August 21, 2025 • 49 mins
Dive into a captivating collection of ghostly tales where the spirits come not from the human realm, but from our beloved animal companions. Each chapter reveals spine-tingling stories of hauntings featuring dogs, cats, birds, jungle creatures, and more. Join Allyson Hester as she guides you through these eerie encounters that blend the supernatural with the animal kingdom.
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Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter two, Part two of Animal Ghosts. This is a
LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain.
For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org.
This reading by Alison Hester of Athens, Georgia. Animal Ghosts
by Elliott O'Donnell, Part two, Chapter two, Dog Scared by
(00:23):
a Canine ghost. A friend of mine, Edward Morgan, had
a terrier that was found one morning poisoned in a
big Stone kennel. Soon afterwards, this friend came to me
and said, I have got a new dog, a spaniel,
but nothing will induce it to enter the kennel in
which poor Zach was poisoned. Come and see. I did so,
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and what he said was true. Mac Morgan gave all
his dog's names that rhymed zack, mack, Jack, tack, and
even whack and smack. When carried to the entrance of
the kennel, resolutely refused to cross the threshold, barking, whining,
and exhibiting unmistakable symptoms of fear. I knelt down, and
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peering into the kennel, saw two luminous eyes and the
distinct outlines of a dog's head. Morgan I exclaimed, The
mystery is easily solved. There's a dog in here. Nonsense,
Morgan cried, speaking very excitedly. But there is, I retorted,
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see for yourself. Morgan immediately bent down and poked his
head into the kennel. What rot, he said, You're having
me own. There's nothing in here? What? I cried? Do
you mean to say you can see no dog? No?
He replied, there is none. Let me look again, I said, and,
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kneeling down, I peeped in. Do you mean to say
you can't see a dog's face and eyes looking straight
at us? I asked, No, he answered, I can see nothing,
And to prove to me the truth of what he said,
he fetched a pole and raked about the kennel vigorously
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with it. We both then tried to make Mack enter,
and Morgan at last caught hold of him and placed
him forcibly inside. Max's terror knew no limit. He gave
one loud howl, and, flying out of the kennel with
his ears hanging back, tore past into the front garden,
where we left him in peace. Morgan was still skeptical
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as to there being anything wrong with the kennel, but
two days later wrote me as follows, I must apologize
for doubting you the other day. I have just had
what you declared you saw corroborated. A friend of my
wife's was calling here this afternoon, and, on hearing of
Mac's refusal to sleep in the kennel, at once said,
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I know what's the matter. It's the smell mac sins,
the poison which was used to destroy Zac. Have the
kennel thoroughly fumigated and you'll have no more trouble. At
my wife's request, she went into the yard to have
a look at it, and the moment she bent down,
she cried out, like you did, why there's a dog
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inside a terrier. My wife and I both looked and
could see nothing. The lady, however, persisted, and, on my
handing her a stick, struck at the figures she saw,
to her amazement, the stick went right through it. Then,
and not till then did we tell her of your experience. Well,
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she exclaimed, I have never believed in ghosts, but I
do so now. I am quite certain that what I
see is the phantom of Zack. How glad I am,
because I am at last assured animals have spirits can
come back to us. In concluding the accounts of Phanfasms
of dead Dogs, let me quote two cases taken from
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my work entitled The Haunted Houses of London, published by
mister Eveley Nash of fall Side House, King Street, Covent Garden,
London in nineteen o nine. The cases are these the
Phantom Dotson of W Street, London. In letter number one,
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my correspondent writes, though I am by no means over
indulgent to dogs, the latter generally greet me very effusively,
and it would seem that there is something in my
individuality that is peculiarly attractive to them. This being so,
I was not greatly surprised one day when, in the
immediate neighborhood of X Street, to find myself persistently followed
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by a rough haired Dotson wearing a gaudy yellow collar.
I tried to scare it away, shaking my sunshade at it,
but all to no purpose. It came resolutely on, and
I was beginning to despair of getting rid of it
when I came to X Street, where my husband once
practiced as an oculist. There it suddenly altered its tactics, and,
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instead of keeping at my heels became my conductor, forging
slowly ahead with a gliding motion that both puzzled and
fascinated me. I furthermore observed that, notwithstanding the temperature, it
was not a whit less than ninety degrees in the shade.
The legs and stomach of the Dotson were covered with
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mud and dripping with water. When it came to number ninety,
it halted and bearing swiftly round eyed me in the
strangest manner, just as if it had some secret it
was bursting to disclose. I remained in this attitude until
I was within two or three feet of it, certainly
not more, when, to my unlimited amazement, it absolutely vanished,
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melted away into thin air. The iron gate leading to
the area was closed, so that there was nowhere for
it to have hidden. And besides, I was almost bending
over it at the time, as I wanted to read
the name on its collar. There being no one near
at hand, I could not obtain a second opinion, and
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so came away wondering whether what I had seen was
actually a phantasm or a mere hallucination. Number ninety, I
might add, judging by the brass plate on the door,
was inhabited by a doctor with an unpronounceable foreign name,
et cetera, et cetera. I think one cannot help attaching
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a great deal of importance to what this lady says,
as her language is strictly moderate throughout, and because she
does not seem to have been biased by any special
views on the subject of animal futurity. Correspondent number two,
who by the way, is a total stranger to the
writer whose letter I have just quoted, is candidly devoted
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to dogs, regarding them as in every way on par with,
if not actually superior to most human beings. Still, notwithstanding
this partiality and consequent profusion of terms of endearment, which
will doubtless prove somewhat nauseating to many, her letter is,
in my opinion, valuable because it not only refers to
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the phenomenon I have mentioned, but to a certain extent,
furnishes a reason for its occurrence. The lady writes as follows.
I once had a rough haired dotson, Robert, whom I
loved devotedly. We were living at the time near H Street,
which always had a peculiar attraction for dear Robert, who
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I am now obliged to confess, had rather too much liberty,
more indeed than eventually proved good for him. The servants
complained that Robert ruled the house, and I believe what
they said was true. For my sister and I idolized him,
giving him the very best of everything, and never having
the heart to refuse him anything he wanted. You will
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probably scarcely credit it, but I have sat up all
night nursing him when he had a cold and was
otherwise indisposed. Can you therefore imagine my feelings when my
darling was absent one day from dinner. Such a thing
had never happened before, for fond of mourning constitutionals. As
poor Robert was, he was always the soul of punctuality
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at meal times. Neither my sister nor I would hear
of eating anything whilst he was missing. Not a morsel
did we touch, but slipping on our hats, and bidding
the servants to do the same, we scoured the neighborhood instead.
The afternoon passed without any sign of Robert, and when
bedtime came he always slept in our room, and note
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signs of our pet I thought we should both have
gone mad. Of course, we advertised selecting the most popular
and accordingly the most likely papers, and we resorted to
other mediums too. But alas it was hopeless, our darling,
little Robert, was irrevocably, irredeemably lost. For days we were
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utterly inconsolable, doing nothing but mope morning, noon and night.
I cannot tell you how forlorn we felt, nor how
long we should have remained in that state, but for
an incident which, although revealing the terrible manner of his death,
gave us every reason to feel sure we were not
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parted from him for all time, but would meet again
in the great hereafter it happened in this wise, I
was walking along w Street one evening, when, to my
intense joy and surprise, I suddenly saw my darling standing
on the pavement a few feet ahead of me, regarding
me intently from out of his pathetic brown eyes. A
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sensation of extreme coldness now stole over me, and I
noticed with something akin to shock, that, in spite of
the hot, dry weather, Robert looked as if he had
been in the rain for hours. He wore the bright
yellow collar I had bought him shortly before his disappearance,
So that had there been any doubt as to his
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identity that would have removed it instantly. On my calling
to him, he turned quickly round, and, with a slight
gesture of the head, as if bidding me to follow,
he glided forward. My natural impulse was to run after him,
pick him up, and smother him with kisses. But try
as hard as I could, I could not diminish the
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distance between us. Although he never appeared to alter his pace.
I was quite out of breath by the time we
reached h Street, where, to my surprise, he stopped at
number ninety, and, turning round again, gazed at me in
the most beseeching manner. I can't describe that look, suffice
it to say that no human eyes could have been
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more expressive. But of what beyond the most profound love
and sorrow I cannot I dare not attempt to state.
I have pondered upon it through the whole of a
midsummer night, but not even the severest of my mental
efforts have enabled me to solve it to my satisfaction?
Could I but do that? I feel I should have
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fathomed the greatest of all mysteries, the mystery of life
and death. I do not know for how long we
stood there looking at one another. It may have been
minutes or hours, or again but a few paltry seconds.
He took the initiative from me, for as I leaped
forward to raise him in my arms, he glided through
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the stone steps into the area. Convinced now that what
I be held was Robert's apparition, I determined to see
the strange affair through to the bitter end, and entering
the gate, I also went down into the area. The
phantom had come to an abrupt halt by the side
of a low wooden box, and as I foolishly made
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an aboard of attempt to reach it with my hand,
it vanished instantaneously. I searched the area thoroughly, and was
assured that there was no outlet save by the steps
I had just descended, and no hole, nor nook nor
cranny where anything the size of Robert could be completely
hidden from sight. What did it all mean? Ah? I
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knew Robert had always had a weakness for exploring areas,
especially in h street and in the box where his
wraith disappeared. I espied a piece of raw meat. Now
there are ways in which a piece of raw meat
may lie without arousing suspicion. But the position of this
morsel strangely suggested that it had been placed there carefully
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and for assuredly no other purpose than to entice stray animals.
Resolving to interrogate the owner of the house on the subject,
I rapped at the front door, but was informed by
the man servant, obviously a German, that his master never
saw any one without an appointment. I then did a
very unwise thing. I explained the purpose of my visit
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to this man, who not only denied any knowledge of
my dog, but declared the meat must have been thrown
into the area by some passer. By No one in
Dee's house throw away good meat like that, he explained,
we eat all we can getia, we have nothing for
the animals. Please go away at once, or Demasto will
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be very angry. He stunned. No nonsense from any one,
and as I had no alternative, for after all, who
would regard a ghost in the light of evidence, I
had to obey. I found out, however, from a medical friend,
that number ninety was tenanted by mister Kay, an Anglo German,
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who was deemed a very clever fellow. At a certain
London hospital where he was often occupied in viva section
I dare say. My friend went on to remark, Kay
does a little viva secting in his private surgery by
way of practice. And well, you see these foreign chaps
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are not so squeamish in some respects as we are.
But can't he be stopped? I asked, It is horrible
monstrous that he should be allowed to murder our pets.
You don't know for certain that he has, was the reply.
You only suppose so from what you saw, and evidence
of that immaterial nature is no evidence at all. No,
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you can do nothing except to be extra careful in
the future. And if you have another dog, make him
steer c of number ninety h Street. I was sensible
enough to see that he was right, and the matter
was dropped. I soon noticed one thing, however, namely that
there were no more pieces of meat temptingly displayed in
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the box. So it is just possible k got wind
of my inquiries and thought it policy to desist from
his nefarious practices. Poor Robert to think of him suffering
such a cruel and ignominious death in my being powerless
to avenge it. Surely if vivisection is really necessary, and
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the welfare of mankind cannot be advanced by any less
barbarous system. Why not operate on creatures less deserving of
our love and pity than dogs, On creatures which, whilst
being nearer allied to man in physiology and anatomy, are
at the same time far below the level of brute
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creation in character and disposition. For example, why not experiment
on wife beaters and cowardly street ruffians. And one might
reasonably add on all those pseudo humanitarians who, by their
constant petitions to Parliament for the abolition of the lash,
encourage every form of blackguardism and beastiality. This concludes the
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letter of correspondent number two, and with the sentiment in
the closing paragraphs, I must say I heartily agree. Only
I should like to add a few more people to
the list. One other case of haunting of this type
is taken from my same work, One All Halloween, wrote
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a Missus Sebium. I was staying with some friends in Hampstead,
and we amused ourselves by working spells to commemorate the night.
There is one spell in which one walks alone down
a path, sowing hempseed and repeating some fantastic words when
one is supposed to see those that are destined to
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come into one's life in the near future. Eager to
put this spell to the test, I went into the
garden by myself, and walking boldly along a path bordered
on each side by evergreens, sprinkled hempseed lavishly, nothing happening.
I was about to desist when suddenly I heard a
pattering on the gravel, and turning round, I beheld an
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ugly little black and tan mongrel running towards me, wagging
its stumpy tail. Not at all prepossessed with the creature,
for my own dogs are pure bred, and thinking it
must have strayed into the grounds, I was about to
drive it out, and had put down my hand to
prevent it jumping on my dress, when, to my astonishment,
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it had vanished. It literally melted away into fine air
beneath my weary eyes. Not knowing what to make of
the incident, but feeling inclined to attribute it to a
trick of the imagination, I rejoined my friends. I did
not tell them what had happened, although I made a
memorandum of it in one of my innumerable note books.
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Within six months of this incident, I was greatly astonished
to find a dog corresponding with the one I have
just described running about on the lawn of my house
in Bath. How the animal got there was a complete mystery.
And what is stranger still, it seemed to recognize me,
for it rushed towards me, frantically wagging its diminutive tail.
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I had not the heart to turn it away, as
it seemed quite homeless, and so the forlorn little mongrel
was permitted to make its home in my house, and
a very happy home it proved to be. For three years.
All went well, and then the end came swiftly and unexpectedly.
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I was in black Heath at the time, and the
mongrel was in Bath. It was all Halloween, but there
was no hemp seed for sewing. For no one in
the house but myself took the slightest interest in anything
appertaining to the superphysical or mystic. Eleven o'clock came and
I retired to rest, my bed being one of those
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antique four posters hung with curtains that shined crimson in
the ruddy glow of a cheerful fire. All my preparations complete,
I had pulled back the hangings and was about to
slip between the sheets, when, to my unbounded amazement, what
should I see sitting on the counterpane but the black
and tan mongrel. It was he right enough? There could
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not be another such ugly dog, though unlike his usual self,
he evinced no demonstrations of joy. On the contrary, he
appeared downright miserable. His ears hung, his mouth dropped, and
his bleared little eyes were watery and sad. Greatly perplexed,
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if not alarmed, at so extraordinary a phenomenon, I nevertheless
felt constrained to put out my hand to comfort him, when,
as I had half anticipated, he immediately vanished. Two days
later I received a letter from Bath, and in a
postcrip I read that the mongrel we never called it
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by any other name, had been run over and killed
by a motor the accident occurring on all Halloween about
eleven o'clock. Of course, my sister wrote, you won't mind
very much. It was so extremely ugly, and well, we
were only too glad it was none of the other dogs.
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But my sister was wrong for notwithstanding its unsightly appearance
and hopeless lack of breed. I had grown to like
that little black and tan more than any of my
rare and choice pets. The following account, which concludes my
notes on Haunting by dog Phanfasms, was sent to me
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many years ago by a gentleman then living in Virginia, USA.
It runs thus the strange disappearance of mister Jeremiah Dance.
Twenty pounds a year for a twelve roomed house with
a large front lawn, good stabling, and big kitchen gardens.
That sounds right, I commented, But why so cheap? Well
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the advertiser, mister Baldwin by name, a short, stout gentleman
with keen, glittering eyes, replied, well, you see, it's a
bit of a distance from the town and er. Most
people prefer being nearer, like neighbors and all that sort
of thing. Like neighbors, I exclaimed, I don't I've seen
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just about enough of them. Drains all right, oh, yes,
perfect water, excellent, everything in good condition, first rate. Loneliness
is the only thing people object to. That is so,
then I'll oblige you to send some one to show
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me over the house, for I think it is just
the sort of place we want you see. After being
bottled up in a theater all the afternoon and evening,
one likes to get away somewhere where it is quiet,
somewhere where one can lie in bed in the morning,
inhaling pure air and undisturbed by street traffic. I understand,
mister Baldwin responded, But er, it is rather late now.
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Wouldn't you prefer to see it over in the morning.
Everything looks at it's worst. It's very worse than the twilight. Oh,
I'll make allowances for the dusk, I said. You haven't
got any ghosts stowed away there, have you? And he
went off into a roar of laughter. No, the house
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is not haunted, mister Baldwin replied, not that it would
much matter to you if it were, For I can
see you don't believe in spooks. Believe in spooks, I cried,
not much. I would as soon believe in patent hair restorers.
Let me see over it at once. Very well, sir,
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I'll take you there myself, mister Baldwin replied, somewhat reluctantly. Here, Tim,
fetch the keys at the crow's nest and tell Higgins
to bring the trap round. The boy he addressed blew,
and in a few minutes the sound of wheels and
the jingling of harnesses announced the vehicle was at the
door ten minutes later, and I and my escort were
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bowling merrily over the ground in the direction of the
crow's nest. It was early autumn, and the cool evening air,
fragrant with the melonness of the luscious Virginian Pippin, was
tinged also with the sadness inseparable from the demise of
a long and glorious summer. Evidences of decay and death
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were everywhere, in the brown fallen leaves of the oaks
and elms, in the bare and denuded ditches. Here a
giant mill wheel, half immersed in a dark still pool,
stood idle and silent. There a hovel, but recently inhabited
by hop pickers, was now tenantless, its glassless windows boarded over,
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and a wealth of dead and riding vegetable matter in
thick profusion over the tiny path and the single stone doorstep.
Is it always as quiet and deserted as this? I
asked of my companion, who continually cracked his whip as
if he liked to hear the reverberations of its echoes,
always was the reply, and sometimes more so. You ain't
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used to the country, not very. I want to try
it by way of a change. Are you well versed
in the cry of birds? What was that? We were
fast approaching an exceedingly gloomy bit of road, where there
were plantations on each side, and the trees united their
fantastically forked branches overhead. I thought I had never seen
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so dismal looking a spot, and a sudden lowering of
the temperature made me draw my overcoat tighter around me. That, oh,
a night bird of some sort. Mister Baldwin replied, an
ugly sound, Wasn't it beastly things? I can't imagine why
they were created? WHOA steady there, steady? The horse reared
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as he spoke, and, taking a violent plunge forward, set
off at a wild gallop a moment later, and I
uttered an exclamation of astonishment. Keeping pace with us, although
apparently not moving at more than an ordinary walking pace,
was a man of medium height, dressed in a Panama
hat and Albert coat. He had a thin, aquiline nose,
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a rather pronounced chin, was clean and had a startlingly
white complexion. By the side of him trotted two poodles,
whose close crop skins showed out with remarkable perspicuity. Who
the deuce is he? I asked, raising my voice to shout,
on account of the loud clatter made by the horses,
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hoofs and the wheels. Who what? Mister Baldwin shouted in return,
Why the man walking along with us? Man? I see
no man, mister Baldwin growled. I looked at him curiously.
It may, of course have been due to the terrific
speed we were going, to the difficulty of holding in
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the horse, that his cheeks were ashy pale, and his
teeth chattered. Do you mean to say, I cried, that
you can see no figure walking on my side of
the horse and actually keeping pace with it? Of course
I can't, mister Baldwin snapped, no more, can you. It's
an hallucination by the moonlight through the branches overhead. I've
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experienced it more than once. Then why don't you have
it now? I queried. Don't ask so many questions, please,
mister Baldwin shouted, don't you see it? As as much
as I can do to hold the brute in heaven,
preserve us. We were nearly over that time. The trap
rose high in the air as he spoke, and then
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dropped with such a jolt that I was nearly thrown off,
and only saved myself by the skin of my teeth.
A few yards more, the spinney ceased, and we were
away out in the open country, plunging and galloping, as
if our very souls depended on it. From all sides,
queer and fantastic shadows of objects which certainly had no
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material counterparts, and the moon kissed sward of the rich
right meadows rose to greet us and filled the lane
with their black and white, wavering, ethereal forms. The evening
was one of wonders for which I had no name,
wonders associated with an iciness that was far from agreeable.
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I was not at all sure which I liked best,
the black stygian tree lined part of the road we
had just left, or the wide ocean of brilliant moonbeams
and streaked suggestions. The figures of the man and the
dogs were equally vivid in each, though I could no
longer doubt that they were nothing mortal, They were all
together unlike what I had imagined ghosts, like the generality
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of people who were psychic and who have never had
an experience of the superphysical. My conception of a phanfasm
was a thing in white that made ridiculous groanings and
still more ridiculous clankings of chains. But here was something different,
something that looked, save perhaps for the excessive pallor of
its cheeks, just like an ordinary man. I knew it
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was not a man, partly on account of its extraordinary performance.
No man, even if running at full speed, could keep
up with us like that, partly on account of the
unusual nature of the atmosphere, which was altogether indefinable it
brought with it, And also because of my own sensations,
my intense horror, which could not, I felt certain, have
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been generated by anything physical. I cogitated all this in
my mind as I gazed at the figure, and in
order to make sure it was no hallucination, I shut
first one eye and then the other, covering them alternately
with the palm of my hand. The figure, however, was
still there, still pacing along at our side with the
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regular swing swing of the born walker. We kept on
in this fashion till we arrived at a rusty iron gate,
leading by means of a weed covered path to a low,
two storied white house. Here the figures left us, and,
as it seemed to me, vanished at the foot of
the garden wall. This is the house, mister Baldwin panted,
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pulling up with the greatest difficulty, the horse evincing obvious
antipathy to the iron gate. And these are the keys.
I'm afraid you must go in alone, as I dare
not leave the animal even for a minute. Oh all right,
I said, I don't mind. Now that the ghost or
whatever you like to call it, has gone, I'm myself again.
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I jumped down, and, threading my way along the bramble
entangled path, reached the front door. On opening it, I
hesitated the big old fashioned hall with the great frowning
staircase leading to the gallery overhead. The many open doors
showing naught but bare deserted boards. Within the grim passages,
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all moonlight and peopled only with queer flickering shadows, suggested
much that was terrifying. I fancied. I heard noises, noises
like stealthy footsteps moving from room to room and tiptoeing
along the passages and down the staircase. Once my heart
almost stopped feeding as I saw what at first I
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took to be a white face peering at me from
a far recess, but which I eventually discovered was only
a daub of whitewash. And once again my hair all
but rose on end when one of the doors at
which I was looking swung open and something came forth.
Oh the horror of that moment. As long as I live,
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I shall never forget it. The something was a cat,
just a rather lean but otherwise material, black tom Yet
in the state my nerves were then, it created almost
as much horror as if it had been a ghost.
Of course, it was the figure of the walking man
that was the cause of all this nervousness. Had it
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not appeared to me, I should doubtless have entered the
house with the utmost sang freud, my mind set on
nothing but the condition of the walls, drains, et cetera.
As it was, I held back, and it was only
after a severe mental struggle I summoned up the courage
to leave the doorway and explore cautiously, feary, cautiously. With
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my heart in my mouth, I moved from room to room,
halting every now and then in dreadful suspense, as the
wind sowing through across the open land behind the house
blew down the chimneys and set the window frames jarring.
At the commencement of one of the passages, I was
immeasurably startled to see a dark shape poke forward and
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then spring hurriedly back, and was so frightened that I
dared not advance to see what it was. Moment after
moments sped by, and I still stood there, the cold
sweat oozing out all over me, and my eyes fixed
in hideous expectation on the blank wall. What was it?
What was hiding there? Would it spring out on me?
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If I went to sea? At last, Urged on by
a fascination I found impossible to resist, I crept down
the passage, my heart throbbing painfully, and my whole being
overcome with the most sickly anticipations. As I drew nearer
to the spot, it was as much as I could
do to breathe, and my respiration came in quick jerks
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and gasps. Six five four two feet and I was
at the dreaded angle, another step taken after the most
prodigious battle, and nothing sprang out on me, I was
only confronted with a large piece of paper that had
come loose from the wall and flapped backwards and forwards,
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each time the breeze from without rustled past it. The
reaction after such an agony of suspense was so great
that I leaned against the wall and laughed till I
cried a noise from somewhere away in the basement, calling
me to myself. I went downstairs and investigated again a shock,
(33:56):
this time more sudden, more acute. Pressed against the windpane
of one of the front reception rooms was the face
of a man with corpselike cheeks and pale, malevolent eyes.
I was petrified. Every drop of my blood was congealed,
my tongue glued to my mouth, my arms hung helpless.
(34:17):
I stood in the doorway and stared at it. This
went on for what seemed to me an eternity. Then
came a revelation. The face was not that of a ghost,
but of mister Baldwin, who, getting alarmed at my long absence,
had come to look for me. We left the premises together.
All the way back to town, I thought, should I
(34:39):
or should I not take the house? Seen as I
had seen it. It was a ghoulish looking place, as
weird as a Paris catacomb. But then daylight makes all
the difference. Viewed in the sunshine, it would be just
like any other house, plain bricks and mortar. I liked
the situation. It was just far enough away from a
(35:00):
town to enable me to escape all the smoke and traffic,
and near enough to make shopping easy. The only obstacles
were the shadows, the strange enigmatical shadows I had seen
in the hall, and the passages, and the figure of
the walker. Dare I take a house that I knew
had such visitors? At first they said no, and then yes.
(35:24):
Something I could not tell what urged me to say yes.
I felt that a very grave issue was at stake,
that a great wrong connected in some manner with the
mysterious figure awaited riding, and that the hand of fate
pointed at me as the one and only person who
could do it. Are you sure the house isn't haunted?
(35:45):
I demanded, as we slowly rolled away from the iron gate,
and I leaned back in my seat to light my pipe. Haunted,
mister Baldwin scoffed, Why I thought you didn't believe in ghosts,
laughed at them. I know more I do believe in them,
I retorted, But I have children, and we know how
imaginative children are. I can't undertake to stop their imaginations. No,
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but you can tell me whether anyone else has imagined
anything there. Imagination is sometimes very infectious, as far as
I know. Then, no, leastways I have not heard of it.
Who was the last tenant, mister Jeremiah Dance? Why did
he leave? How do I know got tired of being there?
(36:33):
I suppose? How long was he there? Nearly three years?
Where is he now? That's more than I can say.
Why do you wish to know why? I repeated, because
it is more satisfactory for me to hear about the
house from someone who has lived in it. Has he
left no address, not that I know of, And it's
(36:54):
been more than two years since he was here? What
that house has been empty all that time? Two years
is not very long. Houses, even townhouses, are frequently unoccupied
for longer than that. I think you'll like it. I
did not speak again until the drive was over and
we drew up outside the landlord's house. I then said,
(37:17):
let me have an agreement. I've made up my mind
to take it three years and the option to stay
on that was just like me. Whatever I did, I
did on the spur of the moment, a mode of
procedure that often led me into difficulties. A month later,
my wife, children and servants, and I were all ensconced
(37:38):
in the crow's nest. That was in the beginning of October. Well,
the month passed by, and November was fairly in before
anything remarkable happened. It then came about in this fashion. Jenny,
my eldest child, a self willed and rather bad tempered
girl of about twelve, evading the vigilance of a mother
(37:59):
who had forbidden her her to go out as she
had a cold, ran to the gate one evening to
see if I was anywhere in sight. Though merely five
o'clock the moon was high in the sky and the
shadows of the big trees had already commenced their gambols
along the roadside. Jenny clambered up the gate as children do,
and peering over, suddenly espied what she took to be ME,
(38:21):
striding towards the house at a swinging pace, and followed
by two poodles Papa. She cried how cute of you,
only to think of bringing home two doggies. Oh Papa,
naughty papa, what will Mom say? And climbing over into
the lane at imminent danger to life and limb, she
(38:44):
tore frantically towards the figure. To her dismay. However, it
was not me, but a stranger with a horribly white
face and big glassy eyes, which he turned down at
her and stared. She was so frightened that she fainted,
and some ten minutes later I found her lying out
there on the road. From the description she gave me
(39:06):
of the man and the dogs, I felt quite certain
they were the figures I had seen, though I pretended
the man was a tramp and assured her she would
never see him again. A week passed, and I was
beginning to hope nothing would happen when one of the
servants gave her notice to leave. At first, she would
not say why she did not like the house, but
(39:27):
when pressed made the following statement, heads haunted missus B.
I can put up with mice and beetles, but not
with ghosts. I've had a queer sensation, as if water
was falling down my spine ever since I've been here.
But never saw anything till last night. I was then
in the kitchen getting ready to go to bed. Jane
(39:48):
and Emma had already gone up, and I was preparing
to follow them, when all of a sudden I heard footsteps,
quick and heavy, crossed the gravel and approached the window.
The ball, says I to myself, maybe he's forgot the
key and can't get in the front door. Well, I
went to the window and was about to throw it
(40:08):
open when I got an awful shock. Pressed against the glass,
looking in at me was a face, not the boss's face,
not the face of anyone living, but a horrid white
thing with a drooping mouth and the wide open, glassy
eyes that had no more expression in them than a pig.
As sure as I'm standing him as me, it was
(40:30):
the face of a colpse, the face of a man
that had died no natural death. And by its side,
standing on their hind legs and staring in at me too,
were two dogs, both poodles, also no living things, but dead,
horribly dead. Well, they stared at me, all three of them,
for perhaps a minute, suddenly not less, and then finished,
(40:53):
That's why I'm leaving, miss b My heart was never overstrong.
I always suffered with pow potatations, and if I saw
those heads again, it would kill me. After this, my
wife spoke to me seriously, Jack. She said, are you
sure there's nothing in it? I don't think Mary would
leave us without a good cause. And the description of
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what she saw Talli's exactly with the figure that frightened Jenny.
Jenny assures me she never said a word about it
to the servants. They can't both have imagined it. I
did not know what to say. My conscience pricked me,
without a doubt. I ought to have told my wife
of my own experience in the lane and have consulted
(41:37):
her before taking the house. Supposing she or any of
the children should die affright, it would be my fault.
I should never forgive myself. You've something on your mind.
What is it, my wife demanded. I hesitated a moment
or two, and then told her. The next quarter of
(41:57):
an hour was one I do not care to rect collect.
But when it was over and she had had her say,
it was decided I should make inquiries to see if
there was any possible way of getting rid of the ghosts.
With this end in view, I drove to the town,
and after several fruitless efforts, was at length introduced to
a mister Mardston, clerk of one of the banks, who,
(42:21):
in reply to my questions, said, well, mister b it's
just this way. I do know of something. Only in
a small place like this one has to be so
extra careful what one says. Some years ago and mister
Jeremiah Dance occupied the crow's nest. He came here apparently
a total stranger, and though often in the town, was
(42:42):
only seen in the company of one person, his landlord,
mister Baldwin, with whom, if local gossip is to be
relied on, he appeared to be on terms of the
greatest familiarity. Indeed, they were seldom apart, walked about the
lanes arm in arm, visited each other's houses on alternate evenings,
called each other Teddy and Leslie. This state of things
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continued for nearly three years, and then the people suddenly
began to comment on the fact that mister Dance had gone,
or at least was no longer visible. An errand boy
returning back to town late one evening swore to being passed
on the way by a trap containing mister Baldwin and
mister Dance, who were speaking in very loud voices, just
(43:25):
as if they were having a violent altercation. On reaching
that part of the road where the trees are the
thickest overhead, the lad overtook them, or rather mister Baldwin
preparing to mount into the trap. Mister Dance was nowhere
to be seen, and from that day to this nothing
has ever been heard of him, as none of his
(43:45):
friends or relations came forward to raise inquiries, and all
his bills were paid, several of them by mister Baldwin.
No one took the matter up. Mister Baldwin pooh poohed
the Errand Boys story and declared that on the night
in question, he had been alone in an altogether different
part of the country and knew nothing whatever of mister
Dance's movements. Further than that he had recently announced his
(44:08):
intention of leaving the Crow's Nest before the expiration of
the three years lease. He had not the remotest idea
where he was. He claimed the furniture and payment of
the rent due to him. Did the matter end there,
I asked, In one sense of the word, yes, in
another no. Within a few weeks of Dance's disappearance, rumors
(44:30):
got afloat that his ghost had been seen on the
road just where you may say you saw it. As
a matter of fact, I've seen it myself, and so
of crowds of other people. Has any one ever spoken
to it? Yes, and it has vanished at once. I
went there one night with the purpose of laying it,
but on its appearing suddenly, I confess I was so
(44:53):
startled that I not only forgot what I had rehearsed
to say, but ran home without uttering as much as
a word. And what are your deductions of the case?
Same as everyone else's, mister Marston whispered, Only like every
one else, I dare not say. Had mister Dance any dogs? Yes,
(45:13):
two poodles, of which, much to mister Baldwin's annoyance, every
one noticed this. He used to make the most ridiculous
fuss humph. I observed that settles it. Ghosts, And to
think I never believed in them before. Well, I am
going to try try what mister Marston said, a note
(45:33):
of alarm in his voice, try laying it. I have
an idea I may succeed. I wish you luck. Then
may I come with you? Thanks? Now, I rejoined. I
would rather go there alone. I said this in a
well lighted room, with the hum of a crowded throwfare
in my ears. Twenty minutes later, when I had left
(45:55):
all that behind and was fast approaching the darkest part
of an exceptionally dark road, I wished I had not
at the very spot where I had previously seen the figures.
I saw them now. They suddenly appeared by my side,
and though I was going at a great rate for
the horse took fright, they kept easy pace with me.
(46:15):
Twice I essayed to speak to them, but could not
ejaculate a syllable through sheer horror. And it was only
by nerving myself to the utmost and forcing my eyes
away from them, that I was able to stick to
my seat and hold on to the reins. On and
on we dashed, until trees, road, sky, universe were obliterated
(46:36):
in one binding whirlwind that got up my nostrils, choked
my ears, and deaded me to everything save the all
terrorizing instinctive knowledge that the figures by my side were
still there, stalking along as quietly and leisurely as if
the horse had been going at a snail's pace. At last,
(46:57):
to my intense relief, for never had the right seemed longer.
I reached the crow's nest, and as I hurriedly dismounted
from the trap, the figures shot past me and vanished.
Once inside the house and in the bosom of my family,
where all was light and laughter, courage returned, and I
upbraided myself bitterly for this cowardice. I confessed to my wife,
(47:21):
and she insisted on accompanying me the following afternoon at
twilight to the spot where the ghost appeared to originate.
To our intense dismay, we had not been there more
than three or four minutes before Dora, our youngest girl,
a pretty sweet tempered child of eight, came running up
to us with a telegram which one of the servants
(47:42):
had asked her to give us. My wife, snatching it
from her and reading it, was about to scold her
severely when she suddenly paused, and, clutching hold of the
child with one hand, pointed hysterically at something on one
side of her with the other. I looked, and Dora looked,
and we both saw, standing erect and staring at us,
(48:04):
the spare figure of a man with a ghastly white
face and dull, lifeless eyes, clad and a panama hat,
Albert coat and small patent leather boots beside him were
too glossy abnormally glossy poodles. I tried to speak, but
(48:24):
as before, was too frightened to articulate a sound. And
my wife was in the same plight with Dora. However,
it was otherwise, and she electrified us by going up
to the figure and exclaiming, who are you? You must
feel very ill to look so white. Tell me your name.
(48:45):
The figure made no reply, but, gliding slowly forward, moved
up to a large isolated oak, and, pointing with the
index finger of its left hand at the trunk of
the tree, seemingly sank into the earth and vanish from view.
For some seconds, everyone was silent, and then my wife exclaimed, Jack,
(49:08):
I shouldn't wonder if Dora hasn't been the means of
solving the mystery. Examined the tree closely. I did so.
The tree was hollow, and inside it were three skeletons
and of part two of chapter two of Animal Ghosts
Chapter two, Part two of Animal Ghosts. This is a
LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain.
For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org.
This reading by Alison Hester of Athens, Georgia. Animal Ghosts
by Elliott O'Donnell, Part two, Chapter two, Dog Scared by
(00:23):
a Canine ghost. A friend of mine, Edward Morgan, had
a terrier that was found one morning poisoned in a
big Stone kennel. Soon afterwards, this friend came to me
and said, I have got a new dog, a spaniel,
but nothing will induce it to enter the kennel in
which poor Zach was poisoned. Come and see. I did so,
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and what he said was true. Mac Morgan gave all
his dog's names that rhymed zack, mack, Jack, tack, and
even whack and smack. When carried to the entrance of
the kennel, resolutely refused to cross the threshold, barking, whining,
and exhibiting unmistakable symptoms of fear. I knelt down, and
(01:10):
peering into the kennel, saw two luminous eyes and the
distinct outlines of a dog's head. Morgan I exclaimed, The
mystery is easily solved. There's a dog in here. Nonsense,
Morgan cried, speaking very excitedly. But there is, I retorted,
(01:30):
see for yourself. Morgan immediately bent down and poked his
head into the kennel. What rot, he said, You're having
me own. There's nothing in here? What? I cried? Do
you mean to say you can see no dog? No?
He replied, there is none. Let me look again, I said, and,
(01:54):
kneeling down, I peeped in. Do you mean to say
you can't see a dog's face and eyes looking straight
at us? I asked, No, he answered, I can see nothing,
And to prove to me the truth of what he said,
he fetched a pole and raked about the kennel vigorously
(02:16):
with it. We both then tried to make Mack enter,
and Morgan at last caught hold of him and placed
him forcibly inside. Max's terror knew no limit. He gave
one loud howl, and, flying out of the kennel with
his ears hanging back, tore past into the front garden,
where we left him in peace. Morgan was still skeptical
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as to there being anything wrong with the kennel, but
two days later wrote me as follows, I must apologize
for doubting you the other day. I have just had
what you declared you saw corroborated. A friend of my
wife's was calling here this afternoon, and, on hearing of
Mac's refusal to sleep in the kennel, at once said,
(03:01):
I know what's the matter. It's the smell mac sins,
the poison which was used to destroy Zac. Have the
kennel thoroughly fumigated and you'll have no more trouble. At
my wife's request, she went into the yard to have
a look at it, and the moment she bent down,
she cried out, like you did, why there's a dog
(03:22):
inside a terrier. My wife and I both looked and
could see nothing. The lady, however, persisted, and, on my
handing her a stick, struck at the figures she saw,
to her amazement, the stick went right through it. Then,
and not till then did we tell her of your experience. Well,
(03:45):
she exclaimed, I have never believed in ghosts, but I
do so now. I am quite certain that what I
see is the phantom of Zack. How glad I am,
because I am at last assured animals have spirits can
come back to us. In concluding the accounts of Phanfasms
of dead Dogs, let me quote two cases taken from
(04:07):
my work entitled The Haunted Houses of London, published by
mister Eveley Nash of fall Side House, King Street, Covent Garden,
London in nineteen o nine. The cases are these the
Phantom Dotson of W Street, London. In letter number one,
(04:29):
my correspondent writes, though I am by no means over
indulgent to dogs, the latter generally greet me very effusively,
and it would seem that there is something in my
individuality that is peculiarly attractive to them. This being so,
I was not greatly surprised one day when, in the
immediate neighborhood of X Street, to find myself persistently followed
(04:53):
by a rough haired Dotson wearing a gaudy yellow collar.
I tried to scare it away, shaking my sunshade at it,
but all to no purpose. It came resolutely on, and
I was beginning to despair of getting rid of it
when I came to X Street, where my husband once
practiced as an oculist. There it suddenly altered its tactics, and,
(05:18):
instead of keeping at my heels became my conductor, forging
slowly ahead with a gliding motion that both puzzled and
fascinated me. I furthermore observed that, notwithstanding the temperature, it
was not a whit less than ninety degrees in the shade.
The legs and stomach of the Dotson were covered with
(05:38):
mud and dripping with water. When it came to number ninety,
it halted and bearing swiftly round eyed me in the
strangest manner, just as if it had some secret it
was bursting to disclose. I remained in this attitude until
I was within two or three feet of it, certainly
not more, when, to my unlimited amazement, it absolutely vanished,
(06:01):
melted away into thin air. The iron gate leading to
the area was closed, so that there was nowhere for
it to have hidden. And besides, I was almost bending
over it at the time, as I wanted to read
the name on its collar. There being no one near
at hand, I could not obtain a second opinion, and
(06:21):
so came away wondering whether what I had seen was
actually a phantasm or a mere hallucination. Number ninety, I
might add, judging by the brass plate on the door,
was inhabited by a doctor with an unpronounceable foreign name,
et cetera, et cetera. I think one cannot help attaching
(06:42):
a great deal of importance to what this lady says,
as her language is strictly moderate throughout, and because she
does not seem to have been biased by any special
views on the subject of animal futurity. Correspondent number two,
who by the way, is a total stranger to the
writer whose letter I have just quoted, is candidly devoted
(07:05):
to dogs, regarding them as in every way on par with,
if not actually superior to most human beings. Still, notwithstanding
this partiality and consequent profusion of terms of endearment, which
will doubtless prove somewhat nauseating to many, her letter is,
in my opinion, valuable because it not only refers to
(07:28):
the phenomenon I have mentioned, but to a certain extent,
furnishes a reason for its occurrence. The lady writes as follows.
I once had a rough haired dotson, Robert, whom I
loved devotedly. We were living at the time near H Street,
which always had a peculiar attraction for dear Robert, who
(07:49):
I am now obliged to confess, had rather too much liberty,
more indeed than eventually proved good for him. The servants
complained that Robert ruled the house, and I believe what
they said was true. For my sister and I idolized him,
giving him the very best of everything, and never having
the heart to refuse him anything he wanted. You will
(08:12):
probably scarcely credit it, but I have sat up all
night nursing him when he had a cold and was
otherwise indisposed. Can you therefore imagine my feelings when my
darling was absent one day from dinner. Such a thing
had never happened before, for fond of mourning constitutionals. As
poor Robert was, he was always the soul of punctuality
(08:36):
at meal times. Neither my sister nor I would hear
of eating anything whilst he was missing. Not a morsel
did we touch, but slipping on our hats, and bidding
the servants to do the same, we scoured the neighborhood instead.
The afternoon passed without any sign of Robert, and when
bedtime came he always slept in our room, and note
(09:00):
signs of our pet I thought we should both have
gone mad. Of course, we advertised selecting the most popular
and accordingly the most likely papers, and we resorted to
other mediums too. But alas it was hopeless, our darling,
little Robert, was irrevocably, irredeemably lost. For days we were
(09:23):
utterly inconsolable, doing nothing but mope morning, noon and night.
I cannot tell you how forlorn we felt, nor how
long we should have remained in that state, but for
an incident which, although revealing the terrible manner of his death,
gave us every reason to feel sure we were not
(09:43):
parted from him for all time, but would meet again
in the great hereafter it happened in this wise, I
was walking along w Street one evening, when, to my
intense joy and surprise, I suddenly saw my darling standing
on the pavement a few feet ahead of me, regarding
me intently from out of his pathetic brown eyes. A
(10:07):
sensation of extreme coldness now stole over me, and I
noticed with something akin to shock, that, in spite of
the hot, dry weather, Robert looked as if he had
been in the rain for hours. He wore the bright
yellow collar I had bought him shortly before his disappearance,
So that had there been any doubt as to his
(10:28):
identity that would have removed it instantly. On my calling
to him, he turned quickly round, and, with a slight
gesture of the head, as if bidding me to follow,
he glided forward. My natural impulse was to run after him,
pick him up, and smother him with kisses. But try
as hard as I could, I could not diminish the
(10:49):
distance between us. Although he never appeared to alter his pace.
I was quite out of breath by the time we
reached h Street, where, to my surprise, he stopped at
number ninety, and, turning round again, gazed at me in
the most beseeching manner. I can't describe that look, suffice
it to say that no human eyes could have been
(11:12):
more expressive. But of what beyond the most profound love
and sorrow I cannot I dare not attempt to state.
I have pondered upon it through the whole of a
midsummer night, but not even the severest of my mental
efforts have enabled me to solve it to my satisfaction?
Could I but do that? I feel I should have
(11:34):
fathomed the greatest of all mysteries, the mystery of life
and death. I do not know for how long we
stood there looking at one another. It may have been
minutes or hours, or again but a few paltry seconds.
He took the initiative from me, for as I leaped
forward to raise him in my arms, he glided through
(11:55):
the stone steps into the area. Convinced now that what
I be held was Robert's apparition, I determined to see
the strange affair through to the bitter end, and entering
the gate, I also went down into the area. The
phantom had come to an abrupt halt by the side
of a low wooden box, and as I foolishly made
(12:17):
an aboard of attempt to reach it with my hand,
it vanished instantaneously. I searched the area thoroughly, and was
assured that there was no outlet save by the steps
I had just descended, and no hole, nor nook nor
cranny where anything the size of Robert could be completely
hidden from sight. What did it all mean? Ah? I
(12:40):
knew Robert had always had a weakness for exploring areas,
especially in h street and in the box where his
wraith disappeared. I espied a piece of raw meat. Now
there are ways in which a piece of raw meat
may lie without arousing suspicion. But the position of this
morsel strangely suggested that it had been placed there carefully
(13:03):
and for assuredly no other purpose than to entice stray animals.
Resolving to interrogate the owner of the house on the subject,
I rapped at the front door, but was informed by
the man servant, obviously a German, that his master never
saw any one without an appointment. I then did a
very unwise thing. I explained the purpose of my visit
(13:26):
to this man, who not only denied any knowledge of
my dog, but declared the meat must have been thrown
into the area by some passer. By No one in
Dee's house throw away good meat like that, he explained,
we eat all we can getia, we have nothing for
the animals. Please go away at once, or Demasto will
(13:48):
be very angry. He stunned. No nonsense from any one,
and as I had no alternative, for after all, who
would regard a ghost in the light of evidence, I
had to obey. I found out, however, from a medical friend,
that number ninety was tenanted by mister Kay, an Anglo German,
(14:09):
who was deemed a very clever fellow. At a certain
London hospital where he was often occupied in viva section
I dare say. My friend went on to remark, Kay
does a little viva secting in his private surgery by
way of practice. And well, you see these foreign chaps
(14:30):
are not so squeamish in some respects as we are.
But can't he be stopped? I asked, It is horrible
monstrous that he should be allowed to murder our pets.
You don't know for certain that he has, was the reply.
You only suppose so from what you saw, and evidence
of that immaterial nature is no evidence at all. No,
(14:53):
you can do nothing except to be extra careful in
the future. And if you have another dog, make him
steer c of number ninety h Street. I was sensible
enough to see that he was right, and the matter
was dropped. I soon noticed one thing, however, namely that
there were no more pieces of meat temptingly displayed in
(15:15):
the box. So it is just possible k got wind
of my inquiries and thought it policy to desist from
his nefarious practices. Poor Robert to think of him suffering
such a cruel and ignominious death in my being powerless
to avenge it. Surely if vivisection is really necessary, and
(15:35):
the welfare of mankind cannot be advanced by any less
barbarous system. Why not operate on creatures less deserving of
our love and pity than dogs, On creatures which, whilst
being nearer allied to man in physiology and anatomy, are
at the same time far below the level of brute
(15:56):
creation in character and disposition. For example, why not experiment
on wife beaters and cowardly street ruffians. And one might
reasonably add on all those pseudo humanitarians who, by their
constant petitions to Parliament for the abolition of the lash,
encourage every form of blackguardism and beastiality. This concludes the
(16:21):
letter of correspondent number two, and with the sentiment in
the closing paragraphs, I must say I heartily agree. Only
I should like to add a few more people to
the list. One other case of haunting of this type
is taken from my same work, One All Halloween, wrote
(16:42):
a Missus Sebium. I was staying with some friends in Hampstead,
and we amused ourselves by working spells to commemorate the night.
There is one spell in which one walks alone down
a path, sowing hempseed and repeating some fantastic words when
one is supposed to see those that are destined to
(17:03):
come into one's life in the near future. Eager to
put this spell to the test, I went into the
garden by myself, and walking boldly along a path bordered
on each side by evergreens, sprinkled hempseed lavishly, nothing happening.
I was about to desist when suddenly I heard a
pattering on the gravel, and turning round, I beheld an
(17:27):
ugly little black and tan mongrel running towards me, wagging
its stumpy tail. Not at all prepossessed with the creature,
for my own dogs are pure bred, and thinking it
must have strayed into the grounds, I was about to
drive it out, and had put down my hand to
prevent it jumping on my dress, when, to my astonishment,
(17:48):
it had vanished. It literally melted away into fine air
beneath my weary eyes. Not knowing what to make of
the incident, but feeling inclined to attribute it to a
trick of the imagination, I rejoined my friends. I did
not tell them what had happened, although I made a
memorandum of it in one of my innumerable note books.
(18:10):
Within six months of this incident, I was greatly astonished
to find a dog corresponding with the one I have
just described running about on the lawn of my house
in Bath. How the animal got there was a complete mystery.
And what is stranger still, it seemed to recognize me,
for it rushed towards me, frantically wagging its diminutive tail.
(18:34):
I had not the heart to turn it away, as
it seemed quite homeless, and so the forlorn little mongrel
was permitted to make its home in my house, and
a very happy home it proved to be. For three years.
All went well, and then the end came swiftly and unexpectedly.
(18:54):
I was in black Heath at the time, and the
mongrel was in Bath. It was all Halloween, but there
was no hemp seed for sewing. For no one in
the house but myself took the slightest interest in anything
appertaining to the superphysical or mystic. Eleven o'clock came and
I retired to rest, my bed being one of those
(19:16):
antique four posters hung with curtains that shined crimson in
the ruddy glow of a cheerful fire. All my preparations complete,
I had pulled back the hangings and was about to
slip between the sheets, when, to my unbounded amazement, what
should I see sitting on the counterpane but the black
and tan mongrel. It was he right enough? There could
(19:40):
not be another such ugly dog, though unlike his usual self,
he evinced no demonstrations of joy. On the contrary, he
appeared downright miserable. His ears hung, his mouth dropped, and
his bleared little eyes were watery and sad. Greatly perplexed,
(20:01):
if not alarmed, at so extraordinary a phenomenon, I nevertheless
felt constrained to put out my hand to comfort him, when,
as I had half anticipated, he immediately vanished. Two days
later I received a letter from Bath, and in a
postcrip I read that the mongrel we never called it
(20:22):
by any other name, had been run over and killed
by a motor the accident occurring on all Halloween about
eleven o'clock. Of course, my sister wrote, you won't mind
very much. It was so extremely ugly, and well, we
were only too glad it was none of the other dogs.
(20:42):
But my sister was wrong for notwithstanding its unsightly appearance
and hopeless lack of breed. I had grown to like
that little black and tan more than any of my
rare and choice pets. The following account, which concludes my
notes on Haunting by dog Phanfasms, was sent to me
(21:03):
many years ago by a gentleman then living in Virginia, USA.
It runs thus the strange disappearance of mister Jeremiah Dance.
Twenty pounds a year for a twelve roomed house with
a large front lawn, good stabling, and big kitchen gardens.
That sounds right, I commented, But why so cheap? Well
(21:28):
the advertiser, mister Baldwin by name, a short, stout gentleman
with keen, glittering eyes, replied, well, you see, it's a
bit of a distance from the town and er. Most
people prefer being nearer, like neighbors and all that sort
of thing. Like neighbors, I exclaimed, I don't I've seen
(21:50):
just about enough of them. Drains all right, oh, yes,
perfect water, excellent, everything in good condition, first rate. Loneliness
is the only thing people object to. That is so,
then I'll oblige you to send some one to show
(22:10):
me over the house, for I think it is just
the sort of place we want you see. After being
bottled up in a theater all the afternoon and evening,
one likes to get away somewhere where it is quiet,
somewhere where one can lie in bed in the morning,
inhaling pure air and undisturbed by street traffic. I understand,
mister Baldwin responded, But er, it is rather late now.
(22:34):
Wouldn't you prefer to see it over in the morning.
Everything looks at it's worst. It's very worse than the twilight. Oh,
I'll make allowances for the dusk, I said. You haven't
got any ghosts stowed away there, have you? And he
went off into a roar of laughter. No, the house
(22:55):
is not haunted, mister Baldwin replied, not that it would
much matter to you if it were, For I can
see you don't believe in spooks. Believe in spooks, I cried,
not much. I would as soon believe in patent hair restorers.
Let me see over it at once. Very well, sir,
(23:15):
I'll take you there myself, mister Baldwin replied, somewhat reluctantly. Here, Tim,
fetch the keys at the crow's nest and tell Higgins
to bring the trap round. The boy he addressed blew,
and in a few minutes the sound of wheels and
the jingling of harnesses announced the vehicle was at the
door ten minutes later, and I and my escort were
(23:38):
bowling merrily over the ground in the direction of the
crow's nest. It was early autumn, and the cool evening air,
fragrant with the melonness of the luscious Virginian Pippin, was
tinged also with the sadness inseparable from the demise of
a long and glorious summer. Evidences of decay and death
(23:59):
were everywhere, in the brown fallen leaves of the oaks
and elms, in the bare and denuded ditches. Here a
giant mill wheel, half immersed in a dark still pool,
stood idle and silent. There a hovel, but recently inhabited
by hop pickers, was now tenantless, its glassless windows boarded over,
(24:21):
and a wealth of dead and riding vegetable matter in
thick profusion over the tiny path and the single stone doorstep.
Is it always as quiet and deserted as this? I
asked of my companion, who continually cracked his whip as
if he liked to hear the reverberations of its echoes,
always was the reply, and sometimes more so. You ain't
(24:45):
used to the country, not very. I want to try
it by way of a change. Are you well versed
in the cry of birds? What was that? We were
fast approaching an exceedingly gloomy bit of road, where there
were plantations on each side, and the trees united their
fantastically forked branches overhead. I thought I had never seen
(25:08):
so dismal looking a spot, and a sudden lowering of
the temperature made me draw my overcoat tighter around me. That, oh,
a night bird of some sort. Mister Baldwin replied, an
ugly sound, Wasn't it beastly things? I can't imagine why
they were created? WHOA steady there, steady? The horse reared
(25:33):
as he spoke, and, taking a violent plunge forward, set
off at a wild gallop a moment later, and I
uttered an exclamation of astonishment. Keeping pace with us, although
apparently not moving at more than an ordinary walking pace,
was a man of medium height, dressed in a Panama
hat and Albert coat. He had a thin, aquiline nose,
(25:57):
a rather pronounced chin, was clean and had a startlingly
white complexion. By the side of him trotted two poodles,
whose close crop skins showed out with remarkable perspicuity. Who
the deuce is he? I asked, raising my voice to shout,
on account of the loud clatter made by the horses,
(26:18):
hoofs and the wheels. Who what? Mister Baldwin shouted in return,
Why the man walking along with us? Man? I see
no man, mister Baldwin growled. I looked at him curiously.
It may, of course have been due to the terrific
speed we were going, to the difficulty of holding in
(26:40):
the horse, that his cheeks were ashy pale, and his
teeth chattered. Do you mean to say, I cried, that
you can see no figure walking on my side of
the horse and actually keeping pace with it? Of course
I can't, mister Baldwin snapped, no more, can you. It's
an hallucination by the moonlight through the branches overhead. I've
(27:02):
experienced it more than once. Then why don't you have
it now? I queried. Don't ask so many questions, please,
mister Baldwin shouted, don't you see it? As as much
as I can do to hold the brute in heaven,
preserve us. We were nearly over that time. The trap
rose high in the air as he spoke, and then
(27:24):
dropped with such a jolt that I was nearly thrown off,
and only saved myself by the skin of my teeth.
A few yards more, the spinney ceased, and we were
away out in the open country, plunging and galloping, as
if our very souls depended on it. From all sides,
queer and fantastic shadows of objects which certainly had no
(27:46):
material counterparts, and the moon kissed sward of the rich
right meadows rose to greet us and filled the lane
with their black and white, wavering, ethereal forms. The evening
was one of wonders for which I had no name,
wonders associated with an iciness that was far from agreeable.
(28:06):
I was not at all sure which I liked best,
the black stygian tree lined part of the road we
had just left, or the wide ocean of brilliant moonbeams
and streaked suggestions. The figures of the man and the
dogs were equally vivid in each, though I could no
longer doubt that they were nothing mortal, They were all
together unlike what I had imagined ghosts, like the generality
(28:29):
of people who were psychic and who have never had
an experience of the superphysical. My conception of a phanfasm
was a thing in white that made ridiculous groanings and
still more ridiculous clankings of chains. But here was something different,
something that looked, save perhaps for the excessive pallor of
its cheeks, just like an ordinary man. I knew it
(28:52):
was not a man, partly on account of its extraordinary performance.
No man, even if running at full speed, could keep
up with us like that, partly on account of the
unusual nature of the atmosphere, which was altogether indefinable it
brought with it, And also because of my own sensations,
my intense horror, which could not, I felt certain, have
(29:15):
been generated by anything physical. I cogitated all this in
my mind as I gazed at the figure, and in
order to make sure it was no hallucination, I shut
first one eye and then the other, covering them alternately
with the palm of my hand. The figure, however, was
still there, still pacing along at our side with the
(29:36):
regular swing swing of the born walker. We kept on
in this fashion till we arrived at a rusty iron gate,
leading by means of a weed covered path to a low,
two storied white house. Here the figures left us, and,
as it seemed to me, vanished at the foot of
the garden wall. This is the house, mister Baldwin panted,
(29:59):
pulling up with the greatest difficulty, the horse evincing obvious
antipathy to the iron gate. And these are the keys.
I'm afraid you must go in alone, as I dare
not leave the animal even for a minute. Oh all right,
I said, I don't mind. Now that the ghost or
whatever you like to call it, has gone, I'm myself again.
(30:21):
I jumped down, and, threading my way along the bramble
entangled path, reached the front door. On opening it, I
hesitated the big old fashioned hall with the great frowning
staircase leading to the gallery overhead. The many open doors
showing naught but bare deserted boards. Within the grim passages,
(30:42):
all moonlight and peopled only with queer flickering shadows, suggested
much that was terrifying. I fancied. I heard noises, noises
like stealthy footsteps moving from room to room and tiptoeing
along the passages and down the staircase. Once my heart
almost stopped feeding as I saw what at first I
(31:04):
took to be a white face peering at me from
a far recess, but which I eventually discovered was only
a daub of whitewash. And once again my hair all
but rose on end when one of the doors at
which I was looking swung open and something came forth.
Oh the horror of that moment. As long as I live,
(31:25):
I shall never forget it. The something was a cat,
just a rather lean but otherwise material, black tom Yet
in the state my nerves were then, it created almost
as much horror as if it had been a ghost.
Of course, it was the figure of the walking man
that was the cause of all this nervousness. Had it
(31:46):
not appeared to me, I should doubtless have entered the
house with the utmost sang freud, my mind set on
nothing but the condition of the walls, drains, et cetera.
As it was, I held back, and it was only
after a severe mental struggle I summoned up the courage
to leave the doorway and explore cautiously, feary, cautiously. With
(32:08):
my heart in my mouth, I moved from room to room,
halting every now and then in dreadful suspense, as the
wind sowing through across the open land behind the house
blew down the chimneys and set the window frames jarring.
At the commencement of one of the passages, I was
immeasurably startled to see a dark shape poke forward and
(32:30):
then spring hurriedly back, and was so frightened that I
dared not advance to see what it was. Moment after
moments sped by, and I still stood there, the cold
sweat oozing out all over me, and my eyes fixed
in hideous expectation on the blank wall. What was it?
What was hiding there? Would it spring out on me?
(32:51):
If I went to sea? At last, Urged on by
a fascination I found impossible to resist, I crept down
the passage, my heart throbbing painfully, and my whole being
overcome with the most sickly anticipations. As I drew nearer
to the spot, it was as much as I could
do to breathe, and my respiration came in quick jerks
(33:14):
and gasps. Six five four two feet and I was
at the dreaded angle, another step taken after the most
prodigious battle, and nothing sprang out on me, I was
only confronted with a large piece of paper that had
come loose from the wall and flapped backwards and forwards,
(33:35):
each time the breeze from without rustled past it. The
reaction after such an agony of suspense was so great
that I leaned against the wall and laughed till I
cried a noise from somewhere away in the basement, calling
me to myself. I went downstairs and investigated again a shock,
(33:56):
this time more sudden, more acute. Pressed against the windpane
of one of the front reception rooms was the face
of a man with corpselike cheeks and pale, malevolent eyes.
I was petrified. Every drop of my blood was congealed,
my tongue glued to my mouth, my arms hung helpless.
(34:17):
I stood in the doorway and stared at it. This
went on for what seemed to me an eternity. Then
came a revelation. The face was not that of a ghost,
but of mister Baldwin, who, getting alarmed at my long absence,
had come to look for me. We left the premises together.
All the way back to town, I thought, should I
(34:39):
or should I not take the house? Seen as I
had seen it. It was a ghoulish looking place, as
weird as a Paris catacomb. But then daylight makes all
the difference. Viewed in the sunshine, it would be just
like any other house, plain bricks and mortar. I liked
the situation. It was just far enough away from a
(35:00):
town to enable me to escape all the smoke and traffic,
and near enough to make shopping easy. The only obstacles
were the shadows, the strange enigmatical shadows I had seen
in the hall, and the passages, and the figure of
the walker. Dare I take a house that I knew
had such visitors? At first they said no, and then yes.
(35:24):
Something I could not tell what urged me to say yes.
I felt that a very grave issue was at stake,
that a great wrong connected in some manner with the
mysterious figure awaited riding, and that the hand of fate
pointed at me as the one and only person who
could do it. Are you sure the house isn't haunted?
(35:45):
I demanded, as we slowly rolled away from the iron gate,
and I leaned back in my seat to light my pipe. Haunted,
mister Baldwin scoffed, Why I thought you didn't believe in ghosts,
laughed at them. I know more I do believe in them,
I retorted, But I have children, and we know how
imaginative children are. I can't undertake to stop their imaginations. No,
(36:11):
but you can tell me whether anyone else has imagined
anything there. Imagination is sometimes very infectious, as far as
I know. Then, no, leastways I have not heard of it.
Who was the last tenant, mister Jeremiah Dance? Why did
he leave? How do I know got tired of being there?
(36:33):
I suppose? How long was he there? Nearly three years?
Where is he now? That's more than I can say.
Why do you wish to know why? I repeated, because
it is more satisfactory for me to hear about the
house from someone who has lived in it. Has he
left no address, not that I know of, And it's
(36:54):
been more than two years since he was here? What
that house has been empty all that time? Two years
is not very long. Houses, even townhouses, are frequently unoccupied
for longer than that. I think you'll like it. I
did not speak again until the drive was over and
we drew up outside the landlord's house. I then said,
(37:17):
let me have an agreement. I've made up my mind
to take it three years and the option to stay
on that was just like me. Whatever I did, I
did on the spur of the moment, a mode of
procedure that often led me into difficulties. A month later,
my wife, children and servants, and I were all ensconced
(37:38):
in the crow's nest. That was in the beginning of October. Well,
the month passed by, and November was fairly in before
anything remarkable happened. It then came about in this fashion. Jenny,
my eldest child, a self willed and rather bad tempered
girl of about twelve, evading the vigilance of a mother
(37:59):
who had forbidden her her to go out as she
had a cold, ran to the gate one evening to
see if I was anywhere in sight. Though merely five
o'clock the moon was high in the sky and the
shadows of the big trees had already commenced their gambols
along the roadside. Jenny clambered up the gate as children do,
and peering over, suddenly espied what she took to be ME,
(38:21):
striding towards the house at a swinging pace, and followed
by two poodles Papa. She cried how cute of you,
only to think of bringing home two doggies. Oh Papa,
naughty papa, what will Mom say? And climbing over into
the lane at imminent danger to life and limb, she
(38:44):
tore frantically towards the figure. To her dismay. However, it
was not me, but a stranger with a horribly white
face and big glassy eyes, which he turned down at
her and stared. She was so frightened that she fainted,
and some ten minutes later I found her lying out
there on the road. From the description she gave me
(39:06):
of the man and the dogs, I felt quite certain
they were the figures I had seen, though I pretended
the man was a tramp and assured her she would
never see him again. A week passed, and I was
beginning to hope nothing would happen when one of the
servants gave her notice to leave. At first, she would
not say why she did not like the house, but
(39:27):
when pressed made the following statement, heads haunted missus B.
I can put up with mice and beetles, but not
with ghosts. I've had a queer sensation, as if water
was falling down my spine ever since I've been here.
But never saw anything till last night. I was then
in the kitchen getting ready to go to bed. Jane
(39:48):
and Emma had already gone up, and I was preparing
to follow them, when all of a sudden I heard footsteps,
quick and heavy, crossed the gravel and approached the window.
The ball, says I to myself, maybe he's forgot the
key and can't get in the front door. Well, I
went to the window and was about to throw it
(40:08):
open when I got an awful shock. Pressed against the glass,
looking in at me was a face, not the boss's face,
not the face of anyone living, but a horrid white
thing with a drooping mouth and the wide open, glassy
eyes that had no more expression in them than a pig.
As sure as I'm standing him as me, it was
(40:30):
the face of a colpse, the face of a man
that had died no natural death. And by its side,
standing on their hind legs and staring in at me too,
were two dogs, both poodles, also no living things, but dead,
horribly dead. Well, they stared at me, all three of them,
for perhaps a minute, suddenly not less, and then finished,
(40:53):
That's why I'm leaving, miss b My heart was never overstrong.
I always suffered with pow potatations, and if I saw
those heads again, it would kill me. After this, my
wife spoke to me seriously, Jack. She said, are you
sure there's nothing in it? I don't think Mary would
leave us without a good cause. And the description of
(41:15):
what she saw Talli's exactly with the figure that frightened Jenny.
Jenny assures me she never said a word about it
to the servants. They can't both have imagined it. I
did not know what to say. My conscience pricked me,
without a doubt. I ought to have told my wife
of my own experience in the lane and have consulted
(41:37):
her before taking the house. Supposing she or any of
the children should die affright, it would be my fault.
I should never forgive myself. You've something on your mind.
What is it, my wife demanded. I hesitated a moment
or two, and then told her. The next quarter of
(41:57):
an hour was one I do not care to rect collect.
But when it was over and she had had her say,
it was decided I should make inquiries to see if
there was any possible way of getting rid of the ghosts.
With this end in view, I drove to the town,
and after several fruitless efforts, was at length introduced to
a mister Mardston, clerk of one of the banks, who,
(42:21):
in reply to my questions, said, well, mister b it's
just this way. I do know of something. Only in
a small place like this one has to be so
extra careful what one says. Some years ago and mister
Jeremiah Dance occupied the crow's nest. He came here apparently
a total stranger, and though often in the town, was
(42:42):
only seen in the company of one person, his landlord,
mister Baldwin, with whom, if local gossip is to be
relied on, he appeared to be on terms of the
greatest familiarity. Indeed, they were seldom apart, walked about the
lanes arm in arm, visited each other's houses on alternate evenings,
called each other Teddy and Leslie. This state of things
(43:04):
continued for nearly three years, and then the people suddenly
began to comment on the fact that mister Dance had gone,
or at least was no longer visible. An errand boy
returning back to town late one evening swore to being passed
on the way by a trap containing mister Baldwin and
mister Dance, who were speaking in very loud voices, just
(43:25):
as if they were having a violent altercation. On reaching
that part of the road where the trees are the
thickest overhead, the lad overtook them, or rather mister Baldwin
preparing to mount into the trap. Mister Dance was nowhere
to be seen, and from that day to this nothing
has ever been heard of him, as none of his
(43:45):
friends or relations came forward to raise inquiries, and all
his bills were paid, several of them by mister Baldwin.
No one took the matter up. Mister Baldwin pooh poohed
the Errand Boys story and declared that on the night
in question, he had been alone in an altogether different
part of the country and knew nothing whatever of mister
Dance's movements. Further than that he had recently announced his
(44:08):
intention of leaving the Crow's Nest before the expiration of
the three years lease. He had not the remotest idea
where he was. He claimed the furniture and payment of
the rent due to him. Did the matter end there,
I asked, In one sense of the word, yes, in
another no. Within a few weeks of Dance's disappearance, rumors
(44:30):
got afloat that his ghost had been seen on the
road just where you may say you saw it. As
a matter of fact, I've seen it myself, and so
of crowds of other people. Has any one ever spoken
to it? Yes, and it has vanished at once. I
went there one night with the purpose of laying it,
but on its appearing suddenly, I confess I was so
(44:53):
startled that I not only forgot what I had rehearsed
to say, but ran home without uttering as much as
a word. And what are your deductions of the case?
Same as everyone else's, mister Marston whispered, Only like every
one else, I dare not say. Had mister Dance any dogs? Yes,
(45:13):
two poodles, of which, much to mister Baldwin's annoyance, every
one noticed this. He used to make the most ridiculous
fuss humph. I observed that settles it. Ghosts, And to
think I never believed in them before. Well, I am
going to try try what mister Marston said, a note
(45:33):
of alarm in his voice, try laying it. I have
an idea I may succeed. I wish you luck. Then
may I come with you? Thanks? Now, I rejoined. I
would rather go there alone. I said this in a
well lighted room, with the hum of a crowded throwfare
in my ears. Twenty minutes later, when I had left
(45:55):
all that behind and was fast approaching the darkest part
of an exceptionally dark road, I wished I had not
at the very spot where I had previously seen the figures.
I saw them now. They suddenly appeared by my side,
and though I was going at a great rate for
the horse took fright, they kept easy pace with me.
(46:15):
Twice I essayed to speak to them, but could not
ejaculate a syllable through sheer horror. And it was only
by nerving myself to the utmost and forcing my eyes
away from them, that I was able to stick to
my seat and hold on to the reins. On and
on we dashed, until trees, road, sky, universe were obliterated
(46:36):
in one binding whirlwind that got up my nostrils, choked
my ears, and deaded me to everything save the all
terrorizing instinctive knowledge that the figures by my side were
still there, stalking along as quietly and leisurely as if
the horse had been going at a snail's pace. At last,
(46:57):
to my intense relief, for never had the right seemed longer.
I reached the crow's nest, and as I hurriedly dismounted
from the trap, the figures shot past me and vanished.
Once inside the house and in the bosom of my family,
where all was light and laughter, courage returned, and I
upbraided myself bitterly for this cowardice. I confessed to my wife,
(47:21):
and she insisted on accompanying me the following afternoon at
twilight to the spot where the ghost appeared to originate.
To our intense dismay, we had not been there more
than three or four minutes before Dora, our youngest girl,
a pretty sweet tempered child of eight, came running up
to us with a telegram which one of the servants
(47:42):
had asked her to give us. My wife, snatching it
from her and reading it, was about to scold her
severely when she suddenly paused, and, clutching hold of the
child with one hand, pointed hysterically at something on one
side of her with the other. I looked, and Dora looked,
and we both saw, standing erect and staring at us,
(48:04):
the spare figure of a man with a ghastly white
face and dull, lifeless eyes, clad and a panama hat,
Albert coat and small patent leather boots beside him were
too glossy abnormally glossy poodles. I tried to speak, but
(48:24):
as before, was too frightened to articulate a sound. And
my wife was in the same plight with Dora. However,
it was otherwise, and she electrified us by going up
to the figure and exclaiming, who are you? You must
feel very ill to look so white. Tell me your name.
(48:45):
The figure made no reply, but, gliding slowly forward, moved
up to a large isolated oak, and, pointing with the
index finger of its left hand at the trunk of
the tree, seemingly sank into the earth and vanish from view.
For some seconds, everyone was silent, and then my wife exclaimed, Jack,
(49:08):
I shouldn't wonder if Dora hasn't been the means of
solving the mystery. Examined the tree closely. I did so.
The tree was hollow, and inside it were three skeletons
and of part two of chapter two of Animal Ghosts
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Gregg Rosenthal and a rotating crew of elite NFL Media co-hosts, including Patrick Claybon, Colleen Wolfe, Steve Wyche, Nick Shook and Jourdan Rodrigue of The Athletic get you caught up daily on all the NFL news and analysis you need to be smarter and funnier than your friends.