Wandering ghostsCrawford, F. Marion (Francis Marion)
Science
Wandering ghosts
Crawford, F. Marion (Francis Marion)
American fiction; Ghost stories; Horror tales; Short stories
Now these things are facts. I was wide awake when I got up, and I
should certainly have been waked by the fall had I still been dozing.
Moreover, I bruised my elbows and knees badly, and the bruises were
there on the following morning to testify to the fact, if I myself had
doubted it. The porthole was wide open and fastened back--a thing so
unaccountable that I remember very well feeling astonishment rather than
fear when I discovered it. I at once closed the plate again, and screwed
down the loop nut with all my strength. It was very dark in the
state-room. I reflected that the port had certainly been opened within
an hour after Robert had at first shut it in my presence, and I
determined to watch it, and see whether it would open again. Those brass
fittings are very heavy and by no means easy to move; I could not
believe that the clump had been turned by the shaking of the screw. I
stood peering out through the thick glass at the alternate white and
grey streaks of the sea that foamed beneath the ship's side. I must have
remained there a quarter of an hour.
Suddenly, as I stood, I distinctly heard something moving behind me in
one of the berths, and a moment afterwards, just as I turned
instinctively to look--though I could, of course, see nothing in the
darkness--I heard a very faint groan. I sprang across the state-room,
and tore the curtains of the upper berth aside, thrusting in my hands to
discover if there were any one there. There was some one.
I remember that the sensation as I put my hands forward was as though I
were plunging them into the air of a damp cellar, and from behind the
curtains came a gust of wind that smelled horribly of stagnant
sea-water. I laid hold of something that had the shape of a man's arm,
but was smooth, and wet, and icy cold. But suddenly, as I pulled, the
creature sprang violently forward against me, a clammy, oozy mass, as it
seemed to me, heavy and wet, yet endowed with a sort of supernatural
strength. I reeled across the state-room, and in an instant the door
opened and the thing rushed out. I had not had time to be frightened,
and quickly recovering myself, I sprang through the door and gave chase
at the top of my speed, but I was too late. Ten yards before me I could
see--I am sure I saw it--a dark shadow moving in the dimly lighted
passage, quickly as the shadow of a fast horse thrown before a dogcart
by the lamp on a dark night. But in a moment it had disappeared, and I
found myself holding on to the polished rail that ran along the bulkhead
where the passage turned towards the companion. My hair stood on end,
and the cold perspiration rolled down my face. I am not ashamed of it
in the least: I was very badly frightened.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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