Speaker 1: 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.