Speaker 1: 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 a 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 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 it 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,
et cetera. 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 sighed through the stunted trees
that grew around the stone carmelocks. 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 toward 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 closed 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 illucination. 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 tornorn 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 a 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