The phantom Hag. The other evening in an old castle, the conversation turned
to apparitions, each one of the party telling a story. As the accounts
grew more horrible, the young ladies drew closer together. Have you ever had
an adventure with a ghost? Said they to me. Do you know a
story to make us shiver? Come tell us something. I am quite willing
to do so, I replied, I will tell you of an incident that
happened to myself. Toward the close of the autumn of eighteen fifty eight,
I have visited one of my friends, sub Prefect of a little city in
the center of France. Albert was an old companion of my youth, and
I had been present at his wedding. His charming wife was full of goodness
and grace. My friend wished to show me his happy home and to enter
me to his two little daughters. I was feted and taken great care of.
Three days after my arrival, I knew the entire city, curiosities,
old castles, ruins, etc. Every day, about five o'clock, Albert
would order a phaeton and we would take a long ride, returning home in
the evening. One evening, my friend said to me, tomorrow we will
go further than usual. I want to take you to Black Rocks. They
are curious, old druid stones on the wild and desolate plain. They will
interest you. My wife has not seen them yet, so we will take
her The following day. We drove out at the usual hour. Albert's wife
sat by his side. I occupied the back seat alone. The weather was
gray and somber that afternoon, and the journey was not very pleasant. When
we arrived at the Black Rocks, the sun was setting. We got out
of the phaeton and Albert took care of the horses. We walked some little
distance through the fields before reaching the giant remains of the old Druid religion.
Albert's wife wished to climb to the summit of the altar, and I assisted
her. I can still see her graceful figure as she stood draped in a
red shawl, her veil floating around her. How beautiful it is, but
does it not make you feel a little melancholy? Said she, extending her
hand toward the dark horizon, which was lighted a little by the last rays
of the sun. The afternoon wind blew violently and side through the stunted trees
that grew around the stone carmelics. Not a dwelling nor a human being was
in sight. We hastened to get down and silently retraced our steps to the
carriage. We must hurry, said Albert. The sky is threatening and we
shall have scarcely time to reach home before night. We carefully wrapped the robes
around his wife. She tied the veil around her face, and the horses
started into a rapid trot. It was growing dark. The scenery around us
was bare and desolate. Clumps of fir trees here and there, and furzy
bushes formed the only vegetation. We began to feel the cold, for the
wind blew with fury. The only sound we heard was a steady trot of
the horses and the sharp, clear tinkle of their bells. Suddenly I felt
a heavy grasp of a hand upon my shoulder. I turned my head quickly.
A horrible apparition presented itself before my eyes. In the empty place at
my side sat a hideous woman. I tried to cry out. The phantom
place her fingers upon her lips to impose silence upon me. I could not
utter a sound. The woman was clothed in white linen. Her head was
cowled, her face overspread with a corpse like pallor, and in place of
eyes were ghastly black cavities. I sat motionless, overcome by terror. The
ghost suddenly stood up and leaned over the young wife. She encircled her with
her arms and lowered her hideous head as if to kiss her forehead. What
a wind, cried Madame Albert, turning precipitately towards me. My veil is
torn. As she turned, I felt the same infernal pressure on my shoulder,
and the place occupied by the phantom was empty. I looked out to
the right and left. The road was deserted, not an object in sight.
What a dreadful gale, said Madame Albert. Did you feel it?
I cannot explain the terror that seized me. My veil was torn by the
wind, as if by an invisible hand. I am trembling still. Never
mind, said Albert, smiling. Wrap yourself up, my dear, we
will soon be warming ourselves by the good fire at home. I am starving.
A cold perspiration covered my forehead. A shiver ran through me. My
tongue clove to the roof of my mouth. I could not articulate a sound.
A sharp pain in my shoulder was the only sensible evidence that I was
not the victim of an hallucination. Putting a hand upon my aching shoulder,
I felt a rent in the cloak that was wrapped around me. I looked
at it, five perfectly distinct holes, visible traces of the grip of the
horrible phantom. I thought for a moment that I should die, or that
my reason should leave me. It was, I think, the most dreadful
moment of my life. Finally I became more calm. This nameless agony had
lasted for some minutes. I do not think it is possible for a human
being to suffer more than I did during that time. As soon as I
recovered my senses, I thought at first I would tell my friends all that
had passed, but hesitated and finally did not, fearing that my story might
frighten Madame Albert, and feeling sure my friend would not believe me. The
lights of the little city revived me, and gradually the oppression of terror that
overwhelmed me became lighter. So soon as we reached home, Madame Albert untied
her veil. It was literally in shreds. I hoped to find my clothes
whole and prove to myself that it was all imagination. But no, the
cloth was torn in five places, just where the fingers had seized my shoulder.
There was no mark, however, upon my flesh, only a dull
pain. I returned to Paris the next day, where I endeavored to forget
the strange adventure, or at least, when I thought of it, I
could force myself to think it an hallucination. The day after my return I
received a letter from my friend Albert. It was edged with black. I
opened it with a vague fear. His wife had died the day of my
return. The end of the Phantom Hag