The Body-Snatcher and Other Classic Ghost Stories Read online

  The BODY

  SNATCHER

  AND OTHER

  CLASSIC GHOST

  STORIES

  COMPILED BY MICHAEL KELAHAN

  This 2011 edition published by Fall River Press

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher.

  “In the Vault” by H.P. Lovecraft, copyright © 1932.

  Reprinted by arrangement with Lovecraft Properties LLC

  Cover art © Charles Errard/Courtesy of U.S. National Library of Medicine (engraving); © iStockphoto (skull)

  Interior art © iStockphoto (skull)

  Fall River Press

  122 Fifth Avenue

  New York, NY 10011

  ISBN 978-1-4351-3590-1 (ebook)

  TO BARBARA AND CHRISTOPHER RODEN, WHO HAVE “BUSTED” MORE GHOSTS THAN ANY MORTALS I KNOW

  Contents

  Introduction

  The Tapestried Chamber

  SIR WALTER SCOTT

  Strange Event in the Life of Schalken the Painter

  J. SHERIDAN LE FANU

  No. 1 Branch Line-The Signal-man

  CHARLES DICKENS

  The Romance of Certain Old Clothes

  HENRY JAMES

  The Captain of the Pole -Star

  SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE

  Dr. Trifulgas

  JULES VERNE

  The Body-Snatcher

  ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

  The Phantom ’Rickshaw

  RUDYARD KIPLING

  The Upper Berth

  F. MARION CRAWFORD

  The Judge’s House

  BRAM STOKER

  Over an Absinthe Bottle

  W.C. MORROW

  In Kropfsberg Keep

  RALPH ADAMS CRAM

  How Love Came to Professor Guildea

  ROBERT S. HICHENS

  A:B:O.

  WALTER DE LA MARE

  A Haunted Island

  ALGERNON BLACKWOOD

  The Bride

  M.P. SHIEL

  The Shadows on the Wall

  MARY E. WILKINS FREEMAN

  “Oh, Whistle, and I’ll Come to You, My Lad”

  M.R. JAMES

  The Well

  W.W. JACOBS

  The Stranger

  AMBROSE BIERCE

  Afterward

  EDITH WHARTON

  The Beckoning Fair One

  OLIVER ONIONS

  On the Brighton Road

  RICHARD MIDDLETON

  The Clock

  WILLIAM FRYER HARVEY

  The Shadowy Third

  ELLEN GLASGOW

  The Nature of the Evidence

  MAY SINCLAIR

  The Haunted Jarvee

  WILLIAM HOPE HODGSON

  Brenner’s Boy

  JOHN METCALFE

  In the Vault

  H.P. LOVECRAFT

  Introduction

  It comes as no surprise that the ghost story is one of the oldest types of fiction and probably the oldest type of supernatural tale. As soon as humankind was capable of contemplating the significance of death, it began to ponder the prospect of an afterlife, and the possibility that it might be just as easy to cross back from it as to cross over. It wasn’t long before the more imaginative among us—the poets, the playwrights, the novelists and short story writers—began working their conceptions of ghosts, spirits, and the dear departed into works of fiction. So it was that the ghost moved from the realms of metaphysics and into the canon of literature in all cultures, where it has endured down through the centuries. Ghosts and hauntings can be found in Greek tragedies, the plays of Shakespeare, and the poetry of the Romantic Era. They became a staple of Gothic fiction at the end of the eighteenth century and are rampant in contemporary horror fiction. In supernatural literature, ghosts are more prevalent than any other supernatural creature: werewolves, mummies, zombies, even vampires.

  The Body-Snatcher and Other Classic Ghost Stories celebrates—if that’s not too cheery a word for so morbid a theme—the ghost and its many literary manifestations. Its contents, which represent America, England, and the European continent, are drawn from what is arguably the golden age of the ghost story—the Victorian era and its extension to the years between the first and second world wars, when an overpowering awareness of human mortality conjured a climate conducive to the creation some of the best ghost stories ever told. This was the century in which the short story came into vogue as a literary form, and ghosts found a comfortable niche in a story type designed to provoke fear and trembling in readers. Ghosts flourished in thousands of stories written during this period and they evolved to take many shapes and forms that will surprise readers who think of them only as sheeted figures that appear at night to disturb the unsuspecting.

  The earliest tale selected, Sir Walter Scott’s “The Tapestried Chamber,” dates from 1829. In this story, the ghost plays a very simple role: it strikes terror into those who witness its eerie materialization. By the time of J. Sheridan Le Fanu’s “Strange Event in the Life of Schalken the Painter,” published ten years later, the ghost had a more active role in events, imperiling the welfare of the living. Le Fanu had a profound influence on M.R. James, who in the introduction to his 1911 volume More Ghost Stories of an Antiquary, proposed standards for successful ghost fiction, not the least of which is that “the ghost should be malevolent or odious.” Though there are a few sentimental ghost stories in this volume, and stories in which ghosts are perhaps no more sinister than some of the human characters, for the most part the tales selected adhere to James’s stipulation that the ghost be a figure of fear and loathing. James promoted the importance of mood and atmosphere in a well-told ghost story, and a sense of verisimilitude in all aspects of the story supporting the ghost’s appearance that would make it seem as though such an event could really happen. He also expanded the definition of ghosts by giving unholy survivals of things from the past a variety of frightening forms and manifestations.

  The plethora of imaginative possibilities in ghost fiction is evident in the contents of this volume. It ranges from the physical horrors of F. Marion Crawford’s “The Upper Berth” to the largely unseen presence that is only sensed in Oliver Onions’ “The Beckoning Fair One.” Ghosts have a frightful objective existence in M.R. James’s “ ‘Oh, Whistle, and I’ll Come to You, My Lad,’ ” but they are more a reflection of the protagonist’s emotional state in Robert Hichens’s “How Love Came to Professor Guildea.” The ghosts in Ralph Adams Cram’s “In Kropfsberg Keep” clearly are expression of the supernatural, but in William Hope Hodgson’s “The Haunted Jarvee,” they verge on the science fictional. Ghosts are creatures of the night in Robert Louis Stevenson’s “The Body-Snatcher” and Bram Stoker’s “The Judge’s House,” but they walk by daylight in Richard Middleton’s “On the Brighton Road” and Charles Dickens’s “No. 1 Branch Line—The Signalman.” Henry James’s “The Romance of Certain Old Clothes” and Edith Wharton’s “Afterward” are reminders that even our most literary writers found the ghost story a fertile form of fiction to cultivate.

  There are ghosts in this volume to suit every taste and temperament, and the stories gathered here represent some of the greatest ghost stories ever written. So settle into your chair, draw close to the fire, and turn the page. It could be that what sounds like the tread of footsteps in the shadows beyond the light is just a creaking floorboard, or that the gossamer feel of an unseen hand brushing your face is just a nervous tw
itch. But then again—it might not be.

  —Michael Kelahan

  New York, 2011

  The Tapestried Chamber

  or

  The Lady in the Sacque

  SIR WALTER SCOTT

  Sir Walter Scott (1771–1832) often included supernatural vignettes in his bestselling historical romances, notably “Wandering Willie’s Tale,” which is frequently excerpted from his novel Redgauntlet (1824). He also included several weird tales drawn from folklore among the stories published in Chronicles of the Canongate (1827). This story, published in the 1829 issue of The Keepsake, is among the earliest published short ghost stories.

  The following narrative is given from the pen, so far as memory permits, in the same character in which it was presented to the Author’s ear; nor has he claim to further praise, or to be more deeply censured, than in proportion to the good or bad judgment which he has employed in selecting his materials, as he has studiously avoided any attempt at ornament which might interfere with the simplicity of the tale.

  At the same time it must be admitted, that the particular class of stories which turns on the marvelous possesses a stronger influence when told than when committed to print. The volume taken tip at noonday, though rehearsing the same incidents, conveys a much more feeble impression than is achieved by the voice of the speaker on a circle of fireside auditors, who hang upon the narrative as the narrator details the minute incidents which serve to give it authenticity, and lowers his voice with an affectation of mystery while he approaches the fearful and wonderful part. It was with such advantages that the present writer heard the following events related, more than twenty years since, by the celebrated Miss Seward of Lichfield, who to her numerous accomplishments added, in a remarkable degree, the power of narrative in private conversation. In its present form the tale must necessarily lose all the interest which was attached to it by the flexible voice and intelligent features of the gifted narrator. Yet still, read aloud, to an undoubting audience by the doubtful light of the closing evening, or, in silence, by a decaying taper, and amidst the solitude of a half-lighted apartment, it may redeem its character as a good ghost-story. Miss Seward always affirmed that she had derived her information from an authentic source, although she suppressed the names of the two persons chiefly concerned. I will not avail myself of any particulars I may have since received concerning the localities of the detail, but suffer them to rest under the same general description in which they were first related to me; and, for the same reason, I will not add to, or diminish, the narrative by any circumstance, whether more or less material, but simply rehearse, as I heard it, a story of supernatural terror.

  About the end of the American war, when the officers of Lord Cornwallis’s army, which surrendered at Yorktown, and others, who had been made prisoners during the impolitic and ill-fated controversy, were returning to their own country, to relate their adventures and repose themselves after their fatigues, there was amongst them a general officer, to whom Miss S. gave the name of Browne, but merely, as I understood, to save the inconvenience of introducing a nameless agent in the narrative. He was an officer of merit, as well as a gentleman of high consideration for family and attainments.

  Some business had carried General Browne upon a tour through the western counties, when, in the conclusion of a morning stage, he found himself in the vicinity of a small country town, which presented a scene of uncommon beauty, and of a character peculiarly English.

  The little town, with its stately old church, whose tower bore testimony to the devotion of ages long past, lay amidst pastures and corn-fields of small extent, but bounded and divided with hedgerow timber of great age and size. There were few marks of modern improvement. The environs of the place intimated neither the solitude of decay nor the bustle of novelty; the houses were old, but in good repair; and the beautiful little river murmured freely on its way to the left of the town, neither restrained by a dam nor bordered by a towing-path.

  Upon a gentle eminence, nearly a mile to the southward of the town, were seen, amongst many venerable oaks and tangled thickets, the turrets of a castle, as old as the wars of York and Lancaster, but which seemed to have received important alterations during the age of Elizabeth and her successor. It had not been a place of great size; but whatever accommodation it formerly afforded was, it must be supposed, still to be obtained within its walls; at least, such was the inference which General Browne drew from observing the smoke arise merrily from several of the ancient wreathed and carved chimney-stalks. The wall of the park ran alongside of the highway for two or three hundred yards; and through the different points by which the eye found glimpses into the woodland scenery it seemed to be well stocked. Other points of view opened in succession—now a full one of the front of the old castle, and now a side glimpse at its particular towers, the former rich in all the bizarrerie of the Elizabethan school, while the simple and solid strength of other parts of the building seemed to show that they had been raised more for defense than ostentation.

  Delighted with the partial glimpses which he obtained of the castle through the woods and glades by which this ancient feudal fortress was surrounded, our military traveler was determined to inquire whether it might not deserve a nearer view, and whether it contained family pictures or other objects of curiosity worthy of a stranger’s visit, when, leaving the vicinity of the park, he rolled through a clean and well-paved street, and stopped at the door of a well-frequented inn.

  Before ordering horses to proceed on his journey, General Browne made inquiries concerning the proprietor of the chateau which had so attracted his admiration; and was equally surprised and pleased at hearing in reply a nobleman named whom we shall call Lord Woodville. How fortunate! Much of Browne’s early recollections, both at school and at college, had been connected with young Woodville whom, by a few questions, he now ascertained to be the same with the owner of this fair domain. He had been raised to the peerage by the decease of his father a few months before, and, as the General learned from the landlord, the term of mourning being ended, was now taking possession of his paternal estate in the jovial season of merry autumn, accompanied by a select party of friends, to enjoy the sports of a country famous for game.

  This was delightful news to our traveler. Frank Woodville had been Richard Browne’s fag at Eton, and his chosen intimate at Christ Church; their pleasures and their tasks had been the same; and the honest soldier’s heart warmed to find his early friend in possession of so delightful a residence, and of an estate, as the landlord assured him with a nod and a wink, fully adequate to maintain and add to his dignity. Nothing was more natural than that the traveler should suspend a journey which there was nothing to render hurried to pay a visit to an old friend under such agreeable circumstances.

  The fresh horses, therefore, had only the brief task of conveying the General’s traveling-carriage to Woodville Castle. A porter admitted them at a modern Gothic lodge, built in that style to correspond with the castle itself, and at the same time rang a bell to give warning of the approach of visitors. Apparently the sound of the bell had suspended the separation of the company, bent on the various amusements of the morning; for, on entering the court of the chateau, several young men were lounging about in their sporting-dresses, looking at and criticising the dogs, which the keepers held in readiness to attend their pastime. As General Browne alighted, the young lord came to the gate of the hall, and for an instant gazed, as at a stranger, upon the countenance of his friend, on which war, with its fatigues and its wounds, had made a great alteration. But the uncertainty lasted no longer than till the visitor had spoken, and the hearty greeting which followed was such as can only be exchanged betwixt those who have passed together the merry days of careless boyhood or early youth.

  “If I could have formed a wish, my dear Browne,” said Lord Woodville, “it would have been to have you here, of all men, upon this occasion, which my friends are good enough to hold as a sort of holiday. Do not think you hav
e been unwatched during the years you have been absent from us. I have traced you through your dangers, your triumphs, your misfortunes, and was delighted to see that, whether in victory or defeat, the name of my old friend was always distinguished with applause.”

  The General made a suitable reply, and congratulated his friend on his new dignities, and the possession of a place and domain so beautiful.

  “Nay, you have seen nothing of it as yet,” said Lord Woodville, “and I trust you do not mean to leave us till you are better acquainted with it. It is true, I confess, that my present party is pretty large, and the old house, like other places of the kind, does not possess so much accommodation as the extent of the outward walls appears to promise. But we can give you a comfortable old-fashioned room, and I venture to suppose that your campaigns have taught you to be glad of worse quarters.”

  The General shrugged his shoulders and laughed. “I presume,” he said, “the worst apartment in your chateau is considerably superior to the old tobacco-cask in which I was fain to take up my night’s lodging when I was in the hush, as the Virginians call it, with the light corps. There I lay, like Diogenes himself, so delighted with my covering from the elements, that I made a vain attempt to have it rolled on to my next quarters; but my commander for the time would give way to no such luxurious provision, and I took farewell of my beloved cask with tears in my eyes.”

  “Well, then, since you do not fear your quarters” said Lord Woodville, “you will stay with me a week at least. Of guns, dogs, fishing-rods, flies, and means of sport by sea and land, we have enough and to spare: you cannot pitch on an amusement but we will find the means of pursuing it. But if you prefer the gun and pointers, I will go with you myself, and see whether you have mended your shooting since you have been amongst the Indians of the back settlements.

  The General gladly accepted his friendly host’s proposal in all its points. After a morning of manly exercise, the company met at dinner, where it was the delight of Lord Woodville to conduce to the display of the high properties of his recovered friend, so as to recommend him to his guests, most of whom were persons of distinction. He led General Browne to speak of the scenes he had witnessed; and as every word marked alike the brave officer and the sensible man, who retained possession of his cool judgment under the most imminent dangers, the company looked upon the soldier with general respect, as on one who had proved himself possessed of an uncommon portion of personal courage—that attribute, of all others, of which everybody desires to be thought possessed.