Christmas Penny Readings: Original Sketches for the SeasonFenn, George Manville
General
Christmas Penny Readings: Original Sketches for the Season
Fenn, George Manville
Christmas stories; Fiction; Poetry; Short stories
On descending to breakfast, I found that I was to undergo a rigorous
cross-examination as to what I had seen and heard; but one elderly lady
present shook her head ominously, freely giving it as her opinion that
it was little better than sacrilege to open the haunted chamber, and
finishing a very solemn peroration with the words--
"Stop a bit; they don't walk every night."
This was encouraging, certainly; but in the course of the afternoon I
went up to my room, and found that it had been well cleaned out, while
many little modern appliances had been added to the dingy furniture, so
that it wore quite a brightened appearance. The insides of the windows
had been cleaned, and a man was then upon a ladder polishing away at the
exterior, when I drew his attention to a number of loose ivy strands,
which he cut off.
In the cupboard I found plenty of traces of rats in the shape of
long-gnawed-off fragments of wood pushed beneath the skirting-board;
while, upon holding my head against the chimney, the groaning of the
cowl was plainly to be heard, as it swung round dolefully upon some
neighbouring chimney.
A pleasant day was spent, and then, after a cosy evening, I was once
more ushered into the chamber of horrors, this time being escorted by
the whole of the visitors, the gentlemen affectionately bidding me
farewell, but not one seeming disposed to accept my offer of changing
rooms. However, Ned and Mrs Harrington both wished me to go to their
room, when I of course refused; and once more I was alone.
It was now about half-past twelve and Christmas-morning, a regular storm
was hurrying round the house, and a strange feeling of crepitation came
upon me when I had extinguished the light; and then on climbing into bed
I sat and listened for a while, laid my head upon my pillow, and the
next moment, or what seemed the next moment, I was startled by a strange
beating sound, and as I became aware of a dim, peculiar light,
penetrating the room, I heard a low, muffled voice cry appealingly--
"Your hot water, sir--quarter to eight!" while I could hardly believe my
eyes had been closed.
Christmas-day passed as it generally does in the country, that is to
say, in a most jovial, sociable way; and after fun, frolic, sport,
pastime, forfeit, dance, and cards, I stood once more within the haunted
chamber with the strange sensation upon me, that though I had met with
nothing so far to alarm me--this night, a night when, of all nights in
the year, spirits might be expected to break loose, I was to suffer for
my temerity.
As soon as I entered and secured the door, I felt that something was
wrong, but I roused up the fire, lit the wax candles upon the
dressing-table, and then looked round the room.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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