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ANIMAL GHOSTS
CHAPTER I
CATS
In opening this volume on Animals and their associations with the
unknown, I will commence with a case of hauntings in the Old Manor
House, at Oxenby.
My informant was a Mrs. Hartnoll, whom I can see in my mind's eye, as
distinctly as if I were looking at her now. Hers was a personality that
no lapse of time, nothing could efface; a personality that made itself
felt on boys of all temperaments, most of all, of course, on those
who--like myself--were highly strung and sensitive.
She was classical mistress at L.'s, the then well-known dame school in
Clifton, where for three years--prior to migrating to a Public School--I
was well grounded in all the mysticisms of Kennedy's Latin Primer and
Smith's First Greek Principia.
I doubt if she got anything more than a very small salary--governesses
in those days were shockingly remunerated--and I know,--poor soul, she
had to work monstrously hard. Drumming Latin and Greek into heads as
thick as ours was no easy task.
But there were times, when the excessive tension on the nerves proving
too much, Mrs. Hartnoll stole a little relaxation; when she allowed
herself to chat with us, and even to smile--Heavens! those smiles! And
when--I can feel the tingling of my pulses at the bare mention of
it--she spoke about herself, stated she had once been young--a
declaration so astounding, so utterly beyond our comprehension, that we
were rendered quite speechless--and told us anecdotes.
Of many of her narratives I have no recollection, but one or two, which
interested me more than the rest, are almost as fresh in my mind as when
recounted. The one that appealed to me most, and which I have every
reason to believe is absolutely true,[1] is as follows:--I give it as
nearly as I can in her own somewhat stilted style:--
"Up to the age of nineteen, I resided with my parents in the Manor
House, Oxenby. It was an old building, dating back, I believe, to the
reign of Edward VI, and had originally served as the residence of noble
families. Built, or, rather, faced with split flints, and edged and
buttressed with cut grey stone, it had a majestic though very gloomy
appearance, and seen from afar resembled nothing so much as a huge and
grotesquely decorated sarcophagus. In the centre of its frowning and
menacing front was the device of a cat, constructed out of black
shingles, and having white shingles for the eyes; the effect being
curiously realistic, especially on moonlight nights, when anything more
lifelike and sinister could scarcely have been conceived. The artist,
whoever he was, had a more than human knowledge of cats--he portrayed
not merely their bodies but their souls.
[Footnote 1: I have subsequently met several people who experienced the
same phenomena in the house, which was standing a short time ago.]
"In style the front of the house was somewhat castellated. Two
semicircular bows, or half towers, placed at a suitable distance from
each other, rose from the base to the summit of the edifice, to the
height of four or five stairs; and were pierced, at every floor, with
rows of stone-mullioned windows. The flat wall between had larger
windows, lighting the great hall, gallery, and upper apartments. These
windows were wholly composed of stained glass, engraved with every
imaginable fantastic design--imps, satyrs, dragons, witches,
queer-shaped trees, hands, eyes, circles, triangles and cats.
"The towers, half included in the building, were completely circular
within, and contained the winding stairs of the mansion; and whoever
ascended them when a storm was raging seemed rising by a whirlwind to
the clouds.
"In the upper rooms even the wildest screams of the hurricane were
drowned in the rattling clamour of the assaulted casements. When a gale
of wind took the building in front, it rocked it to the foundations,
and, at such times, threatened its instant demolition.
"Midway between the towers there stood forth a heavy stone porch with a
Gothic gateway, surmounted by a battlemented parapet, made gable
fashion, the apex of which was garnished by a pair of dolphins, rampant
and antagonistic, whose corkscrew tails seemed contorted--especially at
night--by the last agonies of rage convulsed. The porch doors stood
open, except in tremendous weather; the inner ones were regularly shut
and barred after all who entered. They led into a wide vaulted and lofty
hall, the walls of which were decorated with faded tapestry, that rose,
and fell, and rustled in the most mysterious fashion every time there
was the suspicion--and often barely the suspicion--of a breeze.
"Interspersed with the tapestry--and in great contrast to its
antiquity--were quite modern and very ordinary portraits of my family.
The general fittings and furniture, both of the hall and house, were
sombre and handsome--truss-beams, corbels, girders and panels were of
the blackest oak; and the general effect of all this, augmented, if
anything, by the windows, which were too high and narrow to admit of
much light, was much the same as that produced by the interior of a
subterranean chapel or charnel house.
"From the hall proceeded doorways and passages, more than my memory can
now particularize. Of these portals, one at each end conducted to the
tower stairs, others to reception rooms and domestic offices.
"The whole of the house being too large for us, only one wing--the right
and newer of the two--was occupied, the other was unfurnished, and
generally shut up. I say generally because there were times when either
my mother or father--the servants never ventured there--forgot to lock
the doors, and the handles yielding to my daring fingers, I
surreptitiously crept in.
"Everywhere--even in daylight, even on the sunniest of mornings--were
dark shadows that hung around the ingles and recesses of the rooms, the
deep cupboards, the passages, and silent, winding staircases.
"There was one corridor--long, low, vaulted--where these shadows
assembled in particular. I can see them now, as I saw them then, as they
have come to me many times in my dreams, grouped about the doorways,
flitting to and fro on the bare, dismal boards, and congregated in
menacing clusters at the head of the sepulchral staircase leading to the
cellars. Generally, and excepting at times when the weather was
particularly violent, the silence here was so emphatic that I could
never feel it was altogether natural, but rather that it was assumed
especially for my benefit--to intimidate me. If I moved, if I coughed,
almost if I breathed, the whole passage was filled with hoarse
reverberating echoes, that, in my affrighted ears, appeared to terminate
in a series of mirthless, malevolent chuckles. Once, when fascinated
beyond control, I stole on tiptoe along the passage, momentarily
expecting a door to fly open and something grim and horrible to pounce
out on me, I was brought to a standstill by a loud, clanging noise, as
if a pail or some such utensil were set down very roughly on a stone
floor. Then there was the sound of rushing footsteps and of someone
hastily ascending the cellar staircase. In fearful anticipation as to
what I should see--for there was something in the sounds that told me
they were not made by anything human--I stood in the middle of the
passage and stared. Up, up, up they came, until I saw the dark,
indefinite shape of something very horrid, but which I could not--I dare
not--define. It was accompanied by the clanging of a pail. I tried to
scream, but my tongue cleaving to the roof of my mouth prevented my
uttering a syllable, and when I essayed to move, I found I was
temporarily paralysed. The thing came rushing down on me. I grew icy
cold all over, and when it was within a few feet of me, my horror was so
great, I fainted.
"On recovering consciousness, it was some minutes before I summoned up
courage to open my eyes, but when I did so, they alighted on nothing but
the empty passage--the thing had disappeared.
"On another occasion, when I was clandestinely paying a visit to the
unused wing, and was in the act of mounting one of the staircases
leading from the corridor, I have just described, to the first floor,
there was the sound of a furious scuffle overhead, and something dashed
down the stairs past me. I instinctively looked up, and there, glaring
down at me from over the balustrade, was a very white face. It was that
of a man, but very badly proportioned--the forehead being low and
receding, and the rest of the face too long and narrow. The crown rose
to a kind of peak, the ears were pointed and set very low down and far
back. The mouth was very cruel and thin-lipped; the teeth were yellow
and uneven. There was no hair on the face, but that on the head was red
and matted. The eyes were obliquely set, pale blue, and full of an
expression so absolutely malignant that every atom of blood in my veins
seemed to congeal as I met their gaze. I could not clearly see the body
of the thing, as it was hazy and indistinct, but the impression I got of
it was that it was clad in some sort of tight-fitting, fantastic
garment. As the landing was in semi-darkness, and the face at all events
was most startlingly visible, I concluded it brought with it a light of
its own, though there was none of that lurid glow attached to it, which
I subsequently learned is almost inseparable from spirit phenomena seen
under similar conditions.
"For some seconds, I was too overcome with terror to move, but my
faculties at length reasserting themselves, I turned round and flew to
the other wing of the house with the utmost precipitation.
"One would have thought that after these experiences nothing would have
induced me to have run the risk of another such encounter, yet only a
few days after the incident of the head, I was again impelled by a
fascination I could not withstand to visit the same quarters. In sickly
anticipation of what my eyes would alight on, I stole to the foot of the
staircase and peeped cautiously up. To my infinite joy there was nothing
there but a bright patch of sunshine, that, in the most unusual fashion,
had forced its way through from one of the slits of windows near at
hand.
"After gazing at it long enough to assure myself it was only sunshine, I
quitted the spot, and proceeded on my way down the vaulted corridor.
Just as I was passing one of the doors, it opened. I stopped--terrified.
What could it be? Bit by bit, inch by inch, I watched the gap slowly
widen. At last, just as I felt I must either go mad or die, something
appeared--and, to my utter astonishment, it was a big, black cat!
Limping painfully, it came towards me with a curious, gliding motion,
and I perceived with a thrill of horror that it had been very cruelly
maltreated. One of its eyes looked as if it had been gouged out--its
ears were lacerated, whilst the paw of one of its hind-legs had either
been torn or hacked off. As I drew back from it, it made a feeble and
pathetic effort to reach me and rub itself against my legs, as is the
way with cats, but in so doing it fell down, and uttering a half purr,
half gurgle, vanished--seeming to sink through the hard oak boards.
"That evening my youngest brother met with an accident in the barn at
the back of the house, and died. Though I did not then associate his
death with the apparition of the cat, the latter shocked me much, for I
was extremely fond of animals. I did not dare venture in the wing again
for nearly two years.
"When next I did so, it was early one June morning--between five and
six, and none of the family, saving my father, who was out in the fields
looking after his men, were as yet up. I explored the dreaded corridor
and staircase, and was crossing the floor of one of the rooms I had
hitherto regarded as immune from ghostly influences, when there was an
icy rush of wind, the door behind me slammed to violently, and a heavy
object struck me with great force in the hollow of my back. With a cry
of surprise and agony I turned sharply round, and there, lying on the
floor, stretched out in the last convulsions of death, was the big black
cat, maimed and bleeding as it had been on the previous occasion. How I
got out of the room I don't recollect. I was too horror-stricken to know
exactly what I was doing, but I distinctly remember that, as I tugged
the door open, there was a low, gleeful chuckle, and something slipped
by me and disappeared in the direction of the corridor. At noon that day
my mother had a seizure of apoplexy, and died at midnight.
"Again there was a lapse of years--this time nearly four--when, sent on
an errand for my father, I turned the key of one of the doors leading
into the empty wing, and once again found myself within the haunted
precincts. All was just as it had been on the occasion of my last
visit--gloom, stillness and cobwebs reigned everywhere, whilst
permeating the atmosphere was a feeling of intense sadness and
depression.
"I did what was required of me as quickly as possible, and was crossing
one of the rooms to make my exit, when a dark shadow fell athwart the
threshold of the door, and I saw the cat.
* * * * *
"That evening my father dropped dead as he was hastening home through
the fields. He had long suffered from heart disease.
"After his death we--that is to say, my brother, sisters and self--were
obliged to leave the house and go out into the world to earn our living.
We never went there again, and never heard if any of the subsequent
tenants experienced similar manifestations."
This is as nearly as I can recollect Mrs. Hartnoll's story. But as it is
a good many years since I heard it, there is just a possibility of some
of the details--the smaller ones at all events--having escaped my
memory.
When I was grown up, I stayed for a few weeks near Oxenby, and met, at a
garden party, a Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler, the then occupants of the Manor
House.
I asked if they believed in ghosts, and told them I had always heard
their house was haunted.
"Well," they said, "we never believed in ghosts till we came to Oxenby,
but we have seen and heard such strange things since we have been in the
Manor House that we are now prepared to believe anything."
They then went on to tell me that they--and many of their visitors and
servants--had seen the phantasms of a very hideous and malignant old
man, clad in tight-fitting hosiery of mediæval days, and a maimed and
bleeding big, black cat, that seemed sometimes to drop from the ceiling,
and sometimes to be thrown at them. In one of the passages all sorts of
queer sounds, such as whinings, meanings, screeches, clangings of pails
and rattlings of chains, were heard, whilst something, no one could ever
see distinctly, but which they all felt to be indescribably nasty,
rushed up the cellar steps and flew past, as if engaged in a desperate
chase. Indeed, the disturbances were of so constant and harrowing a
nature, that the wing had to be vacated and was eventually locked up.
The Wheelers excavated in different parts of the haunted wing and found,
in the cellar, at a depth of some eight or nine feet, the skeletons of
three men and two women; whilst in the wainscoting of the passage they
discovered the bones of a boy, all of which remains they had properly
interred in the churchyard. According to local tradition, handed down
through many centuries by word of mouth, the house originally belonged
to a knight, who, with his wife, was killed out hunting. He had only one
child, a boy of about ten, who became a ward in chancery. The man
appointed by the Crown as guardian to this child proved an inhuman
monster, and after ill-treating the lad in every conceivable manner,
eventually murdered him and tried to substitute a bastard boy of his own
in his place. For a time the fraud succeeded, but on its being
eventually found out, the murderer and his offspring were both brought
to trial and hanged.
During his occupation of the house, many people were seen to enter the
premises, but never leave them, and the place got the most sinister
reputation. Among other deeds credited to the murderer and his
offspring was the mutilation and boiling of a cat--the particular pet of
the young heir, who was compelled to witness the whole revolting
process. Years later, a subsequent owner of the property had a monument
erected in the churchyard to the memory of this poor, abused child, and
on the front of the house constructed the device of the cat.
Though it is impossible to determine what amount of truth there may be
in this tradition, it certainly seems to accord with the hauntings, and
to supply some sort of explanation to them. The ghostly head on the
banisters might well be that of the low and brutal guardian, whose
spirit would be the exact counterpart of his mind. The figure seen, and
noises heard in the passage, point to the re-enaction of some tragedy,
possibly the murder of the heir, or the slaughter of his cat, in either
of which a bucket might easily have played a grimly significant part.
And if human murderers and their victims have phantasms, why should not
animals have phantasms too? Why should not the phenomenon of the cat
seen by Mrs. Hartnoll and the Wheelers have been the actual phantasm of
an earthbound cat?
No amount of reasoning--religious or otherwise--has as yet annihilated
the possibility of all forms of earthly life possessing spirits.
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