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Speaker 1: The phantom Hag. The other evening in an old castle,

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the conversation turned to apparitions, each one of the party

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telling a story. As the accounts grew more horrible, the

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young ladies drew closer together. Have you ever had an

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adventure with a ghost? Said they to me. Do you

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know a story to make a shiver? Come tell us something.

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I am quite willing to do so, I replied, I

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will tell you of an incident that happened to myself.

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Toward the close of the autumn of eighteen fifty eight,

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I visited one of my friends, sub prefect of a

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little city in the center of France. Albert was an

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old companion of my youth, and I had been present

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at his wedding. His charming wife was full of goodness

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and grace. My friend wished to show me his happy

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home and to enter it me to his two little daughters.

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I was feted and taken great care of. Three days

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after my arrival, I knew the entire city, curiosities, old castles, ruins,

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et cetera. Every day, about five o'clock, Albert would order

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a phaeton and we would take a long ride returning

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home in the evening. One evening, my friend said to me,

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tomorrow we will go further than usual. I want to

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take you to Black Rocks. They are curious, old druid

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stones on the wild and desolate plain. They will interest you.

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My wife has not seen them yet, so we will

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take her the following day. We drove out at the

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usual hour. Albert's wife sat by his side. I occupied

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the back seat alone. The weather was gray and somber

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that afternoon, and the journey was not very pleasant. When

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we arrived at the Black Rocks, the sun was setting.

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We got out of the phaeton and Albert took care

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of the horses. We walked some little distance through the

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fields before reaching the giant remains of the old Druid religion.

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Albert's wife wished to climb to the summit of the altar,

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and I assisted her. I can still see her graceful

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figure as she stood draped in a red shawl, her

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veil floating around her. How beautiful it is, but does

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it not make you feel a little melancholy? Said she,

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extending her hand toward the dark horizon, which was lighted

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a little by the last rays of the sun. The

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afternoon wind blew violently and sighed through the stunted trees

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that grew around the stone carmelocks. Not a dwelling nor

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a human being was in sight. We hastened to get

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down and silently retraced our steps to the carriage. We

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must hurry, said Albert. The sky is threatening and we

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shall have scarcely time to reach home before night. We

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carefully wrapped the robes around his wife. She tied the

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veil around her face, and the horses started into a

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rapid trot. It was growing dark. The scenery around us

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was bare and desolate. Clumps of fir trees here and there,

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and furzy bushes formed the only vegetation. We began to

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feel the cold, for the wind blew with fury. The

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only sound we heard was a steady trot of the

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horses and the sharp, clear tinkle of their bells. Suddenly

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I felt a heavy grasp of a hand upon my shoulder.

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I turned my head quickly. A horrible apparition presented itself

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before my eyes. In the empty place at my side

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sat a hideous woman. I tried to cry out. The

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phantom place her fingers upon her lips to impose silence

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upon me. I could not utter a sound. The woman

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was clothed in white linen, Her head was cowled, her

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face overspread with a corpse like pallor, and in place

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of eyes were ghastly black cavities. I sat motionless, overcome

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by terror. The ghost suddenly stood up and leaned over

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the young wife. She encircled her with her arms and

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lowered her hideous head as if to kiss her forehead.

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What a wind, cried Madame Albert, turning precipitately toward me.

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My veil is torn. As she turned, I felt the

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same infernal pressure on my shoulder, and the place occupied

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by the phantom was empty. I looked out to the

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right and left. The road was deserted, not an object

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in sight. What a dreadful gale, said Madame Albert. Did

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you feel it? I cannot explain the terror that seized me.

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My veil was torn by the wind, as if by

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an invisible hand. I am trembling still. Never mind, said Albert, smiling.

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Wrap yourself up, my dear, We will soon be warming

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ourselves by the good fire at home. I am starving.

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A cold perspiration covered my forehead. A shiver ran through me.

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My tongue closed to the roof of my mouth. I

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could not articulate a sound. A sharp pain in my

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shoulder was the only sensible evidence that I was not

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the victim of an illucination. Putting a hand upon my

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aching shoulder, I felt a rent in the cloak that

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was wrapped around me. I looked at it, five perfectly

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distinct holes, visible traces of the grip of the horrible phantom.

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I thought for a moment that I should die, or

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that my reason should leave me. It was, I think,

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the most dreadful moment of my life. Finally I became

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more calm. This nameless agony had lasted for some minutes.

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I do not think it is possible for a human

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being to suffer more than I did during that time.

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As soon as I recovered my senses, I thought at

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first I would tell my friends all that had passed,

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but hesitated and finally did not, fearing that my story

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might frighten Madame Albert, and feeling sure my friend would

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not believe me. The lights of the little city revived me,

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and gradually the oppression of terror that overwhelmed me became lighter.

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So soon as we reached home, Madame Albert untied her veil.

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It was literally in shreds. I hoped to find my

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clothes whole and prove to myself that it was all imagination.

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But no. The cloth was tornorn in five places, just

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where the fingers had seized my shoulder. There was no mark, however,

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upon my flesh, only a dull pain. I returned to

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Paris the next day, where I endeavored to forget the

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strange adventure, or at least when I thought of it,

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I could force myself to think it a hallucination. The

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day after my return I received a letter from my

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friend Albert. It was edged with black. I opened it

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with a vague fear. His wife had died the day

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of my return. The end of the Phantom Hag