August 14, 2023 • 38 mins
"They do say, as on All Saints' Eve them two bodies sits up on their slabs, and gets off of them, and then walks down the aisle, in their marble"
Many old ghost stories have the reputation of being cosy. Stories to tell around the fireside to provide listeners with a pleasant terror. One of the surprises about Edith Nesbit’s stories – an author, let’s not forget, famous for her children’s classics – is that they don’t hold back. Her stories aren’t guided by a Victorian sense of justice and morality, of righting wrongs and punishing hubris. Innocent people get hurt; happy couples are torn apart. Her stories are written not just to offer chills but to deliver a shocking blow at their climax.
Patrons help to keep this UK horror podcast going. If you'd like to become one, just visit https://www.patreon.com/newghoststories
Find more ghost story content on my Substack - https://newghoststories.substack.com/
Tags – Edith Nesbit Ghost Story, Classic Ghost Story, Traditional Ghost Stories, English Gothic Story, Gothic Podcast, Tales of Mystery & Supernatural, Classic Supernatural Story, English Gothic, Vintage Ghost Story, Victorian Ghost Story
Many old ghost stories have the reputation of being cosy. Stories to tell around the fireside to provide listeners with a pleasant terror. One of the surprises about Edith Nesbit’s stories – an author, let’s not forget, famous for her children’s classics – is that they don’t hold back. Her stories aren’t guided by a Victorian sense of justice and morality, of righting wrongs and punishing hubris. Innocent people get hurt; happy couples are torn apart. Her stories are written not just to offer chills but to deliver a shocking blow at their climax.
Patrons help to keep this UK horror podcast going. If you'd like to become one, just visit https://www.patreon.com/newghoststories
Find more ghost story content on my Substack - https://newghoststories.substack.com/
Tags – Edith Nesbit Ghost Story, Classic Ghost Story, Traditional Ghost Stories, English Gothic Story, Gothic Podcast, Tales of Mystery & Supernatural, Classic Supernatural Story, English Gothic, Vintage Ghost Story, Victorian Ghost Story
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Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
(00:22):
Hello, and welcome to a bonusepisode of the New ghost Stories podcast.
In our bonus episodes, I givereadings of classic at ghost Stories. This
time around, it's a tale byEdith Nesbitt. She may be best known
for her children's books like The RailwayChildren, but she was also a master
of supernatural stories. This is oneof her best. It's called Man Size
(00:46):
in marble, and I hope youenjoy it. Although every word of this
story is as true as despair,I do not expect people to believe it.
Nowadays, a rational explanation is requiredbefore belief is possible. Let me
(01:06):
then at once offer the rational explanationwhich finds most favor among those who have
heard the tale of my wife's tragedy. It is held that we are under
a delusion Laura and I on thatthirty first of October, and that this
supposition places a whole matter on asatisfactory and believable basis. The reader can
(01:29):
judge whether he too has heard mystory, how far this is an explanation,
and in what sense it is rational. There were three who took part
in this, Laura and I andanother man. The other man still lives
and can speak to the truth ofthe least credible part of my story.
(01:53):
I never in my life knew whatit was to have as much money as
I required to supply the most ordinaryneeds good colors, books, and cab
fares. And when we were married, we knew quite well that we should
only be able to live at allby strict punctuality and attention to business.
I used to paint in those days, and Laura used to write, and
(02:15):
we felt sure we could keep thepot at least simmering. Living in town
was out of the question, sowe went to look for a cottage in
the country, which should at oncebe sanitary and picturesque. So rarely did
these two qualities meet in one cottage, and I'll search for us for some
(02:36):
time, quite fruitless. We triedadvertisements, but most of the desirable rural
residences which we did look at provedto be lacking in both essentials. And
when a cottage chanced to have drains, it always had stuck out as well,
and was shaped like a tea caddy. And if we found a vine
(02:58):
and rose covered porch, corruption invariablylurked within our minds got so befogged by
the eloquence of house agents, andthe rival disadvantages of the fever traps and
outrages to beauty which we had seenand scorned. That I very much doubted
(03:19):
that either of us, on ourwedding morning knew the difference between a house
and a haystack. But when wegot away from friends and house agents on
our honeymoon, our wits grew clearagain, and we knew a pretty cottage
when at last we saw one.It was at Brenzette, a little village
set on a hill over against thesouthern marshes. We had gone there from
(03:44):
the seaside village where we were stayingsee the church, and two fields from
the church we found this cottage.We had gone there from the seaside village
where we were staying, to seethe church, and two fields from the
church we found this cottage. Itstood quite by itself, about two miles
from the village. There was along, low building with rooms sticking out
(04:09):
in unexpected places. There was abit of stone work, ivy covered and
moss grown, just two old roomsall that was left of a big house
that had once stood there. Andround this stone work the house had grown
up, stripped of its roses andjasmine. It would have been hideous as
(04:30):
it stood, it was charming,and after a brief examination, we took
it. It was absurdly cheap.The rest of our honeymoon we spent in
grubbing around in secondhand shops in thecounty town, picking up bits of old
oak and chippendale chairs for our furnishing. We wound up with a run up
to town and a visit to Liberties, and soon the low oak beamed lattice
(04:53):
windowed rooms began to be home.There was a jolly old fashioned garden with
ass paths and no end of hollyhocksand sunflowers and big lilies. From the
window you could see the marsh pasturesand beyond them the blue thin line of
the sea. We were as happyas the summer was glorious, and settled
(05:16):
down into work sooner than we ourselvesexpected. I was never tired of sketching
the view and the wonderful cloud effectsfrom the open lattice, and Laura would
sit at the table and write versesabout them, in which I mostly played
the part of foreground. We gota tall, old peasant woman to do
(05:39):
for us. Her face and figurewere good, though her cooking was of
the homeliest, but she understood aboutgardening, and told us all the old
names of the coppices and cornfields,and the stories of the smugglers and highwaymen,
and better still, of the thingsthat walked, and of the sights
(06:00):
which met one in lonely glens ofa starlight night. She was a great
comfort to us, because Laura hatedhousekeeping as much as I loved folklore,
and we soon came to leave allthe domestic business to missus Dorman, and
to use her legends in little magazinestories, which brought in the jingling guinea.
(06:24):
We had three months of married happinessand did not have a single quarrel.
One October evening, I had beendown to smoke a pipe with the
doctor, our only neighbor, apleasant young irishman. Laura had stayed at
home to finish a comic sketch ofa village episode for the monthly marplot.
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I left her laughing over her ownjokes, and came in to find a
crumpled heap of pale Muslim weeping onthe window seat. Good heavens, my
darling, what's the matter? Icried, Taking her in my arms.
She leaned her little dark head againstmy shoulder and went on crying. I'd
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never seen her cry before. He'dalways been so happy, you see,
and I felt sure some frightful misfortunehad happened. What's the matter do you
speak? It's missus Dorman. Shesobbed. What has she done? I
inquired, immensely relieved. She saysshe must go before the end of the
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month. And she says her nieceis ill. She's gone down to see
her now. But I don't believethat's the reason, because her niece is
always ill. I believe someone hasbeen setting her against us. Her manner
was so queer. Never mind,pussy, I said, whatever you do,
don't cry, or I shall haveto cry too to keep you in
(07:50):
countenance, and then you'll never respectyour man again. She dried her eyes
obediently on my handkerche and even smiledfaintly. But you see, she went
on, it is really serious,because these village people are so cheepy,
and if one won't do a thing, you may be quite sure none of
(08:13):
the others will. And I shallhave to cook the dinners and wash up
their hateful, greasy plates, andyou'll have to carry cans of water about,
and clean the boots and knives,and we shall never have any time
for work or earn any money oranything. We shall have to work all
day, and only be able torest when we are waiting for the kettle
to boil. I represented to herthat even if we had to perform these
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duties, the day would still presentsome margin for other toils and recreations.
But she refused to see the matterin any but the greyest light. She
was very unreasonable, my Laura.But I could not have loved her anymore
if she had been as reasonable asweightly. I'll speak to missus Dorman when
she comes back and see if Ican't come to terms with her, I
(09:01):
said, perhaps you wants a risein her screw. It will be all
right. Let's walk up to thechurch. The church was a large and
lonely one, and we loved togo there, especially upon bright nights.
The path skirted a wood cut throughat once, and ran along the crest
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of the hill, through two meadows, and round the churchyard wall, over
which the old ewes loomed in blackmasses of shadow. This path, which
was partly paved, was called thebier Balk, for it had long been
the way by which the corpses hadbeen carried to burial. The churchyard was
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richly treed, and was shaded bygreat elms, which stood just outside and
stretched their majestic arms in benediction overthe happy dead. A large low port
let one into the building by aNorman doorway, and a heavy oak door
studded with iron. Inside, thearches rose into darkness, and between them
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the reticulated windows, which stood outwhite in the moonlight. In the chancel.
The windows were of a rich glass, which showed in faint light their
noble coloring, and made the blackoak of their choir pews hardly more solid
than the shadows. But on eachside of the altar lay a gray marble
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figure of a night in full platearmor, lying upon a low slab,
with hands held up in everlasting prayer. And these figures, oddly enough,
were always to be seen if therewas any glimmer of light in the church.
Their names were lost, but thepeasants told of them that they had
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been fierce and wicked men, maraudersby land and sea, who had been
the scourge of their time, andhad been guilty of deeds so foul as
the house. They had lived in, the big house by the way that
had stood on the site of ourcottage, had been stricken by lightning and
the vengeance of heaven. But forall that the gold of their heirs had
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brought them a place in the church. Looking at the bad hard faces reproduced
in marble, this story was easilybelieved. The church looked at its best
and weirdest on that night, forthe shadows of the yew trees fell through
the windows, upon the floor ofthe nave and touched the pillars with the
(11:37):
tattered shade. We sat down together, without speaking, and watched the solemn
beauty of the old church with someof that awe which inspired its early builders.
We walked to the chancel and lookedat the sleeping warriors. Then we
rested some time on the stone seatin the porch, looking out over the
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stretch of a moonlit meadows, feelingin every fiber of our being the peace
of the night and of our happylove, and came away at last with
a sense that even scrubbing and blackleading were but small troubles at their worst.
(12:18):
Missus Dorman had come back from thevillage, and I at once invited
her to a tete? Are tetenow, Missus Dorman, I said,
when I got her into my paintingroom, what's all this about you not
staying with us? I should beglad to get away, sir before the
end of the month. She answered, with her usual placid dignity. Have
(12:39):
you any fault to find Missus dormant? None at all, sir. You
and your lady have always been mostkind. I'm sure. Well what is
it? Are your wages not highenough? Oh, sir, I gets
quite enough? Then why not stay? I rather not? With some hesitation.
(13:01):
My niece is ill, but yourniece has been ill ever since we
came no answer. There was along and awkward silence. I broke it.
Can't you stay for another month?I asked, No, sir,
I'm bound to go by Thursday,and this was Monday. Well, I
(13:22):
must say, I think you mighthave let us know before. There's no
time now to get anyone else,and your mistress is not fit to do
any heavy housework. Can't you staytill next week? I might be able
to come back next week. Iwas now convinced that all she wanted was
a brief holiday, which we shouldhave been willing enough to let her have
(13:43):
as soon as we could get asubstitute. But why must you go this
week, I persisted, Come outwith it. Missus Dorman drew the little
shawl which she always wore, tightlyacross her bosom, as though she were
cold. Then she said, witha sort of effort, They say,
sir, as this was a bighouse in Catholic times, and there was
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many deeds done here. The natureof the deeds might be vaguely inferred from
the inflection of Missus Dorman's voice,which was enough to make one's blood run
cold. I was glad that Laurawas not in the room. She was
always nervous, as highly strung natureas are, and I felt that these
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tales about our house, told bythis old woman, with her impressive manner
and contagious credulity, might have madeour home less. Dear to my wife,
tell me all about it, MissusDorman, I said, you need
minds about telling me. I'm notlike the young people who make fun of
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such things, which was partly true. Well, sir, she sank her
voice. You may have seen inthe church besides the old two shapes,
you mean the effigies of the nightsin armor. I mean the two bodies
drawed out man's size in marble.And I had to admit that a description
(15:15):
was a thousand times more graphic thanmine. Say nothing of a kind of
weird force and uncanniness about the phrasedrawed out man's size in marble. They
do, say, as an allsaints eve them two bodies sits up on
their slabs and gets off of them, and then walks down the aisle in
(15:37):
their marble. Another good phrase,Missus Dorman. And as the church clock
strikes eleven, they walk out ofthe church door and over the graves and
along the beer balk. And ifit's a wet night, there's the marks
of their feet in the morning.And where do they go, I asked,
(15:58):
rather fastened. It comes back hereto their home, sir. And
if anyone meets them, well thenwhat I asked. But no, not
another word I could get from her, save that her niece was ill and
she must go. After what Ihad heard. I scorned to discuss the
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niece and tried to get from MissusDawman more details of the legend. I
could get nothing but warnings. Whateveryou do, sir, lock the door
early on, all saints eve andmake the cross sign over the doorstep and
on the windows. But has anyoneever seen these things? I persisted,
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that's not for me to say.I know what I know, sir,
well, who was here last year? No one, sir. The lady
has owned the house, only stayedhere in summer, and she always went
to London a full month before thenight. And I'm sorry to inconvenience you
and your lady, but my niece'sill and I must go on Thursday.
(17:06):
I could have shaken her for herabsurd reiteration of that obvious fiction after she
told me her real reasons she wasdetermined to go, Nor could our United
entreaties move her in the least.I did not tell Laura the legend of
the shapes that walked in their marble, partly because a legend concerning our house
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might perhaps trouble my wife, andpartly, I think for some more occult
reason. This was not quite thesame to me as any other story,
and I did not want to talkabout it till the day was over.
I had very soon ceased to thinkof the legend. However, I was
painting a portrait of Laura against thelattice window and I could not think of
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much else. I got a splendidbackground of yellow and gray sunset, and
was working away with enthusiasm at herface. On the Thursday, Missus Dorman
went. She relented at parting sofar as to say, don't you put
yourself about too much, ma'am.And if there's any little thing I can
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do next week, I'm sure Isha'n't mind, from which I inferred that
she wished to come back to usafter Halloween. Up to the last she
adhered to the fiction of the niecewith touching fidelity. Thursday passed off pretty
well. Laura showed marked ability inthe matter of steak and potatoes, and
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I confess that my knives and theplates which I insisted upon washing, were
better done than I had dared toexpect. Friday came. It is about
what happened on that Friday that thisis written. I wonder if I should
have believed it anyone had told itto me. I will write the story
of it as quickly and plainly asI can. Everything that happened that day
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is burnt into my brain. Ishall not forget anything nor leave anything out.
I got up early, I remember, and lighted the kitchen fire,
and had just achieved as smoky successwhen my little wife came running down,
as sunny and sweet as the clearOctober morning itself. We prepared breakfast together
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and found it very good fun.The housework was soon done, and when
brushes and brooms and pails were quietagain, the house was still. Indeed,
it is wonderful what a difference onemakes in a house. We really
missed Missus Dorman. Quite apart fromconsiderations concerning pots and pans. We spent
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the day in dusting our books andputting them straight, and dined gaily on
cold steak and coffee. Laura was, if possible, brighter and gayer and
sweeter than usual, and I beganto think that a little domestic toil was
really good for her. We hadnever been so merry since we were married,
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and the walk we had that afternoonwas I think the happiest time of
all my life. When we hadwatched the deep scarlet clouds slowly pale into
leaden gray against a pale green sky, and saw the white mysts curl up
along the hedgerows in the distant marsh, we came back to the house silently,
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hand in hand, you are sad, my darling, I said,
half jestingly. As we sat downtogether in our little parlor. I expected
a disclaimer. My own silence hadbeen the silence of complete happiness. To
my surprise, she said, yes, I think I am sad, or
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rather I am uneasy. I don'tthink I'm very well. I have shivered
three or four times since we camein. And it is not cold,
is it, no, I said, And I hoped it was not a
chill court from the treacherous mists thatroll up from the marshes in the dying
light. No, she said,she did not think so. Then after
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a silence, she spoke suddenly,do you ever have presentiments of evil?
No, I said, smiling.Then I shouldn't believe of them. If
I had, I do. Shewent on the night my father died,
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I knew it, though he wasright away in the north of Scotland.
I did not answer in words.She sat looking up at the fire for
some time in silence, gently strokingmy hand lash. She sprang up,
came behind me, and, drawingmy head back, she kissed me.
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There, it's over now, shesaid, What a baby I am.
Come light the candles and we'll havesome of these new Rubinstein duets. And
we spent a happy hour or twoat the piano, and about half past
ten, I began to long forthe good night pipe, but Laura looked
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so white that I felt it wouldbe brutal of me to fill our sitting
room with the fumes of strong Cavendish. I'll take my pipe outside, I
said, let me come too,No, sweetheart, not tonight. You're
much too tired. I shan't belong. Go to bed, or I
shall have an invalid to nurse tomorrow, as well as the boots to clean.
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I kissed her and was turning togo when she flung her arms around
my neck and held me as ifshe would never let me go again.
I stroked her hair. Come,pussy, you're overtired. The housework has
been too much for you. Sheloosened her clasp a little and drew a
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deep breath. We've been very happytoday, Jack, haven't we don't stay
out too long? I won't,my dearie. I strolled out of the
door, leaving it unlatched. Whata night it was. The jagged masses
of heavy dark cloud were rolling atintervals from her horizon to horizon, and
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thin white wreaths covered the stars.Though all the rush of the cloud river,
the moon swam, breasting the wavesand disappearing again in the darkness.
And now and again her light reachedthe woodlands. They seemed to be slowly
and noiselessly waving in time to theswing of the clouds above them. There
was a strange gray light over allthe earth. The fields had that shadowy
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bloom over them which only comes fromthe marriage of dew and moonshine, or
frost and starlight. I walked upand down, drinking in the beauty of
the quieter and the changing sky.The night was absolutely silent. Nothing seemed
to be abroad. There was noscurrying of rabbits or twitter of the half
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asleep birds. And though the cloudswent sailing across the sky, the wind
that drove them never came low enoughto rustle the dead leaves in the woodland
paths. Across the meadows, Icould see the church tower standing out black
and gray against the sky. Iwalked there, thinking over our three months
of happiness, and of my wife, her dear eyes, her loving ways,
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my own little girl. What avision came then, of a long
glad life for you and me together. I heard a bell beat from the
church eleven already I turned to goin, but the night held me.
I could not go back into ourlittle warm rooms. Yet I would go
up to the church. I feltvaguely that it would be good to carry
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my love and thankfulness to the sanctuary, whither so many loads of sorrow and
gladness had been borne by the menand women of the dead years. I
looked in at the low window asI went by. Laura was half lying
on her chair in front of thefire. I could not see her face,
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only her little head showed dark againstthe pale blue wall. She was
quite still a sleep, no doubt. My heart reached out to her as
I went on. There must bea god, i thought, and a
God who was good. How otherwisecould anything so sweet and dear as she
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have ever been imagined. I walkedslowly along the edge of the wood.
A sound broke the stillness of thenight. It was a rustling in the
wood. I stopped, and Ilistened. The sound stopped too. I
went now and distinctly heard another stepthan mine answer mine, like an echo.
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There was a poacher, or awood stealer most likely, but these
were not unknown in our Arcadian neighborhood. But whoever it was, it was
a fool. Not a step morelightly, I turned into the wood,
and now the footsteps seemed to comefrom the path I had just left.
It must be an echo, Ithought. The wood looked perfect in the
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moonlight. The large dying ferns andthe brushwood showed where through thinning foliage the
pale light came down. The treetrunks stood up like Gothic columns all around
me. They reminded me of thechurch, and I turned into the beer
balk and passed through the corpse gatebetween the graves to the low porch.
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I paused for a moment on thestone seat where Laura and I had watched
the fading landscape. Then I noticedthat the door of the church was open,
and I blamed myself for having leftit and latched the other night.
We were the only people who evercared to come to the church except on
Sundays, and I was vexed tothink that through our carelessness, the damp
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autumn airs had had a chance ofgetting in and injuring the old fabric.
I went in. It will seemedstrange, perhaps that I should have gone
halfway up the aisle before, Iremembered with a sudden chill, followed by
as sudden a rush of self contempt. This was the very day and hour
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when a cord into tradition the shapesdrawed out Man's size in marble, began
to walk. Having thus remembered thelegend, and remembered it with a shiver,
of which I was ashamed, Icould not do otherwise than walk up
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towards the altar, just to lookat the figures, as I said to
myself, Really, what I wantedwas to assure myself first that I did
not believe the legend, and secondlythat it was not true. I was
rather glad that I had come.I thought now I could tell missus Dawman
how vain her fancies were, andhow peaceful the marble figures. Slept on
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through the ghastly hour. With myhands in my pockets, I passed up
the aisle In the gray dim light. The eastern end of the church looked
larger than usual, and the archesabove the two tombs looked larger too.
The moon came out and showed methe reason I stopped short. My heart
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gave a leap that nearly choked me, and then sank sickeningly. The bodies
drawn out man's size, were gone, and their marble slabs lay wide and
bare in the vague moonlight that slantedthrough the east window. Were they really
gone? Or was I mad?Clenching my nerves, I stooped and passed
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my hand over the smooth slabs andfelt their flat, unbroken surface. Had
someone taken the things away? Wasit some vile, practical joke? I
would make sure anyway. In aninstant, I had made a torch of
a newspaper which happened to be inmy pocket, and lighting it, held
it high above my head. Itsyellow glare illuminated the dark arches of those
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slabs. The figures were gone,and I was alone in the church?
Or was I alone? And thena horror seized me, A horror into
minable and describable, an overwhelming certaintyof supreme, an accomplished calamity. I
flung down the torch and tore alongthe aisle and out through the porch,
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biting my lip as I ran tokeep myself from shrieking aloud. Who was
I mad? Or What was thisthat possessed me? I leapt the churchyard
wall and took the straight cut acrossthe fields, led by the light from
our windows. Just as I gotover the first style, a dark figure
seemed to spring out of the ground. Mad still that certainty of misfortune,
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I made for the thing that stoodin my path, shouting, get out
of the way, can't you.But my push met with a more vigorous
resistance than I had expected. Myarms were caught just above the elbow and
held as in a vice. Andthen the raw boned Irish doctor actor he
shook me. Would you, hecried in his an unmistakable accent. Would
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you then let go of me,you fool, I gasped. The marble
figures have come from the church,I tell you they've gone. He broke
into a ringing laugh. I'll haveto give you a draft tomorrow. I
see you've been smoking too much andlistening to old waves teals. Welcome back
with me. I'm going up toold Parmers his daughter's ill. We'll look
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in at the church and let mesee the bear slabs. You go if
you like, I said, alittle less frantic for his laughter. I'm
going home to my wife. RubbishMan said, he do you think i'll
permit of that? Are you togo saying all your life that you've seen
solid marble endowed with vitality, andme to go all my life seeing you
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are a coward? No, sir, you shan't do it. The night
air a human voice, and Ithink also the physical contact with this six
feet of solid common sense brought meback a little to my ordinary self,
and the word coward was a mentalshower bath. Come on, then,
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I said, suddenly, perhaps you'reright. He still held my arm tightly.
We've got over the style and backto the church. All was still
as death. The place smelt verydamp, unearthy. We walked up the
aisle. I am not ashamed toconfess that I shut my eyes. I
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knew the figures would not be there. I heard Kelly strike a match here
they are you see right enough?You've been dreaming or drinking, asking your
pardon for the imputation. I openedmy eyes by Kelly's expiring vesta. I
saw two shapes lying in their marble, on their slabs. I drew a
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deep breath and caught his hand.I am awfully indebted to you I said.
It must have been some trick ofthe light, or I've been working
rather hard. Perhaps that's it.Do you know I was quite convinced they
were gone. I'm aware of that, he answered, rather grimly. You'll
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have to be careful of that brainof yours, my friend, I assure
you. He was leaning over andlooking at the right hand figure, whose
stony face was the most villainous anddeadly in expression by jove. He said,
something has been afoot here. Thishand is broken, and so it
was. I was certain that ithad been perfect the last time Laura and
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I had been there. Perhaps someonehas tried to remove them, said the
young doctor. That won't account formy impression, I objected. Too much
painting and tobacco will account for that. Well enough, come along, I
said, or my wife will begetting anxious. You'll come in and have
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a drop of whiskey and drink confusionto ghosts and better sense to me.
I ought to go up to Palmer's, but it's so late now i'd best
leave it till the morning, hereplied. I was kept late at the
union, and I've had to seea lot of people since. All right,
I'll come back with you. Ithink he fancied I needed him more
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than Palmer's girl. So discussing howsuch an illusion could have been possible,
and deducing from this experience large generalitiesconcerning ghostly apparitions, we walked up to
our cottage. We saw as wewalked up the garden path that bright light
streamed out of the front door,and presently saw that the parlor door was
(34:49):
opened too. Has she gone out? Come in? I said, and
Doctor Kelly followed me into the parlor. It was all ablaze with candles,
not only the wax ones, butat least a dozen gut her in glaring
tallow dips stuck in vases, andornaments in unlikely places. Light I knew
was Laura's remedy for nervousness, Poorchild? Why had I left her?
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Brute that I was? We glancedaround the room, and at first we
did not see her. The windowwas open and the drought set all the
candles flaring one way. Her chairwas empty, and her handkerchief and book
lay on the floor. I turnedto the window. There in the recess
(35:36):
of the window I saw her,Oh, my child, my love.
Had she gone to that window towatch for me? And what had come
into the room behind her to whathad she turned with that luck of frantic
beer and horror, Oh, mylittle one, had she thought that it
(35:58):
was I whose steps she and turnedto meet what She had fallen back across
her table in the window, andher body lay half on it, half
on the window seat, and herhead hung down over the table. The
brown hair loosened and fallen into thecarpet. Her lips were drawn back and
(36:22):
her eyes wide wide open. Theysaw nothing now what had they last seen?
The doctor moved towards her, butI pushed him aside and sprang to
her quarter in my arms and cried, it's all right, Laura, I've
got you safe, wifey. Shefell into my arms in a heap.
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I clasped her and kissed her andcalled her by all her pet names.
But I think I knew all thetime that she was dead. Her hands
were tightly clenched in one of themshe held something fast. When I was
quite sure that she was dead andthat nothing mattered at all anymore, I
(37:08):
let him open her hand to seewhat she held. It was a gray
marble finger. Thank you for listeningto the New Ghost Stories podcast. If
you've enjoyed the podcast and would liketo support what I do, please consider
(37:30):
leaving a review on any platform andsubscribing to hear future releases. You also
become a patron and enjoy some bonuscontent by signing up at patreon dot com
slash New ghost Stories. This podcasthas written, presented, and produced by
David Paul Nixon. If you'd liketo find out more about New ghost Stories,
visit my website New ghost Stories dotsubstack dot com, and to get
(37:52):
all the latest from me, followme on Twitter, Instagram and mastered on
at New ghost Stories. Tune innext month for another classic ghost story
Hello, and welcome to a bonusepisode of the New ghost Stories podcast.
In our bonus episodes, I givereadings of classic at ghost Stories. This
time around, it's a tale byEdith Nesbitt. She may be best known
for her children's books like The RailwayChildren, but she was also a master
of supernatural stories. This is oneof her best. It's called Man Size
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in marble, and I hope youenjoy it. Although every word of this
story is as true as despair,I do not expect people to believe it.
Nowadays, a rational explanation is requiredbefore belief is possible. Let me
(01:06):
then at once offer the rational explanationwhich finds most favor among those who have
heard the tale of my wife's tragedy. It is held that we are under
a delusion Laura and I on thatthirty first of October, and that this
supposition places a whole matter on asatisfactory and believable basis. The reader can
(01:29):
judge whether he too has heard mystory, how far this is an explanation,
and in what sense it is rational. There were three who took part
in this, Laura and I andanother man. The other man still lives
and can speak to the truth ofthe least credible part of my story.
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I never in my life knew whatit was to have as much money as
I required to supply the most ordinaryneeds good colors, books, and cab
fares. And when we were married, we knew quite well that we should
only be able to live at allby strict punctuality and attention to business.
I used to paint in those days, and Laura used to write, and
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we felt sure we could keep thepot at least simmering. Living in town
was out of the question, sowe went to look for a cottage in
the country, which should at oncebe sanitary and picturesque. So rarely did
these two qualities meet in one cottage, and I'll search for us for some
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time, quite fruitless. We triedadvertisements, but most of the desirable rural
residences which we did look at provedto be lacking in both essentials. And
when a cottage chanced to have drains, it always had stuck out as well,
and was shaped like a tea caddy. And if we found a vine
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and rose covered porch, corruption invariablylurked within our minds got so befogged by
the eloquence of house agents, andthe rival disadvantages of the fever traps and
outrages to beauty which we had seenand scorned. That I very much doubted
(03:19):
that either of us, on ourwedding morning knew the difference between a house
and a haystack. But when wegot away from friends and house agents on
our honeymoon, our wits grew clearagain, and we knew a pretty cottage
when at last we saw one.It was at Brenzette, a little village
set on a hill over against thesouthern marshes. We had gone there from
(03:44):
the seaside village where we were stayingsee the church, and two fields from
the church we found this cottage.We had gone there from the seaside village
where we were staying, to seethe church, and two fields from the
church we found this cottage. Itstood quite by itself, about two miles
from the village. There was along, low building with rooms sticking out
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in unexpected places. There was abit of stone work, ivy covered and
moss grown, just two old roomsall that was left of a big house
that had once stood there. Andround this stone work the house had grown
up, stripped of its roses andjasmine. It would have been hideous as
(04:30):
it stood, it was charming,and after a brief examination, we took
it. It was absurdly cheap.The rest of our honeymoon we spent in
grubbing around in secondhand shops in thecounty town, picking up bits of old
oak and chippendale chairs for our furnishing. We wound up with a run up
to town and a visit to Liberties, and soon the low oak beamed lattice
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windowed rooms began to be home.There was a jolly old fashioned garden with
ass paths and no end of hollyhocksand sunflowers and big lilies. From the
window you could see the marsh pasturesand beyond them the blue thin line of
the sea. We were as happyas the summer was glorious, and settled
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down into work sooner than we ourselvesexpected. I was never tired of sketching
the view and the wonderful cloud effectsfrom the open lattice, and Laura would
sit at the table and write versesabout them, in which I mostly played
the part of foreground. We gota tall, old peasant woman to do
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for us. Her face and figurewere good, though her cooking was of
the homeliest, but she understood aboutgardening, and told us all the old
names of the coppices and cornfields,and the stories of the smugglers and highwaymen,
and better still, of the thingsthat walked, and of the sights
(06:00):
which met one in lonely glens ofa starlight night. She was a great
comfort to us, because Laura hatedhousekeeping as much as I loved folklore,
and we soon came to leave allthe domestic business to missus Dorman, and
to use her legends in little magazinestories, which brought in the jingling guinea.
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We had three months of married happinessand did not have a single quarrel.
One October evening, I had beendown to smoke a pipe with the
doctor, our only neighbor, apleasant young irishman. Laura had stayed at
home to finish a comic sketch ofa village episode for the monthly marplot.
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I left her laughing over her ownjokes, and came in to find a
crumpled heap of pale Muslim weeping onthe window seat. Good heavens, my
darling, what's the matter? Icried, Taking her in my arms.
She leaned her little dark head againstmy shoulder and went on crying. I'd
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never seen her cry before. He'dalways been so happy, you see,
and I felt sure some frightful misfortunehad happened. What's the matter do you
speak? It's missus Dorman. Shesobbed. What has she done? I
inquired, immensely relieved. She saysshe must go before the end of the
(07:29):
month. And she says her nieceis ill. She's gone down to see
her now. But I don't believethat's the reason, because her niece is
always ill. I believe someone hasbeen setting her against us. Her manner
was so queer. Never mind,pussy, I said, whatever you do,
don't cry, or I shall haveto cry too to keep you in
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countenance, and then you'll never respectyour man again. She dried her eyes
obediently on my handkerche and even smiledfaintly. But you see, she went
on, it is really serious,because these village people are so cheepy,
and if one won't do a thing, you may be quite sure none of
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the others will. And I shallhave to cook the dinners and wash up
their hateful, greasy plates, andyou'll have to carry cans of water about,
and clean the boots and knives,and we shall never have any time
for work or earn any money oranything. We shall have to work all
day, and only be able torest when we are waiting for the kettle
to boil. I represented to herthat even if we had to perform these
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duties, the day would still presentsome margin for other toils and recreations.
But she refused to see the matterin any but the greyest light. She
was very unreasonable, my Laura.But I could not have loved her anymore
if she had been as reasonable asweightly. I'll speak to missus Dorman when
she comes back and see if Ican't come to terms with her, I
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said, perhaps you wants a risein her screw. It will be all
right. Let's walk up to thechurch. The church was a large and
lonely one, and we loved togo there, especially upon bright nights.
The path skirted a wood cut throughat once, and ran along the crest
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of the hill, through two meadows, and round the churchyard wall, over
which the old ewes loomed in blackmasses of shadow. This path, which
was partly paved, was called thebier Balk, for it had long been
the way by which the corpses hadbeen carried to burial. The churchyard was
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richly treed, and was shaded bygreat elms, which stood just outside and
stretched their majestic arms in benediction overthe happy dead. A large low port
let one into the building by aNorman doorway, and a heavy oak door
studded with iron. Inside, thearches rose into darkness, and between them
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the reticulated windows, which stood outwhite in the moonlight. In the chancel.
The windows were of a rich glass, which showed in faint light their
noble coloring, and made the blackoak of their choir pews hardly more solid
than the shadows. But on eachside of the altar lay a gray marble
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figure of a night in full platearmor, lying upon a low slab,
with hands held up in everlasting prayer. And these figures, oddly enough,
were always to be seen if therewas any glimmer of light in the church.
Their names were lost, but thepeasants told of them that they had
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been fierce and wicked men, maraudersby land and sea, who had been
the scourge of their time, andhad been guilty of deeds so foul as
the house. They had lived in, the big house by the way that
had stood on the site of ourcottage, had been stricken by lightning and
the vengeance of heaven. But forall that the gold of their heirs had
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brought them a place in the church. Looking at the bad hard faces reproduced
in marble, this story was easilybelieved. The church looked at its best
and weirdest on that night, forthe shadows of the yew trees fell through
the windows, upon the floor ofthe nave and touched the pillars with the
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tattered shade. We sat down together, without speaking, and watched the solemn
beauty of the old church with someof that awe which inspired its early builders.
We walked to the chancel and lookedat the sleeping warriors. Then we
rested some time on the stone seatin the porch, looking out over the
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stretch of a moonlit meadows, feelingin every fiber of our being the peace
of the night and of our happylove, and came away at last with
a sense that even scrubbing and blackleading were but small troubles at their worst.
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Missus Dorman had come back from thevillage, and I at once invited
her to a tete? Are tetenow, Missus Dorman, I said,
when I got her into my paintingroom, what's all this about you not
staying with us? I should beglad to get away, sir before the
end of the month. She answered, with her usual placid dignity. Have
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you any fault to find Missus dormant? None at all, sir. You
and your lady have always been mostkind. I'm sure. Well what is
it? Are your wages not highenough? Oh, sir, I gets
quite enough? Then why not stay? I rather not? With some hesitation.
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My niece is ill, but yourniece has been ill ever since we
came no answer. There was along and awkward silence. I broke it.
Can't you stay for another month?I asked, No, sir,
I'm bound to go by Thursday,and this was Monday. Well, I
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must say, I think you mighthave let us know before. There's no
time now to get anyone else,and your mistress is not fit to do
any heavy housework. Can't you staytill next week? I might be able
to come back next week. Iwas now convinced that all she wanted was
a brief holiday, which we shouldhave been willing enough to let her have
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as soon as we could get asubstitute. But why must you go this
week, I persisted, Come outwith it. Missus Dorman drew the little
shawl which she always wore, tightlyacross her bosom, as though she were
cold. Then she said, witha sort of effort, They say,
sir, as this was a bighouse in Catholic times, and there was
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many deeds done here. The natureof the deeds might be vaguely inferred from
the inflection of Missus Dorman's voice,which was enough to make one's blood run
cold. I was glad that Laurawas not in the room. She was
always nervous, as highly strung natureas are, and I felt that these
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tales about our house, told bythis old woman, with her impressive manner
and contagious credulity, might have madeour home less. Dear to my wife,
tell me all about it, MissusDorman, I said, you need
minds about telling me. I'm notlike the young people who make fun of
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such things, which was partly true. Well, sir, she sank her
voice. You may have seen inthe church besides the old two shapes,
you mean the effigies of the nightsin armor. I mean the two bodies
drawed out man's size in marble.And I had to admit that a description
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was a thousand times more graphic thanmine. Say nothing of a kind of
weird force and uncanniness about the phrasedrawed out man's size in marble. They
do, say, as an allsaints eve them two bodies sits up on
their slabs and gets off of them, and then walks down the aisle in
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their marble. Another good phrase,Missus Dorman. And as the church clock
strikes eleven, they walk out ofthe church door and over the graves and
along the beer balk. And ifit's a wet night, there's the marks
of their feet in the morning.And where do they go, I asked,
(15:58):
rather fastened. It comes back hereto their home, sir. And
if anyone meets them, well thenwhat I asked. But no, not
another word I could get from her, save that her niece was ill and
she must go. After what Ihad heard. I scorned to discuss the
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niece and tried to get from MissusDawman more details of the legend. I
could get nothing but warnings. Whateveryou do, sir, lock the door
early on, all saints eve andmake the cross sign over the doorstep and
on the windows. But has anyoneever seen these things? I persisted,
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that's not for me to say.I know what I know, sir,
well, who was here last year? No one, sir. The lady
has owned the house, only stayedhere in summer, and she always went
to London a full month before thenight. And I'm sorry to inconvenience you
and your lady, but my niece'sill and I must go on Thursday.
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I could have shaken her for herabsurd reiteration of that obvious fiction after she
told me her real reasons she wasdetermined to go, Nor could our United
entreaties move her in the least.I did not tell Laura the legend of
the shapes that walked in their marble, partly because a legend concerning our house
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might perhaps trouble my wife, andpartly, I think for some more occult
reason. This was not quite thesame to me as any other story,
and I did not want to talkabout it till the day was over.
I had very soon ceased to thinkof the legend. However, I was
painting a portrait of Laura against thelattice window and I could not think of
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much else. I got a splendidbackground of yellow and gray sunset, and
was working away with enthusiasm at herface. On the Thursday, Missus Dorman
went. She relented at parting sofar as to say, don't you put
yourself about too much, ma'am.And if there's any little thing I can
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do next week, I'm sure Isha'n't mind, from which I inferred that
she wished to come back to usafter Halloween. Up to the last she
adhered to the fiction of the niecewith touching fidelity. Thursday passed off pretty
well. Laura showed marked ability inthe matter of steak and potatoes, and
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I confess that my knives and theplates which I insisted upon washing, were
better done than I had dared toexpect. Friday came. It is about
what happened on that Friday that thisis written. I wonder if I should
have believed it anyone had told itto me. I will write the story
of it as quickly and plainly asI can. Everything that happened that day
(19:06):
is burnt into my brain. Ishall not forget anything nor leave anything out.
I got up early, I remember, and lighted the kitchen fire,
and had just achieved as smoky successwhen my little wife came running down,
as sunny and sweet as the clearOctober morning itself. We prepared breakfast together
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and found it very good fun.The housework was soon done, and when
brushes and brooms and pails were quietagain, the house was still. Indeed,
it is wonderful what a difference onemakes in a house. We really
missed Missus Dorman. Quite apart fromconsiderations concerning pots and pans. We spent
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the day in dusting our books andputting them straight, and dined gaily on
cold steak and coffee. Laura was, if possible, brighter and gayer and
sweeter than usual, and I beganto think that a little domestic toil was
really good for her. We hadnever been so merry since we were married,
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and the walk we had that afternoonwas I think the happiest time of
all my life. When we hadwatched the deep scarlet clouds slowly pale into
leaden gray against a pale green sky, and saw the white mysts curl up
along the hedgerows in the distant marsh, we came back to the house silently,
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hand in hand, you are sad, my darling, I said,
half jestingly. As we sat downtogether in our little parlor. I expected
a disclaimer. My own silence hadbeen the silence of complete happiness. To
my surprise, she said, yes, I think I am sad, or
(21:00):
rather I am uneasy. I don'tthink I'm very well. I have shivered
three or four times since we camein. And it is not cold,
is it, no, I said, And I hoped it was not a
chill court from the treacherous mists thatroll up from the marshes in the dying
light. No, she said,she did not think so. Then after
(21:23):
a silence, she spoke suddenly,do you ever have presentiments of evil?
No, I said, smiling.Then I shouldn't believe of them. If
I had, I do. Shewent on the night my father died,
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I knew it, though he wasright away in the north of Scotland.
I did not answer in words.She sat looking up at the fire for
some time in silence, gently strokingmy hand lash. She sprang up,
came behind me, and, drawingmy head back, she kissed me.
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There, it's over now, shesaid, What a baby I am.
Come light the candles and we'll havesome of these new Rubinstein duets. And
we spent a happy hour or twoat the piano, and about half past
ten, I began to long forthe good night pipe, but Laura looked
(22:29):
so white that I felt it wouldbe brutal of me to fill our sitting
room with the fumes of strong Cavendish. I'll take my pipe outside, I
said, let me come too,No, sweetheart, not tonight. You're
much too tired. I shan't belong. Go to bed, or I
shall have an invalid to nurse tomorrow, as well as the boots to clean.
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I kissed her and was turning togo when she flung her arms around
my neck and held me as ifshe would never let me go again.
I stroked her hair. Come,pussy, you're overtired. The housework has
been too much for you. Sheloosened her clasp a little and drew a
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deep breath. We've been very happytoday, Jack, haven't we don't stay
out too long? I won't,my dearie. I strolled out of the
door, leaving it unlatched. Whata night it was. The jagged masses
of heavy dark cloud were rolling atintervals from her horizon to horizon, and
(23:37):
thin white wreaths covered the stars.Though all the rush of the cloud river,
the moon swam, breasting the wavesand disappearing again in the darkness.
And now and again her light reachedthe woodlands. They seemed to be slowly
and noiselessly waving in time to theswing of the clouds above them. There
was a strange gray light over allthe earth. The fields had that shadowy
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bloom over them which only comes fromthe marriage of dew and moonshine, or
frost and starlight. I walked upand down, drinking in the beauty of
the quieter and the changing sky.The night was absolutely silent. Nothing seemed
to be abroad. There was noscurrying of rabbits or twitter of the half
(24:29):
asleep birds. And though the cloudswent sailing across the sky, the wind
that drove them never came low enoughto rustle the dead leaves in the woodland
paths. Across the meadows, Icould see the church tower standing out black
and gray against the sky. Iwalked there, thinking over our three months
of happiness, and of my wife, her dear eyes, her loving ways,
(24:55):
my own little girl. What avision came then, of a long
glad life for you and me together. I heard a bell beat from the
church eleven already I turned to goin, but the night held me.
I could not go back into ourlittle warm rooms. Yet I would go
up to the church. I feltvaguely that it would be good to carry
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my love and thankfulness to the sanctuary, whither so many loads of sorrow and
gladness had been borne by the menand women of the dead years. I
looked in at the low window asI went by. Laura was half lying
on her chair in front of thefire. I could not see her face,
(25:40):
only her little head showed dark againstthe pale blue wall. She was
quite still a sleep, no doubt. My heart reached out to her as
I went on. There must bea god, i thought, and a
God who was good. How otherwisecould anything so sweet and dear as she
(26:02):
have ever been imagined. I walkedslowly along the edge of the wood.
A sound broke the stillness of thenight. It was a rustling in the
wood. I stopped, and Ilistened. The sound stopped too. I
went now and distinctly heard another stepthan mine answer mine, like an echo.
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There was a poacher, or awood stealer most likely, but these
were not unknown in our Arcadian neighborhood. But whoever it was, it was
a fool. Not a step morelightly, I turned into the wood,
and now the footsteps seemed to comefrom the path I had just left.
It must be an echo, Ithought. The wood looked perfect in the
(26:48):
moonlight. The large dying ferns andthe brushwood showed where through thinning foliage the
pale light came down. The treetrunks stood up like Gothic columns all around
me. They reminded me of thechurch, and I turned into the beer
balk and passed through the corpse gatebetween the graves to the low porch.
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I paused for a moment on thestone seat where Laura and I had watched
the fading landscape. Then I noticedthat the door of the church was open,
and I blamed myself for having leftit and latched the other night.
We were the only people who evercared to come to the church except on
Sundays, and I was vexed tothink that through our carelessness, the damp
(27:34):
autumn airs had had a chance ofgetting in and injuring the old fabric.
I went in. It will seemedstrange, perhaps that I should have gone
halfway up the aisle before, Iremembered with a sudden chill, followed by
as sudden a rush of self contempt. This was the very day and hour
(27:57):
when a cord into tradition the shapesdrawed out Man's size in marble, began
to walk. Having thus remembered thelegend, and remembered it with a shiver,
of which I was ashamed, Icould not do otherwise than walk up
(28:17):
towards the altar, just to lookat the figures, as I said to
myself, Really, what I wantedwas to assure myself first that I did
not believe the legend, and secondlythat it was not true. I was
rather glad that I had come.I thought now I could tell missus Dawman
how vain her fancies were, andhow peaceful the marble figures. Slept on
(28:42):
through the ghastly hour. With myhands in my pockets, I passed up
the aisle In the gray dim light. The eastern end of the church looked
larger than usual, and the archesabove the two tombs looked larger too.
The moon came out and showed methe reason I stopped short. My heart
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gave a leap that nearly choked me, and then sank sickeningly. The bodies
drawn out man's size, were gone, and their marble slabs lay wide and
bare in the vague moonlight that slantedthrough the east window. Were they really
gone? Or was I mad?Clenching my nerves, I stooped and passed
(29:25):
my hand over the smooth slabs andfelt their flat, unbroken surface. Had
someone taken the things away? Wasit some vile, practical joke? I
would make sure anyway. In aninstant, I had made a torch of
a newspaper which happened to be inmy pocket, and lighting it, held
it high above my head. Itsyellow glare illuminated the dark arches of those
(29:48):
slabs. The figures were gone,and I was alone in the church?
Or was I alone? And thena horror seized me, A horror into
minable and describable, an overwhelming certaintyof supreme, an accomplished calamity. I
flung down the torch and tore alongthe aisle and out through the porch,
(30:14):
biting my lip as I ran tokeep myself from shrieking aloud. Who was
I mad? Or What was thisthat possessed me? I leapt the churchyard
wall and took the straight cut acrossthe fields, led by the light from
our windows. Just as I gotover the first style, a dark figure
seemed to spring out of the ground. Mad still that certainty of misfortune,
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I made for the thing that stoodin my path, shouting, get out
of the way, can't you.But my push met with a more vigorous
resistance than I had expected. Myarms were caught just above the elbow and
held as in a vice. Andthen the raw boned Irish doctor actor he
shook me. Would you, hecried in his an unmistakable accent. Would
(31:04):
you then let go of me,you fool, I gasped. The marble
figures have come from the church,I tell you they've gone. He broke
into a ringing laugh. I'll haveto give you a draft tomorrow. I
see you've been smoking too much andlistening to old waves teals. Welcome back
with me. I'm going up toold Parmers his daughter's ill. We'll look
(31:27):
in at the church and let mesee the bear slabs. You go if
you like, I said, alittle less frantic for his laughter. I'm
going home to my wife. RubbishMan said, he do you think i'll
permit of that? Are you togo saying all your life that you've seen
solid marble endowed with vitality, andme to go all my life seeing you
(31:48):
are a coward? No, sir, you shan't do it. The night
air a human voice, and Ithink also the physical contact with this six
feet of solid common sense brought meback a little to my ordinary self,
and the word coward was a mentalshower bath. Come on, then,
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I said, suddenly, perhaps you'reright. He still held my arm tightly.
We've got over the style and backto the church. All was still
as death. The place smelt verydamp, unearthy. We walked up the
aisle. I am not ashamed toconfess that I shut my eyes. I
(32:32):
knew the figures would not be there. I heard Kelly strike a match here
they are you see right enough?You've been dreaming or drinking, asking your
pardon for the imputation. I openedmy eyes by Kelly's expiring vesta. I
saw two shapes lying in their marble, on their slabs. I drew a
(32:59):
deep breath and caught his hand.I am awfully indebted to you I said.
It must have been some trick ofthe light, or I've been working
rather hard. Perhaps that's it.Do you know I was quite convinced they
were gone. I'm aware of that, he answered, rather grimly. You'll
(33:19):
have to be careful of that brainof yours, my friend, I assure
you. He was leaning over andlooking at the right hand figure, whose
stony face was the most villainous anddeadly in expression by jove. He said,
something has been afoot here. Thishand is broken, and so it
was. I was certain that ithad been perfect the last time Laura and
(33:45):
I had been there. Perhaps someonehas tried to remove them, said the
young doctor. That won't account formy impression, I objected. Too much
painting and tobacco will account for that. Well enough, come along, I
said, or my wife will begetting anxious. You'll come in and have
(34:05):
a drop of whiskey and drink confusionto ghosts and better sense to me.
I ought to go up to Palmer's, but it's so late now i'd best
leave it till the morning, hereplied. I was kept late at the
union, and I've had to seea lot of people since. All right,
I'll come back with you. Ithink he fancied I needed him more
(34:27):
than Palmer's girl. So discussing howsuch an illusion could have been possible,
and deducing from this experience large generalitiesconcerning ghostly apparitions, we walked up to
our cottage. We saw as wewalked up the garden path that bright light
streamed out of the front door,and presently saw that the parlor door was
(34:49):
opened too. Has she gone out? Come in? I said, and
Doctor Kelly followed me into the parlor. It was all ablaze with candles,
not only the wax ones, butat least a dozen gut her in glaring
tallow dips stuck in vases, andornaments in unlikely places. Light I knew
was Laura's remedy for nervousness, Poorchild? Why had I left her?
(35:15):
Brute that I was? We glancedaround the room, and at first we
did not see her. The windowwas open and the drought set all the
candles flaring one way. Her chairwas empty, and her handkerchief and book
lay on the floor. I turnedto the window. There in the recess
(35:36):
of the window I saw her,Oh, my child, my love.
Had she gone to that window towatch for me? And what had come
into the room behind her to whathad she turned with that luck of frantic
beer and horror, Oh, mylittle one, had she thought that it
(35:58):
was I whose steps she and turnedto meet what She had fallen back across
her table in the window, andher body lay half on it, half
on the window seat, and herhead hung down over the table. The
brown hair loosened and fallen into thecarpet. Her lips were drawn back and
(36:22):
her eyes wide wide open. Theysaw nothing now what had they last seen?
The doctor moved towards her, butI pushed him aside and sprang to
her quarter in my arms and cried, it's all right, Laura, I've
got you safe, wifey. Shefell into my arms in a heap.
(36:45):
I clasped her and kissed her andcalled her by all her pet names.
But I think I knew all thetime that she was dead. Her hands
were tightly clenched in one of themshe held something fast. When I was
quite sure that she was dead andthat nothing mattered at all anymore, I
(37:08):
let him open her hand to seewhat she held. It was a gray
marble finger. Thank you for listeningto the New Ghost Stories podcast. If
you've enjoyed the podcast and would liketo support what I do, please consider
(37:30):
leaving a review on any platform andsubscribing to hear future releases. You also
become a patron and enjoy some bonuscontent by signing up at patreon dot com
slash New ghost Stories. This podcasthas written, presented, and produced by
David Paul Nixon. If you'd liketo find out more about New ghost Stories,
visit my website New ghost Stories dotsubstack dot com, and to get
(37:52):
all the latest from me, followme on Twitter, Instagram and mastered on
at New ghost Stories. Tune innext month for another classic ghost story
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