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| A Russian Ghost |
“The room had three windows in it, the
night was moonless but starlit; there was snow on the ground, and therefore,
‘snowlight,’ and the blinds being up the room was by no means dark. “The first
thing I noticed on turning round was the figure of a woman close to the foot of
the bed, and whom (following the bent of my thoughts) I supposed to be my wife.
‘What is up?’ I asked, but the figure remained silent and motionless, and my
eyes being more accustomed to the dimness, I noticed that it had a gray-looking
shawl over its head and shoulders and that it was too short in stature to be
my wife. I gazed at it silently, wondering who it could be; apparitions and ghosts
were far from my thoughts, and the mistiness of the outlines of this silent
figure did not strike me at the moment as it did afterward.
“I again
addressed it, this time in the language of the country, ‘What do you want?’
Again no answer. And now it occurred to me that our servant girl sometimes
walked in her sleep and that this was she. Behind the head of my bed stood a
small table, and I reached around for the matchbox which was on it, never
removing my eyes from the supposed somnambulist. The match-box was now in my
hands, but just as I was taking out a match, the figure, to my astonishment,
seemed to rise up from the floor, and move backward toward the end window; at
the same time, it faded rapidly and became blurred with the gray light streaming
in at the window, and ’ere I could strike the match it was gone. I lit the
candle, jumped out of bed, and ran to the door: it was fastened! To the left of
the drawing-room, there was a boudoir, separated only by a curtain, this room
was empty too, and the door likewise fastened.
“I
rubbed my eyes. I was puzzled. It struck me now for the first time that the
figure was hazy looking, also that my wife was the only person who called me
‘Willy,’ and certainly the only person who could give the word its English
pronunciation. I first searched both the drawing room and boudoir, and then,
opening the door stepped into the passage, went to my wife’s door, and
listened. The baby was crying and my wife was up, so I knocked and was
admitted. Knowing her to be strong-minded and not nervous, I quietly related my
experience. She expressed astonishment and asked if I was not afraid to return
to my bed in the drawing room. However, I was not, and after chatting for a few
moments went back to my quarters, fastened the door, and getting into bed,
thought the whole matter over very quietly. I could think of no explanation for
the occurrence, and, feeling sleepy, blew out the light and was soon sound
asleep again.
“After a short but sound and
dreamless slumber, I was again awakened, this time with my face towards the
middle window; and there, close up against it, was the figure again, and owing
to its propinquity to the light, it appeared to be a very dark object. “I at
once reached out for the matches, but in doing so upset the table, and down it
went with my candlestick, my watch, keys, etc., making a terrific crash. As
before, I had kept my eyes fixed on the figure, and I now observed that,
whatever it was, it was advancing straight towards me, and in another moment
retreat to the door would be cut off. It was not a comfortable idea to cope
with the unknown in the dark, and in an instant, I had seized the bedclothes,
and grasping a corner of them in each hand, and holding them up before me, I
charged straight at the figure. (I suppose I thought that, by smothering the
head of my supposed assailant, I could best repel the coming attack.)
“The next moment I had landed on my knees on a sofa by the window with my arms on the window-sill, and with the consciousness that ‘it’ was now behind me—I passed through it. With a bound, I faced around and was immediately immersed in darkness impalpable to the touch, but so dense that it seemed to be weighing me down and squeezing me from all sides. I could not stir; the bedclothes which I had seized as described hung over my left arm, the other was free but seemed pressed down by a benumbing weight. I essayed to cry for help, but realized for the first time in my life what it means for the ‘tongue to cleave to the roof of the mouth; my tongue seemed to have become dry and to have swelled to a thickness of some inches; it stuck to the roof of my mouth, and I could not ejaculate a syllable.
“I again went to the door of my wife’s
room, and, hearing that she was up with the baby, I knocked and she opened. She
is a witness to the state I was in: the drops rolling down my face, my hair was
damp, and the beatings of my heart were audible some paces off. I can offer no
explanations of what I saw, but as soon as my story became known, the people
who had occupied the house previously told me that they had once put a visitor
in that same drawing-room, who had declared the room to be haunted and had
refused to stay in it....”
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