....For
one instant the play of shadow made it look as if there were another, taller,
figure behind her, but the illusion passed directly. I waved my hand to her and
turned the corner.
This story is from R.H. Malden’s book Nine Ghosts [1943].
Any reader, like myself, who cherishes the
atmosphere of the first chapters of The
Nine Tailors By Dorothy L. Sayers will appreciate its evocation of raw
winter fen lands.
Jay
2/24/17
During
the early part of last year it fell to me to act as executor for an old friend.
We had not seen much of each other of late, as he had been living in the west
of England, and my own time had been fully occupied elsewhere. The time of our
intimacy had been when he was vicar of a large parish not very far from
Cambridge. I will call it Yaxholme, though that is not its name.
The
place had seemed to suit him thoroughly. He had been on the best of terms with
his parishioners, and with the few gentry of the neighbourhood. The church
demanded a custodian of antiquarian knowledge and artistic perception, and in
these respects too my friend was particularly well qualified for his position.
But a sudden nervous breakdown had compelled him to resign. The cause of it had
always been a mystery to his friends, for he was barely middle-aged when it
took place, and had been a man of robust health. His parish was neither particularly
laborious nor harassing; and, as far as was known, he had no special private
anxieties of any kind. But the collapse came with startling suddenness, and was
so severe that, for a time, his reason seemed to be in danger. Two years of
rest and travel enabled him to lead a normal life again, but he was never the
man he had been. He never revisited his old parish, or any of his friends in
the county; and seemed to be ill at ease if conversation turned upon the part
of England in which it lay. It was perhaps not unnatural that he should dislike
the place which had cost him so much. But his friends could not but regard as
childish the length to which he carried his aversion.
He
had had a distinguished career at the University, and had kept up his intellectual
interests in later life. But, except for an occasional succès d'estime
in a learned periodical, he had published nothing. I was not without hope of
finding something completed among his papers which would secure for him a
permanent place in the world of learning. But in this I was disappointed. His
literary remains were copious, and a striking testimony to the vigour and range
of his intellect. But they were very fragmentary. There was nothing which could
be made fit for publication, except one document which I should have preferred
to suppress. But he had left particular instructions in his will that it was to
be published when he had been dead for a year. Accordingly I subjoin it exactly
as it left his hand. It was dated two years after he had left Yaxholme, and
nearly five before his death. For reasons which will be apparent to the reader
I make no comment of any kind upon it.
The
solicitude which my friends have displayed during my illness has placed me
under obligations which I cannot hope to repay. But I feel that I owe it to
them to explain the real cause of my breakdown. I have never spoken of it to
anyone, for, had I done so, it would have been impossible to avoid questions which
I should not wish to be able to answer. Though I have only just reached
middle-age I am sure that I have not many more years to live. And I am
therefore confident that most of my friends will survive me, and be able to
hear my explanation after my death. Nothing but a lively sense of what I owe to
them could have enabled me to undergo the pain of recalling the experience
which I am now about to set down.
Yaxholme
lies, as they will remember, upon the extreme edge of the Fen district. In
shape it is a long oval, with a main line of railway cutting one end. The
church and vicarage were close to the station, and round them lay a village
containing nearly five-sixths of the entire population of the parish. On the
other side of the line the Fen proper began, and stretched for many miles.
Though it is now fertile corn land, much of it had been permanently under water
within living memory, and would soon revert to its original condition if it
were not for the pumping stations. In spite of these it is not unusual to see
several hundred acres flooded in winter.
My
own parish ran for nearly six miles, and I had therefore several scattered
farms and cottages so far from the village that a visit to one of them took up
the whole of a long afternoon. Most of them were not on any road, and could
only be reached by means of droves. For the benefit of those who are not
acquainted with the Fen I may explain that a drove is a very imperfect sketch
of the idea of a road. It is bounded by hedges or dykes, so that the traveller
cannot actually lose his way, but it offers no further assistance to his
progress. The middle is simply a grass track, and as cattle have to be driven
along it the mud is sometimes literally knee-deep in winter. In summer the
light peaty soil rises in clouds of sable dust. In fact I seldom went down one
without recalling Hesiod's unpatriotic description of his native village in
Bceotia. 'Bad in winter; intolerable in summer; good at no time.'
At
the far end of one of these lay a straggling group of half a dozen cottages, of
which the most remote was inhabited by an old woman whom I will call Mrs.
Vries. In some ways she was the most interesting of all my parishioners, and
she was certainly the most perplexing. She was not a native, but had come to
live there some twenty years before, and it was hard to see what had tempted a
stranger to so unattractive a spot. It was the last house in the parish: her
nearest neighbour was a quarter of a mile away, and she was fully three miles
from a hard road or a shop. The house itself was not at all a good one. It had
been unoccupied, I was told, for some years before she came to it, and she had
found it in a semi-ruinous condition. Yet she had not been driven to seek a
very cheap dwelling by poverty, as she had a good supply of furniture of very
good quality, and, apparently, as much money as she required. She never gave
the slightest hint as to where she had come from, or what her previous history
had been. As far as was known she never wrote or received any letters. She must
have been between fifty and sixty when she came. Her appearance was striking,
as she was tall and thin, with an aquiline nose, and a pair of very brilliant
dark eyes, and a quantity of hair--snowwhite by the time I knew her. At one
time she must have been handsome; but she had grown rather forbidding, and I
used to think that, a couple of centuries before, she might have had some
difficulty in proving that she was not a witch. Though her neighbours, not
unnaturally, fought rather shy of her, her conversation showed that she was a
clever woman who had at some time received a good deal of education, and had
lived in cultivated surroundings. I used to think that she must have been an
upper servant--most probably lady's maid--in a good house, and, despite the
ring on her finger, suspected that the 'Mrs.' was brevet rank.
One
New Year's Eve I thought it my duty to visit her. I had not seen her for some
months, and a few days of frost had made the drove more passable than it had
been for several weeks. But, in spite of her interesting personality, I always
found that it required a considerable moral effort to call at her cottage. She
was always civil, and expressed herself pleased to see me. But I could never
get rid of the idea that she regarded civility to me in the light of an
insurance, which might be claimed elsewhere. I always told myself that such
thoughts were unfounded and unworthy, but I could never repress them
altogether, and whenever I left her cottage it was with a strong feeling that I
had no desire to see her again. I used, however, to say to myself that that was
really due to personal pique (because I could never discover that she had any
religion, nor could I instil any into her), and that the fault was therefore
more mine than hers.
On
this particular afternoon the prospect of seeing her seemed more than usually
distasteful, and my disinclination increased curiously as I made my way along
the drove. So strong did it become that if any reasonable excuse for turning
back had presented itself I am afraid I should have seized it. However, none
did: so I held on, comforting myself with the thought that I should begin the
New Year with a comfortable sense of having discharged the most unpleasant of
my regular duties in a conscientious fashion.
When
I reached the cottage I was a little surprised at having to knock three times,
and by hearing the sound of bolts cautiously drawn back. Presently the door
opened and Mrs. Vries peered out. As soon as she saw who it was she made me
very welcome as usual. But it was impossible not to feel that she had been more
or less expecting some other visitor, whom she was not anxious to see. However,
she volunteered no statement, and I thought it better to pretend to have
noticed nothing unusual. On a table in the middle of the room lay a large book
in which she had obviously been reading. I was surprised to see that it was a
Bible, and that it lay open at the Book of Tobit. Seeing that I had noticed it
Mrs. Vries told me--with a little hesitation, I thought--that she had been
reading the story of Sarah and the fiend Asmodeus. Then--the ice once
broken--she plied me almost fiercely with questions. 'To what cause did I
attribute Sarah's obsession, in the first instance?' 'Did the efficacy of
Tobias' remedy depend upon the fact that it had been prescribed by an angel?'
and much more to the same effect. Naturally my answers were rather vague, and
her good manners could not conceal her disappointment. She sat silent for a
minute or two, while I looked at her--not, I must confess, without some alarm,
for her manner had been very strange--and then said abruptly, 'Well, will you
have a cup of tea with me?' I assented gladly, for it was nearly half-past
four, and it would take me nearly an hour and a half to get home. She took some
time over the preparations and during the meal talked with even more fluency
than usual. I could not help thinking that she was trying to make it last as
long as possible.
Finally,
at about half-past five, I got up and said that I must go, as I had a good many
odds and ends awaiting me at home. I held out my hand, and as she took it said,
'You must let me wish you a very happy New Year.'
She
stared at me for a moment, and then broke into a harsh laugh, and said, 'If
wishes were horses beggars might ride. Still, I thank you for your good will.
Goodbye.' About thirty yards from her house there was an elbow in the drove.
When I reached it I looked back and saw that she was still standing in her
doorway, with her figure sharply silhouetted against the red glow of the
kitchen fire. For one instant the play of shadow made it look as if there were
another, taller, figure behind her, but the illusion passed directly. I waved
my hand to her and turned the corner.
It
was a fine, still, starlight night. I reflected that the moon would be up
before I reached home, and my walk would not be unpleasant. I had naturally
been rather puzzled by Mrs. Vries' behaviour, and decided that I must see her
again before long, to ascertain whether, as seemed possible, her mind were
giving way.
When
I had passed the other cottages of the group I noticed that the stars were
disappearing, and a thick white mist was rolling up. This did not trouble me.
The drove now ran straight until it joined the high-road, and there was no turn
into it on either side. I had therefore no chance of losing my way, and anyone
who lives in the Fens is accustomed to fogs. It soon grew very thick, and I was
conscious of the slightly creepy feeling which a thick fog very commonly
inspires. I had been thinking of a variety of things, in somewhat desultory
fashion, when suddenly--almost as if it had been whispered into my ear--a
passage from the Book of Wisdom came into my mind and refused to be dislodged.
My nerves were good then, and I had often walked up a lonely drove in a fog
before; but still just at that moment I should have preferred to have recalled
almost anything else. For this was the extract with which my memory was pleased
to present me. 'For neither did the dark recesses that held them guard them
from fears, but sounds rushing down rang around them; and phantoms appeared,
cheerless with unsmiling faces. And no force of fire prevailed to give them
light, neither were the brightest flames of the stars strong enough to illumine
that gloomy night. And in terror they deemed the things which they saw to be
worse than that sight on which they could not gaze. And they lay helpless, made
the sport of magic art.' (Wisdom xvii. 4-6).
Suddenly
I heard a loud snort, as of a beast, apparently at my elbow. Naturally I jumped
and stood still for a moment to avoid blundering into a stray cow, but there
was nothing there. The next moment I heard what sounded exactly like a low
chuckle. This was more disconcerting: but common sense soon came to my aid. I
told myself that the cow must have been on the other side of the hedge and not
really so close as it had seemed to be. What I had taken for a chuckle must
have been the squelching of her feet in a soft place. But I must confess that I
did not find this explanation as convincing as I could have wished.
I
plodded on, but soon began to feel unaccountably tired. I say 'unaccountably'
because I was a good walker and often covered much more ground than I had done
that day.
I
slackened my pace, but, as I was not out of breath, that did not relieve me. I
felt as if I were wading through water up to my middle, or through very deep
soft snow, and at last was fairly compelled to stop. By this time I was
thoroughly uneasy, wondering what could be the matter with me. But as I had
still nearly two miles to go there was nothing for it but to push on as best I
might.
When
I started again I saw that the fog seemed to be beginning to clear, though I
could not feel a breath of air. But instead of thinning in the ordinary way it
merely rolled back a little on either hand, producing an effect which I had
never seen before. Along the sides of the drove lay two solid banks of white,
with a narrow passage clear between them. This passage seemed to stretch for an
interminable distance, and at the far end I 'perceived' a number of figures. I
say advisedly 'perceived,' rather than 'saw,' for I do not know whether I saw
them in the ordinary sense of the word or not. That is to say--I did not know
then, and have never been able to determine since, whether it was still dark. I
only know that my power of vision seemed to be independent of light or
darkness. I perceived the figures, as one sees the creatures of a dream, or the
mental pictures which sometimes come when one is neither quite asleep nor
awake.
They
were advancing rapidly in orderly fashion, almost like a body of troops. The
scene recalled very vividly a picture of the Israelites marching across the Red
Sea between two perpendicular walls of water, in a set of Bible pictures which
I had had as a child. I suppose that I had not thought of that picture for more
than thirty years, but now it leapt into my mind, and I found myself saying
aloud, 'Yes: of course it must have been exactly like that. How glad I am to
have seen it.'
I
suppose it was the interest of making the comparison that kept me from feeling
the surprise which would otherwise have been occasioned by meeting a large
number of people marching down a lonely drove after dark on a raw December
evening.
At
first I should have said there were thirty or forty in the party, but when they
had drawn a little nearer they seemed to be not more than ten or a dozen
strong. A moment later I saw to my surprise that they were reduced to five or
six. The advancing figures seemed to be melting into one another, something
after the fashion of dissolving views. Their speed and stature increased as
their numbers diminished, suggesting that the survivors had, in some horrible
fashion, absorbed the personality of their companions. Now there appeared to be
only three, then one solitary figure of gigantic stature rushing down the drove
towards me at a fearful pace, without a sound. As he came the mist closed
behind him, so that his dark figure was thrown up against a solid background of
white: much as mountain climbers are said sometimes to see their own shadows
upon a bank of cloud. On and on he came, until at last he towered above me and
I saw his face. It has come to me once or twice since in troubled dreams, and
may come again. But I am thankful that I have never had any clear picture of it
in my waking moments. If I had I should be afraid for my reason. I know that
the impression which it produced upon me was that of intense malignity long
baffled, and now at last within reach of its desire. I believe I screamed
aloud. Then after a pause, which seemed to last for hours, he broke over me
like a wave. There was a rushing and a streaming all round me, and I struck out
with my hands as if I were swimming. The sensation was not unlike that of
rising from a deep dive: there was the same feeling of pressure and
suffocation, but in this case coupled with the most intense physical loathing.
The only comparison which I can suggest is that I felt as a man might feel if
he were buried under a heap of worms or toads.
Suddenly
I seemed to be clear, and fell forward on my face. I am not sure whether I
fainted or not, but I must have lain there for some minutes. When I picked
myself up I felt a light breeze upon my forehead and the mist was clearing away
as quickly as it had come. I saw the rim of the moon above the horizon, and my
mysterious fatigue had disappeared. I hurried forward as quickly as I could
without venturing to look behind me. I only wanted to get out of that
abominable drove on to the high-road, where there were lights and other human
beings. For I knew that what I had seen was a creature of darkness and waste
places, and that among my fellows I should be safe. When I reached home my
housekeeper looked at me oddly. Of course my clothes were muddy and
disarranged, but I suspect that there was something else unusual in my
appearance. I merely said that I had had a fall coming up a drove in the dark,
and was not feeling particularly well. I avoided the looking-glass when I went
to my room to change.
Coming
downstairs I heard through the open kitchen door some scraps of
conversation--or rather of a monologue delivered by my housekeeper--to the
effect that no one ought to be about the droves after dark as much as I was,
and that it was a providence that things were no worse. Her own mother's uncle
had--it appeared--been down just such another drove on just such another night,
forty-two years ago come next Christmas Eve. 'They brought 'im 'ome on a barrow
with both 'is eyes drawed down, and every drop of blood in 'is body turned. But
'e never would speak to what 'e see, and wild cats couldn't ha' scratched it
out of him.'
An
inaudible remark from one of the maids was met with a long sniff, and the
statement: 'Girls seem to think they know everything nowadays.' I spent the
next day in bed, as besides the shock which I had received I had caught a bad
cold. When I got up on the second I was not surprised to hear that Mrs. Vries
had been found dead on the previous afternoon. I had hardly finished breakfast
when I was told that the policeman, whose name was Winter, would be glad to see
me.
It
appeared that on New Year's morning a half-witted boy of seventeen, who lived
at one of the other cottages down the drove, had come to him and said that Mrs.
Vries was dead, and that he must come and enter her house. He declined to
explain how he had come by the information: so at first Mr. Winter contented
himself with pointing out that it was the first of January not of April. But
the boy was so insistent that finally he went. When repeated knockings at Mrs.
Vries' cottage produced no result he had felt justified in forcing the
back-door. She was sitting in a large wooden armchair quite dead. She was
leaning forward a little and her hands were clasping the arms so tightly that
it proved to be a matter of some difficulty to unloose her fingers. In front of
her was another chair, so close that if anyone had been sitting in it his knees
must have touched those of the dead woman. The seat cushions were flattened
down as if it had been occupied recently by a solid personage. The tea-things
had not been cleared away, but the kitchen was perfectly clean and tidy. There
was no suspicion of foul play, as all the doors and windows were securely
fastened on the inside. Winter added that her face made him feel 'quite sickish
like,' and that the house smelt very bad for all that it was so clean.
A
post-mortem examination of the body showed that her heart was in a very bad
state, and enabled the coroner's jury to return a verdict of 'Death from
Natural Causes.' But the doctor told me privately that she must have had a
shock of some kind. ' In fact,' he said, if anyone ever died of fright, she
did. But goodness knows what can have frightened her in her own kitchen unless
it was her own conscience. But that is more in your line than mine.'
He
added that he had found the examination of the body peculiarly trying: though
he could not, or would not, say why.
As
I was the last person who had seen her alive, I attended the inquest, but gave
only formal evidence of an unimportant character. I did not mention that the
second armchair had stood in a corner of the room during my visit, and that I
had not occupied it.
The
boy was of course called and asked how he knew she was dead. But nothing
satisfactory could be got from him. He said that there was right houses and
there was wrong houses--not to say persons--and that 'they 'had been after her
for a long time. When asked whom he meant by 'they' he declined to explain,
merely adding as a general statement that he could see further into a milestone
than what some people could, for all they thought themselves so clever. His own
family deposed that he had been absolutely silent, contrary to his usual
custom, from tea-time on New Year's Eve to breakfast-time next day. Then he had
suddenly announced that Mrs. Vries was dead; and ran out of the house before
they could say anything to him. Accordingly he was dismissed, with a warning to
the effect that persons who were disrespectful to Constituted Authorities
always came to a bad end.
It
naturally fell to me to conduct the funeral, as I could have given no reason
for refusing her Christian burial. The coffin was not particularly weighty, but
as it was being lowered into the grave the ropes supporting it parted, and it
fell several feet with a thud. The shock dislodged a quantity of soil from the
sides of the cavity, so that the coffin was completely covered before I had had
time to say 'Earth to earth: Ashes to ashes: Dust to dust.'
Afterwards
the sexton spoke to me apologetically about the occurrence. 'I'm fair put
about, Sir, about them ropes,' he said. 'Nothing o' that sort ever 'appened
afore in my time. They was pretty nigh new too, and I thought they'd a done us
for years. But just look 'ere, Sir.' Here he showed two extraordinarily
ravelled ends. 'I never see a rope part like that afore. Almost looks as if it
'ad been scratted through by a big cat or somethink.'
That
night I was taken ill. When I was better my doctor said that rest and change of
scene were imperative. I knew that I could never go down a drove alone by night
again, so tendered my resignation to my Bishop. I hope that I have still a few
years of usefulness before me: but I know that I can never be as if I had not
seen what I have seen. Whether I met with my adventure through any fault of my
own I cannot tell. But of one thing I am sure. There are powers of darkness
which walk abroad in waste places: and that man is happy who has never had to
face them.
If
anyone who reads this should ever have a similar experience and should feel
tempted to try to investigate it further, I commend to him the counsel of
Jesus-ben-Sira.
My son, seek not things that are too
hard for thee: and search not out things that are above thy strength.'
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