Curious Warnings - The Great Ghost Stories Of M.R. James (75 page)

Oh, it was a terrible sight. Not one there but turned faint and ill with it, and had to go out into the fresh air. Even Mr. White, who was what you might call a hard nature of a man, was quite overcome and said a prayer for strength in the garden.

At last they laid out the other body as best they could in the room, and searched about to see if they could find out how such a frightful thing had come to pass. And in the cupboards they found a quantity of herbs and jars with liquors, and it came out, when people that understood such matters had looked into it, that some of these liquors were drinks to put a person asleep.

And they had little doubt that that wicked young man had put some of this into Mr. Davis’ drink, and then used him as he did, and, after that, the sense of his sin had come upon him and he had cast himself away.

Well now, you couldn’t understand all the law business that had to be done by the coroner and the magistrates, but there was a great coming and going of people over it for the next day or two, and then the people of the parish got together and agreed that they couldn’t bear the thought of those two being buried in the churchyard alongside of Christian people.

For I must tell you there were papers and writings found in the drawers and cupboards that Mr. White and some other clergymen looked into. And they put their names to a paper that said these men were guilty, by their own allowing, of the dreadful sin of idolatry, and they feared there were some in the neighboring places that were not free from that wickedness, and called upon them to repent, lest the same fearful thing that was come to these men should befall them also. And then they burned those writings.

So then, Mr. White was of the same mind as the parishioners, and late one evening twelve men that were chosen went with him to that evil house, and with them they took two biers made very roughly for the purpose and two pieces of black cloth. And down at the cross-road, where you take the turn for Bascombe and Wilcombe, there were other men waiting with torches, and a pit dug. And a great crowd of people gathered together from all around about.

And the men that went to the cottage went in with their hats on their heads, and four of them took the two bodies and laid them on the biers and covered them over with the black cloths, and no one said a word. But they bore them down the lane, and they were cast into the pit and covered over
with stones and earth, and then Mr. White spoke to the people that were gathered together.

My father was there, for he had come back when he heard the news, and he said he never should forget the strangeness of the sight, with the torches burning and those two black things huddled together in the pit, and not a sound from any of the people, except it might be a child or a woman whimpering with the fright.

And so, when Mr. White had finished speaking, they all turned away and left them lying there.

They say horses don’t like the spot even now, and I’ve heard there was something of a mist or a light hung about for a long time after, but I don’t know the truth of that.

But this I do know, that next day my father’s business took him past the opening of the lane, and he saw three or four little knots of people standing at different places along it, seemingly in a state of mind about something. And he rode up to them, and asked what was the matter. And they ran up to him and said, “Oh, Squire, it’s the blood! Look at the blood!” and kept on like that.

So he got off his horse and they showed him. And there, in four places, I think it was, he saw great patches in the road, of blood. But he could hardly see it was blood, for almost every spot of it was covered with great black flies, that never changed their place or moved. And that blood was what had fallen out of Mr. Davis’ body as they bore it down the lane.

Well, my father couldn’t bear to do more than just take in the nasty sight so as to be sure of it, and then he said to one of those men that was there, “Do you make haste and fetch a basket or a barrow full of clean earth out of the churchyard and spread it over these places, and I’ll wait here till you come back.”

And very soon he came back, and the old man that was sexton with him, with a shovel and the earth in a hand-barrow. And they set it down at the first of the places and made ready to cast the earth upon it—and as soon as ever they did that, what do you think? The flies that were on it rose up in the air in a kind of a solid cloud and moved off up the lane toward the house.

And the sexton (he was parish clerk as well) stopped and looked at them and said to my father, “Lord of flies, sir,” and no more would he say.

And just the same it was at the other places, every one of them.

Charles:
But what did he mean, granny?

Grandmother:
Well, dear, you remember to ask Mr. Lucas when you go to him for your lesson tomorrow. I can’t stop now to talk about it—it’s long past bedtime for you already.

The next thing was, my father made up his mind no one was going to live in that cottage again, or yet use any of the things that were in it. So, though it was one of the best in the place, he sent around word to the people that it was to be done away with, and anyone that wished could bring a faggot to the burning of it. And that’s what was done.

They built a pile of wood in the living room and loosened the thatch so as the fire could take good hold, and then set it alight. And as there was no brick, only the chimney-stack and the oven, it wasn’t long before it was all gone.

I seem to remember seeing the chimney when I was a little girl, but that fell down of itself at last.

Now this that I’ve got to is the last bit of all.

You may be sure that for a long time the people said Mr. Davis and that young man were seen about, the one of them in the wood and both of them where the house had been, or passing together down the lane, particularly in the spring of the year and at autumn-time.

I can’t speak to that, though if we were sure there are such things as ghosts, it would seem likely that people like that wouldn’t rest quiet.

But I can tell you this, that one evening in the month of March, just before your grandfather and I were married, we’d been taking a long walk in the woods together and picking flowers and talking as young people will that are courting, and so much taken up with each other that we never took any particular notice where we were going.

And on a sudden I cried out, and your grandfather asked what was the matter. The matter was that I’d felt a sharp prick on the back of my hand, and I snatched it to me and saw a black thing on it, and struck it with the other hand and killed it.

And I showed it him, and he was a man who took notice of all such things, and he said, “Well, I’ve never seen ought like that fly before,” and though to my own eye it didn’t seem very much out of the common, I’ve no doubt he was right.

And then we looked about us, and lo and behold if we weren’t in the very lane, just in front of the place where that house had stood, and, as they told me after, just where the men set down the biers a minute when they bore them out of the garden gate.

You may be sure we made haste away from there—at least, I made your grandfather come away quick, for I was wholly upset at finding myself there—but he would have lingered about out of curiosity if I’d have let him. Whether there was anything about there more than we could see I shall never be sure.

Perhaps it was partly the venom of that horrid fly’s bite that was working in me that made me feel so strange. For, dear me, how that poor arm and hand of mine did swell up, to be sure! I’m afraid to tell you how large it was around! And the pain of it, too!

Nothing my mother could put on it had any power over it at all, and it wasn’t till she was persuaded by our old nurse to get the wise man over at Bascombe to come and look at it, that I got any peace at all. But he seemed to know all about it, and said I wasn’t the first that had been taken that way.

“When the sun’s gathering his strength,” he said, “and when he’s in the height of it, and when he’s beginning to lose his hold, and when he’s in his weakness, them that haunts about that lane had best to take heed to themselves.”

But what it was he bound on my arm and what he said over it, he wouldn’t tell us. After that I soon got well again, but since then I’ve heard often enough of people suffering much the same as I did. Only of late years it doesn’t seem to happen but very seldom, and maybe things like that do die out in the course of time.

But that’s the reason, Charles, why I say to you that I won’t have you gathering me blackberries, no, nor eating them either, in that lane. And now you know all about it, I don’t fancy you’ll want to yourself.

There! Off to bed you go this minute.

What’s that, Fanny? A light in your room? The idea of such a thing! You get yourself undressed at once and say your prayers, and perhaps if your father doesn’t want me when he wakes up, I’ll come say goodnight to you.

And you, Charles, if I hear anything of you frightening your little sister on the way up to your bed, I shall tell your father that very moment, and you know what happened to you the last time.

The door closes, and granny, after listening intently for a minute or two, resumes her knitting. The Squire still slumbers.

I
N THE YEAR
19—there were two members of the Troop of Scouts attached to a famous school, named respectively Arthur Wilcox and Stanley Judkins. They were the same age, boarded in the same house, were in the same division, and naturally were members of the same patrol. They were so much alike in appearance as to cause anxiety and trouble, and even irritation, to the masters who came in contact with them. But oh how different were they in their inward man, or boy!

It was to Arthur Wilcox that the Head Master said, looking up with a smile as the boy entered chambers, “Why, Wilcox, there will be a deficit in the prize fund if you stay here much longer! Here, take this handsomely bound copy of the
Life and Works of Bishop Ken
, and with it my hearty congratulations to yourself and your excellent parents.”

It was Wilcox again, whom the Provost noticed as he passed through the playing fields, and, pausing for a moment, observed to the Vice-Provost, “That lad has a remarkable brow!”

“Indeed, yes,” said the Vice-Provost. “It denotes either genius or water on the brain.”

As a Scout, Wilcox secured every badge and distinction for which he competed. The Cookery Badge, the Map-making Badge, the Life-saving Badge, the Badge for picking up bits of newspaper, the Badge for not slamming the door when leaving pupil-room, and many others.

Of the Life-saving Badge I may have a word to say when we come to treat of Stanley Judkins.

You cannot be surprised to hear that Mr. Hope Jones added a special verse to each of his songs, in commendation of Arthur Wilcox, or that the Lower Master burst into tears when handing him the Good Conduct Medal in its handsome claret-colored case: the medal which had been unanimously voted to him by the whole of Third Form.

Unanimously, did I say? I am wrong. There was one dissentient, Judkins
mi.
, who said that he had excellent reasons for acting as he did. He shared, it seems, a room with his major.

You cannot, again, wonder that in after years Arthur Wilcox was the first, and so far the only boy, to become Captain of both the School and of the Oppidans, or that the strain of carrying out the duties of both positions, coupled with the ordinary work of the school, was so severe that a complete rest for six months, followed by a voyage around the world, was pronounced an absolute necessity by the family doctor.

It would be a pleasant task to trace the steps by which he attained the giddy eminence he now occupies; but for the moment enough of Arthur Wilcox. Time presses, and we must turn to a very different matter: the career of Stanley Judkins—Judkins
ma.

Stanley Judkins, like Arthur Wilcox, attracted the attention of the authorities—but in quite another fashion. It was to him that the Lower Master said, with no cheerful smile, “What, again, Judkins? A very little persistence in this course of conduct, my boy, and you will have cause to regret that you ever entered this academy. There, take that, and that, and think yourself very lucky you don’t get that and that!”

It was Judkins, again, whom the Provost had cause to notice as he passed through the playing fields, when a cricket ball struck him with considerable force on the ankle, and a voice from a short way off cried, “Thank you, cut-over!”

“I think,” said the Provost, pausing for a moment to rub his ankle, “that that boy had better fetch his cricket ball for himself!”

“Indeed, yes,” said the Vice-Provost, “and if he comes within reach, I will do my best to fetch him something else.”

As a Scout, Stanley Judkins secured no badge save those which he was able to abstract from members of other patrols. In the cookery competition he was detected trying to introduce squibs into the Dutch oven of the
next-door competitors. In the tailoring competition he succeeded in sewing two boys together very firmly, with disastrous effect when they tried to get up. For the Tidiness Badge he was disqualified, because, in the Midsummer schooltime, which chanced to be hot, he could not be dissuaded from sitting with his fingers in the ink: as he said, for coolness’ sake. For one piece of paper which he picked up, he must have dropped at least six banana skins or orange peels. Aged women seeing him approaching would beg him with tears in their eyes not to carry their pails of water across the road. They knew too well what the result would inevitably be.