Ghost Stories of an AntiquaryJames, M. R. (Montague Rhodes)
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Ghost Stories of an Antiquary
James, M. R. (Montague Rhodes)
Ghost stories, English; Horror tales, English; Short stories, English
“Then it struck me that the texture of the surface looked just a little
smoother than the rest, or, at least, in some way different. It might
possibly be cement and not stone. I gave it a good blow with my iron
bar. There was a decidedly hollow sound, though that might be the
result of our being in a well. But there was more. A great flake of
cement dropped on to my feet, and I saw marks on the stone underneath.
I had tracked the Abbot down, my dear Gregory; even now I think of it
with a certain pride. It took but a very few more taps to clear the
whole of the cement away, and I saw a slab of stone about two feet
square, upon which was engraven a cross. Disappointment again, but only
for a moment. It was you, Brown, who reassured me by a casual remark.
You said, if I remember right:
“‘It’s a funny cross: looks like a lot of eyes.’
“I snatched the lantern out of your hand, and saw with inexpressible
pleasure that the cross _was_ composed of seven eyes, four in a
vertical line, three horizontal. The last of the scrolls in the window
was explained in the way I had anticipated. Here was my ‘stone with the
seven eyes’. So far the Abbot’s data had been exact, and, as I thought
of this, the anxiety about the ‘guardian’ returned upon me with
increased force. Still, I wasn’t going to retreat now.
“Without giving myself time to think, I knocked away the cement all
round the marked stone, and then gave it a prise on the right side with
my crowbar. It moved at once, and I saw that it was but a thin light
slab, such as I could easily lift out myself, and that it stopped the
entrance to a cavity. I did lift it out unbroken, and set it on the
step, for it might be very important to us to be able to replace it.
Then I waited for several minutes on the step just above. I don’t know
why, but I think to see if any dreadful thing would rush out. Nothing
happened. Next I lit a candle, and very cautiously I placed it inside
the cavity, with some idea of seeing whether there were foul air, and
of getting a glimpse of what was inside. There _was_ some foulness of
air which nearly extinguished the flame, but in no long time it burned
quite steadily. The hole went some little way back, and also on the
right and left of the entrance, and I could see some rounded
light-coloured objects within which might be bags. There was no use in
waiting. I faced the cavity, and looked in. There was nothing
immediately in the front of the hole. I put my arm in and felt to the
right, very gingerly….
“Just give me a glass of cognac, Brown. I’ll go on in a moment,
Gregory….
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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