth in the strange story hehad told? The silence was intense.
I could not even hear a breathfrom the bed, and I was
about to rise and approach, whenagain that awful horror seized me. And
at the same moment my eye fellupon the mirror opposite the door, and

(22:18):
I saw gray heaven, that awfulshape, that ghastly mockery of would have
been humanity? Was it really amessenger from the buried, quiet dead?
It stood there in visible death clothes, But the awful face was ghastly with
corruption, and the sunken eyes gleamedforth a green, glassy glare, which
seemed a veritable blast from the infernalfires below. To move or utter a

(22:42):
sound in that hideous presence was impossible, And like a statue, I sat
and saw that hard shape move slowlytowards the bed. What was the awful
scene enacted there? I know not. I heard nothing except a low,
stifled, agonized groan, and Isaw the shadow of that ghastly mess,
And you're bending over the bed.Whether it was some dreadful but wordless sentence,

(23:03):
its breathless lips conveyed as it stoodthere, I know not. But
for an instant the shadow of aclawlike hand from which the third finger was
missing, appeared, extended over thedoomed man's head. And then as the
clock struck one clear, silvery stroke, it fell, and a wild shriek
rang through the room, a deathshriek. I am not given to fainting,

(23:26):
but I certainly confessed that the nextten minutes of my existence was a
cold blank And even when I didmanage to stagger to my feet, I
gazed round vainly, endeavoring to understandthe chilly horror which still possessed me.
Thank God, the room was ridof that awful presence. I saw that,
so, gulping down some wine,I lighted a wax taper and staggered

(23:49):
towards the bed. Ah. HowI prayed that, after all, I
might have been dreaming, and thatmy own excited imagination had but conjured up
some hideous memory of the dissecting room. But one glance was sufficient to answer
that no, the summons had evenindeed been given. And answered, I
flashed the light over the dead face, swollen, convulsed still with a death

(24:11):
agony. But suddenly I shrank back. Even as I gazed, the expression
of the face seemed to change.The blackness faded into a deathly whiteness,
the convulsive features relaxed, and evenas if the victim of that dread apparition
still lived, a sad, solemnsmile stole over the pale lips. I

(24:33):
was intensely horrified, but still Iretained sufficient self consciousness to be struck professionally
by such a phenomenon. Surely therewas something more than supernatural agency in all
this. Again, I scrutinized thedead face, and even the throat and
chest, but with the exception ofa tiny pimple on one temple beneath the
cluster of hair, not a markappeared. To look at the corpse,

(24:56):
one would have believed that this manhad indeed died by the visit of God,
peacefully whilst sleeping. How long Istood there, I know not,
but time enough to gather my scatteredsenses, and to reflect that, all
things considered, my own position wouldbe very unpleasant if I was found thus
unexpectedly in the room of the mysteriouslydead man. Noiselessly as I could,

(25:19):
I made my way out of thehouse. No one met me on the
private staircase. The little door openinginto the robe was easily unfastened. And
thankful, indeed was I to feelagain the fresh winter air as I hurried
along that road by the churchyard.There was a magnificent funeral soon in that
church, and it was said thatthe young widow of the buried man was
inconsolable. And then rumors got abroadof a horrible apparition which had been seen

(25:45):
on the night of the death,and it was whispered The young widow was
terrified and insisted upon leaving her splendidmansion. I was too mystified with the
whole affair to risk my reputation bysaying what I knew, and I should
have allowed my share in it toremain forever buried an oblivion, had I
not suddenly heard that the widow,objecting to many of the legacies in the
last will of her husband, intendedto dispute it on the score of insanity,

(26:10):
and then there gradually arose the rumorof his belief in. Having received
a mysterious summons. On this,I went to a lawyer and send a
message to the lady that, asthe last person who had attended her husband,
I undertook to prove insanity, andI besought her to grant me an
interview in which I would relate asstrange and as horrible a story as ear

(26:32):
had ever heard. That same eveningI received an invitation to go to the
mansion. I was ushered immediately intoa splendid room, and there, standing
before the fire, was the mostdazzling, beautiful, creete young creature I
had ever seen. She was verysmall, but exquisitely made. Had it
not been for the dignity of hercarriage, I should have believed her a
mere child with a stately bow.She advanced but did not speak I come

(26:57):
on a strange, painful errand Ibegan, and then I started, for
I happened to glance full into hereyes, and from then down to the
small right hand grasping the chair.The wedding ring was on that hand.
I conclude, you are the misterReed who requested permission to tell me some
absurd ghost story, and whom mylate husband mentions here. And as she

(27:22):
spoke, she stretched out her lefthand towards something, but what I knew
not, for my eyes were fixedon that hand. Horror, white and
delicate it might be, but itwas shaped like a claw, and the
third finger was missing. One sentencewas enough After that, madam, all
I can tell you is the ghostthat sum of your husband was marked by

(27:45):
a singular deformity. The third fingerof the left hand was missing, I
said sternly, And the next instantI had left that beautiful, sinful presence.
That will was never disputed. Thenext morning, too, I received
a check for a thousand pounds,and the next news I'd heard of the
widow was that she herself had seenthe awful apparition and had left the mansion

(28:07):
immediately. If you're curious as tothe other Victorian horror stories I've read so
far on this podcast. Here's thelist. A School Story by M.
R. James, The Open Windowby Saki, The Story of the Goblins
who Stole a Saxon by Charles Dickens, The Monkey's Paw by W. W.

(28:27):
Jacobs, one of my favorites,The Dolls Ghost by F. Marion
Crawford, The Phantom Coach by AmeliaB. Edwards, The Old Nurse's Story
by Elizabeth Gaskell, another from theviewpoint of the Help and Man Sized in
Marble by E. Nesbitt. Seeyou soon for more Yule Horror, for

(28:48):
more House of Leaves, for thebeginning of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and
for more looking back at my firstfive years. I have a sequel to
one of my favorite episodes, numbertwenty one nine Day, Some two car
Seats to tell you all about whatSusan Smith has been up to since she's
been incarcerated. Hint, She's stilldangerous. See you after my echo cardiogram

(29:10):
on Thursday. Love you