Grand Dame's Ghost Story by C. D. I don't know whether you ever
tell your children ghost stories or not. Some mothers don't. But our mother,
though of German descent, was strong minded on the ghost subject, and
early taught all of her children to be fearless mentally as well as physically.
And though dearly fond of hearing ghost stories, especially if they were real,
true ghosts, we were sadly skeptical as to there being anything of the kind
that could harm. We were quite learned in ghostly lore, knew all about
doppelgangers, will of the wisp, blue lights, et cetera. And we
could not have a greater treat for good behavior than for our mother to draw
on her store of supernatural tales for our entertainment. The story I'm about to
relate she told us one stormy night, when gathered round her chair in her
own cozy sanctum before a cheerful fire, we ate nuts and apples and listened
while she recited an o'er true tale told her by her grandmother, who herself
witnessed the vision. It was a fearful night. The wind sobbed and wailed
round the house like lost spirits mourning their doom. The rain beat upon the
casements, and the trees, writhing in the torture of the fierce blast,
groaned and swayed until their tops almost swept the earth. Bright flashes of lightning
pierced even through the closed shutters and heavy curtains, and the thunder had a
sullen, threatening roar that made your blood creep. It was a night to
make one seek to shut out all sound, draw the curtains close, stir
the fire, and nestle deep in the armchair before it, with feet upon
the fender, and have something cheerful to think or talk about. But I
was all alone, none in the house with me but the servants, and
the servant's wing was detached from the main part of the building, for I
do not care to have menials near me, and I had no loved ones
near. It was just such a night that Nancy Black died. What a
fearful night for the soul to leave its earthly home and go out into the
vast unknown future. I spoke aloud, as rousing from a train of thought.
I drew my heavy mantle closer round me, wheeled my arm chair nearer
the fire, and cuddled down in it, burying my feet in the foot
cushion to warm them, for I felt strangely cold. I was in the
library. It was my usual sitting room, for I seldom used the parlors.
What was the use. My books were my friends, and I loved
best to be with them. My children dead or married and away. The
cold grand parlors always seemed gloomy and sad. The ghosts of departed pleasures haunted
them, and I cared not to enter them. It was a long,
wide room across the hall from the parlors, running the whole length of the
house, and was lined with shelves from floor to ceiling. My husband's father
had been a bibliomaniac, and my husband had leaning that way also, and
the shelves held many an old, rare work that was worth its weight in
gold. The fire, though burning brightly, did not illumine one half the
room, of which, sitting in the chimney corner, I commanded a full
view, and had been looking at the shadows playing on the furniture and shelves
as the flame shot up, and after a flickering moment, would die out,
leaving a gloom which would break away into fantastic shadows as the firelight would
again shoot up. While watching the gleams of light and darkling shades unconsciously,
the wailing of the storm outside attracted my attention. There seemed to be odd
noises of tapping on the windows, and saw and sighs, as though some
one was entreating entrance from the fierce tumult. And as I sat there again,
I thought of Nancy Black, the old schoolgirl friend who had loved me
so dearly, and the night when she went forth to meet the doom appointed
her. Resting my head upon my hand, I sat gazing in the fire,
thinking over her strange life and still stranger death, and wondering what could
have become of the money and jewels that I knew she had once possessed.
While sitting thus, a queer sensation crept over me. It was not fear,
but a feeling as though if I'd look up, I'd see something frightful.
A shiver not like that of cold, ran from my head to my
feet, and a sensation as though someone was breathing icye cold breath upon my
forehead, the same feeling that you would cause by holding a piece of ice
to your cheek. It fluttered over my face and finally settled round my lips,
as though the unseen one was caressing me, thrilling me with horror.
But I am not fearful, nervous, nor imaginative, and resolutely throwing off
the dread that fell upon me. I turned round and looked up, and
there so close by my side that my hand involuntarily thrown out, passed through
her seeming form stood Nancy Black. It was Nancy Black, and yet not
Nancy Black. Her whole body had a semi transparent appearance, just as your
hand looks when you hold it between yourself and a strong light. Her clothing,
apparently the same as worn in life, had a wavy, seething,
flickering look like flames have, and yet did not seem to burn. In
the name of God, Nancy Black, what brought you here? And whence
came you? I exclaimed? A hollow whisper followed. Thank you, my
old friend, for speaking to me, And oh how deeply I thank you
for thinking of me. To night I shall have rest rest, I heard
echoed, and a jeering laugh rang through the room that made her quiver at
its sound. I have been near you often, but always failed to find
you in a condition when you would be in rapport before to night. What
I came for I will tell you whence I came. You need not now
suffice it to say that were I happy, I would not be here on
such an errand, nor on such a night. It is only when the
elements are in a tumult, and the winds wail and moan, that we
come forth. When you hear these sounds, it is souls of the lost
you hear mourning their doom. Tis then they wander up and down to and
fro their only release from their fearful home of torture and undying pain. I
have come to tell you that you must go over to the old house,
and in the back room I always kept locked. Have the carpet taken up
from toward the fireplace. You will see a plank with a knot hole in
it. Remove that and you will find what caused me to lose my soul.
Have prayers said for me? For tis well to pray for the dead.
The money and jewels given charity bury in holy ground. The others you
find, and pray for them and me. Ah, Jeanette, you thought
your old friend though stray and odd, pure and innocent. It is a
bitter part of my punishment that I must change your thought of me. Farewell,
do not fail me, and I shall trouble you no more. But
whenever you hear that wind howl and sweep round the house as it does to
night, know that the lost are near. It is their swift flight through
space, fleeing before the scourge of memory and conscience that causes that sound.
That to morrow you may not think you are dreaming. Here is a token.
And she touched the palm of my hand with her finger tips. And
as you see, my child, to this day, there are three crimson
spots in the palm of my hand that nothing will eradicate. Do not fail
me, and pray for us, Jeannette, pray, And with a longing,
wistful gaze and a deep, sobbing sigh, Nancy Black faded from my
sight. Am I dreaming? I exclaimed, as I rose from my chair
and rang the bell. When the servant entered, I bade him attend to
the fire and light the lamps, and I went through the room to see
if any unusual arrangement of the furniture could have caused the appearance. But nothing
was apparent, and I bade him send my maid to attend me in my
chamber, for I could not help feeling unwilling to remain in the library any
longer. That evening, while making my toilet for the night, my maid
said, have you burned your hand? Madam? Glancing hastily down, I
saw three dark crimson spots upon the palm of my left hand. They had
an odd look, seared as though touched by a red hot iron. Yet
the flesh was soft, not burned, and not painful. Making some excuse
for it. I did not allude to it again, and dismissed her speedily,
that I might reflect undisturbed over the singular occurrence. There were the marks
upon my hand. I could not remove them, and they did not fade.
In fact, their deep red made the rest of the palm lose its
pinkish hue and look pale from the strong contrast. Could I have been asleep
and dreamed it all, and by any means have done this to myself?
I thought, but finally concluded that on the morrow I'd go over to Nancy
Black's old residence and settle the question, And with that conclusion had to content
myself until the morrow came. Nancy Black was an old friend from my girlhood
who had owned large property in the town and lived all alone in a spacious
stone house directly opposite my home, and who, when dying, had left
me the sole legettee of her property. When morning came, I took the
keys and with my maid went over to Nancy's house. It had never been
disturbed since her death, which was sudden and somewhat singular, and the furniture
remained just as she left it. When taken to her last resting place,
we went to the room Nancy had directed. I bade Sarah take up the
carpet, and sure enough there was a plank with a knot hole in it.
So I sent her from the room and lifted the plank myself, and
there between the two joints rested a long box, the lid not fastened.
Opening it, I was horrified to see two skeletons, those of an infant
and of a woman, small in stature and delicate frame. In a moment,
it flashed before me that I saw all that remained of Nancy Black's young
sister, a girl of seventeen, who had left home somewhat mysteriously years ago,
and had died while absent. At least that was the version Nancy had
given of her absence, and no one had dreamed of doubting it. Her
tale was so naturally told left orphans when Lucy was only two years and Nancy
eighteen. She had devoted her life to the care of this young girl,
and when she found her sister had fallen, she and her pride of name
and position, had destroyed mother and child that her shame might not be known,
and had lived all those dreary years in that house with her fearful secret.
Round the box heaped up on every side were money and jewels, and
a parchment scroll among them had written on it Lucy's share of our father's estate.
I carried out Nancy's wishes to the letter, for now I firmly believed
that she had come to me herself. That night, To avoid scandal resting
on the dead, I took our clergyman into my confidence, and with his
assistance, had the remains varied quietly in consecrated ground. The money and the
jewels were given to the poor, and the old building I turned into a
home for destitute females, and morning and night. As I kneel in prayer,
I pray forgiveness to rest upon Nancy Black and peace to her troubled soul,
and of Granddame's ghost story.