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Horror & Ghost Stories

 

 

 

 

Edgar Allen Poe

 

Seeking Horror Literary Work and Ghost Stories
If you have an original gothic, ghost, paranormal or horror story or poem you would like reviewed for possible publication on this web page, please email your story (as an attachment in Word) with contact information to: The Haunted Traveler

All work submitted must be original, and be your own work. There is no compensation given for stories published on this site, however it is our desire to promote gothic writers and provide an opportunity for them to be discovered.

Related Gothic, Horror Sites:
bulletHorror Writers Association: www.horror.org
bulletCemetery Dance Magazine: www.cemeterydance.com

 

F. Scott Fitzgerald's grave in St. Mary's Cemetery, Rockville, MD.

 

Dwelling by Pandora Knight

Pandora@pandorasbreadbox.com

 

Locked in the damp church basement, almost blinded from the darkness, all she could see was a sliver of light from the door above her. She had been here for so long there was no difference between weeks and months. Sometimes she heard the doorknob jiggle but it never opened. Once someone knocked on the door. She cried out, but no one answered. She screamed often begging to be found. The darkness surrounded her, making her feel vulnerable to the beast that hid within it. She was alone, yet she felt things scurry around her. Occasionally something furry brushed up against her leg making her aware of its presence. She tried not to focus on them, instead she thought about other times-- the times that she could once stand up without chains cutting into the soft flesh of her legs. She did not know how she came to be in this housing of regurgitated past. One beautiful moment she walked along the shores of bliss with the world at her fingertips. Then she awoke to find herself in a never-ending shadow with a glimpse of light that hid in the corners of darkness. They said she was a sinner-- a disgrace to God. She often wondered how that could be since he created her.

She closed her eyes tightly, trying to block out the sounds of unknown creatures feasting on the remains of the rotted meat that they threw at her while she slept. These organisms infested what life she had left, and she often wondered if they were feasting on more than just her dinner. She lay upon the wooden floor letting a few tears slip from her eyes. Once she thought she was strong enough to be able to survive and wait for a savior. Unfortunately, she realized she had no other choice but to wait, and her only savior would be the cold grasp of death's hand. That was her intended torture. They would never let her die. She sat back up, closed her eyes and tried to shake off the heaviness that surrounded her mind. She heard noise from above. She opened her eyes and looked towards the door. She saw movements in the light. She heard banging on the door.

"I’m in here," she cried out, shocking herself with the loudness of her voice. "Somebody please help me."

Everything became quiet suddenly. She laid her head against her knees feeling the emptiness that broken hope left behind.

The door began convulsing harshly. She started crying. Could someone possibly hear her?

"Please, help me," She pleaded louder choking on her cries.

The door swung open banging harshly against the wall. The fluorescent light instantly raped the room. She squinted her eyes, forcing them to adjust to the light. Trying to ignore the pain of the light, she looked up. Although her vision was slightly blurred she could still make out the image of a tall man in a tee shirt and jeans. She looked down, squinting, unable to take in the light completely. She watched his black boots move as he came closer. His shadow fell over her eyes in a shield as he inspected her.

**********************



As far as he was concerned the place was no more than a cult attraction. Full of freaks and loonies preaching about the monsters and sinners the devil hath made us. Sean had never thought more of them than a few people who were cheated out of a future by the Psychic Friends Network-- that is until he heard the screams. They had been going on for almost a year now, hollow unforgiving cries of a woman. He walked by their "church" every night on his way to work at the local food mart. The first time he heard the screams he thought it was just one of their freakish rituals. Night by night the screams increased along with his guilt.

He had lived in Nicklesville for a year. Sean never spoke to anyone unless it was necessary. He kept a low profile working nights as a stockman at the Food Mart and stayed indoors as much as possible during the day. It was a small town and he just wanted to be a vague rumor among the children, someone they told stories about at camp-outs and Halloween. So far it had been fine, but now this woman had forced her way into his miserable existence sucking the last of his life from him. Never stopping until she had him crying as loud as her.

Her cries became weaker and he wondered if the woman was dying. His life became haunted with her imaginary presence. He would wake up in the middle of the night in cold sweats with no memory, only emotions of a preexisting nightmare. He would lay in the fetal position, staring at the floor in a trance and cry himself to sleep. He tried to tell the police, but they just told him he was exaggerating, and that if he knew what was good for him, he would mind his own business.

They didn’t know that was his problem. All he ever did was mind his own business and that is why the little girl died in Forney. He saw her murder but feared for his own life too much to intervene. Two years later he is still the only surviving soul to know what happened that Sunday morning. The way the stranger tore the doll from her little hands and then suffocated her to stop her screams. The way he tried to beat her back to life, disillusioned with his own fear and the reality he created. No one ever knew but him. So he came here with his bottle of pills and Jack Daniels to forget, but now a new victim has entered his life. Was this a chance to even out the death in his mind or was he really just the butt of God’s joke?

Shortly after his small attempt at heroism with the officer, he began hearing the screams again. He tried to walk a different way to work, but he still felt the agony of her cries churning in his stomach. His only hope of freedom from the knowledge of her was to talk to someone at the organization. The thought was terrifying. What if they took him too? Maybe they would try to force him to their beliefs and then he would feel what she suffered.

**********************



The church sat on the half acre of freshly cut grass peacefully surrounded by blooming magnolia trees. The one story circular building was covered in a layer of vine roses interrupted only for the canopied walkway. Although the building created a serene image, Sean still felt the terror of the cries that rang from it at night. He forced himself closer to the entrance, anticipating the explosion of his heart with each beat. He crossed the street and stepped onto the concrete walkway admiring the lush dark green grass. Its perfection gave it a plastic look, but the aroma of a freshly cut lawn told him different. His nerves held him on the brink of insanity. He wanted to roll on the grass flattening it with his body. He imagined feeling the moisture cling to the back of his white cotton tee shirt. A motorcycle roared past him disturbing his daydream. He was quickly reminded of his purpose and dolefully approached the entrance. He knocked on the solid oak door lightly, hoping no one would answer. The canopy shaded the entrance making him feel a slight chill, despite the sweat that had broken out over his body. The door opened swiftly sending Sean into brief shock.

"I’m sorry my dear sir, I didn’t mean to frighten you," an old man spoke from behind the door. "May I help you?"

Sean stared at the small wrinkly man for a moment. He looked like a baby bird; no feathers only thin skin that was stretched over a small frame with just barley enough room to wrinkle up. His small eyes were such a light blue that he looked blind. Sean mechanically answered the withered being, "I… I was wondering about your organization. I’ve lived here for almost a year now and I’ve yet to meet anyone. I figure that church is as good a place to start as any. If I’m not mistaken this is a church, is it not?"

"Why, yes it is," said the old man softly, "Please do come in." He opened the door welcomingly. "My name is Alexander, I’m one of the ministers here."

Sean stepped in and studied his surroundings attentively. Everything was laid out in an open fashion. All the pews were made out of oak with gold pillow backs and seats. They were arranged in a circle surrounding a raised podium. The walls were painted with angels in white and they floated on the sky blue walls up towards the ceiling to a small circle of multi-colored stained glass window in the middle of the dome. The sun shot through creating a rainbow that fell over the podium in a transparent veil. It seemed a religious experience all in its own, as if the small wooden podium held the sword in the stone.

"We are a church of a sacred order. We follow God and his existence, we believe Christ was his child as each of us are," said Alexander bluntly. His raspy voice reminded Sean of a ninety- year- old who had smoked two packs of cigarettes a day since he was ten.

"So you're Christians?" asked Sean. He searched the walls for a door, or a sectioned off room-- anything that could hide a woman in agony.

"Not quite. See, we do not follow Christ per se. We follow God. We believe that Christ was no more than the rest of us, a child of God following his plan, trying to stop the overtake of Satan. He did what we all should be doing, but the rest of us, are not considered a savior or a saint by any means this day in time." The words fell with remorse from his small dry lips.

"Oh," Sean said, watching the old man look up towards the dome. "So what is the name of your order?" The old man let out a little laugh and looked Sean in the eyes, " We do not carry a name, my dear sir, but if you feel the need for a label I guess we would be Godidians. I’m sure the name explains itself," he said with a half-smile.

"Yeah." Sean nervously chuckled. He could think of nothing more to say; he was sure sweat had soaked through his shirt. He felt his legs tremble, the fear intensified the more he realized it.

"Are you all right? You look a little faint?" Alexander reached out touching Sean’s shoulder with his frail hand.

Sean felt like he was going to throw up. He had to get out of there. "No, I’m fine, just a little tired.

Perhaps I should go. Thank you for your time." He walked quickly towards the door without another glance at the strange birdman.

"If you have any other questions, we have a weekly gathering for newcomers on Wednesday nights at the Town Center. Please feel welcome to come." Sean heard Alexander yell. Wednesday night, that’s tomorrow, Sean thought. No one would be at the church if they were at the Town Center. Sean saw his chance to end all of this.

**********************



He walked slowly down the cracked sidewalk feeling the weight of the backpack bounce off his shoulders. Sean packed a hammer, a can of mace and a wrench. He didn’t have a gun and wouldn’t even be sure how to use it if he did. In fact he wasn’t even sure what he was doing. Half of him believed he was ending a two-year guilt complex and the other half of him believed he had finally lost it. Sometimes he wondered if the woman’s screams were even real. He was only a block away from the church now and he could feel the tension throughout his body.

Sean stopped and looked straight up at the sky. The clouds looked like red hills separated by a moon with rainbow rings. He could smell the scent of a spring night, of flowers resting their scent in the air. He closed his eyes and let the fragrance sink into his mind. He saw a field of daisies and dandelions. There was a little blonde girl making a crown of daises for her doll. She picked up a dandelion and blew the flower, letting its seeds fly away like tiny parachutes. He wondered what she wished for-- perhaps a pony. Like a shark’s attack, he saw a large hand grab the little girl by the arm letting her feet dangle in the air. No, don’t hurt her; she’s just a child, just a baby. He watched in shock as the large man threw the girl to the ground. She screamed and his massive dirty hand covered her mouth, muffling her terror. He ripped the doll from her; Sean watched it fly across the field losing its crown.

"NO!" he screamed banging his knees against the concrete. His body trembled violently shaking off drops of sweat. "I didn’t mean to let you die. I didn’t..." he sobbed into his pale hands. A green truck full of teenage boys drove by mocking him "Aw, look, poor baby fell and his momma’s not around. Stupid fag!"

Sean looked up remembering where he was and what he was supposed to be doing. He stood up and ran so fast that the world became a blur around him. He could think of nothing more than to save the woman. Then he would be free from his misery, it would all be over. No more nightmares, no more guilt.

Within minutes of the building he heard her cries. He rushed to the entrance opening the door with a burst. Everything was dark except for a few candles placed sporadically around the room. He heard her moans from somewhere within.

"Hello?" Where are you?" he yelled. He heard her scream back and tried to follow the path of her voice.

It came from behind the wall. He pressed his ear up to the wall and walked around the interior of the building calling out to her, listening for her cries. He stepped back and looked at the wall. There was a painted angel pointing to a piece of metal that had been lodged into the wall. He began banging on the wall screaming "Are you in there?" He felt a strong hand on his shoulder.

"No, I’m right here" came a masculine voice from behind him.

The overhead lights turned on and Sean’s body froze. He turned around and came face to face with a man in a white robe. His hood concealed his face and all that was visible was his lips above a gray bearded chin.

"What you are doing here?" he asked.

"I came to save her," Sean said, looking around for more people, feeling her screams pierce his heart.

"She cannot be saved. She is of the sinners and has been for many years. Please be along your way," he said forcefully.

Sean took a deep breath. "Okay just let me get my things," he said, turning around reaching into his backpack.

Sean pulled out the hammer and in one blow plowed it into the hooded head. The man let out a scream of pain and disbelief. Blood spurted out of the hood splashing crimson onto his white robe. The man fell to the ground, fist clutching the handle that was buried in his head. Sean jumped on the hammer digging it deeper into the skull feeling the bone crunch beneath his boots. Sean watched horrified at his own actions as the robed body convulsed and then went limp. Watching the man’s body die, Sean envisioned the stranger’s soul being set free.

Sean turned around with tears in his eyes and grabbed the metal piece. With the lights on he could now see the hinges in the wall. He threw his body repeatedly against the hidden door till it burst open.

**********************



Her time-eaten dress lay above her small knees as she sat cross-legged, hands in lap. Her wrist and ankles were chained to the floor leaving little freedom to move. Her long black hair framed her small face, falling over her shoulders in tangles. Her fair skin showed little beauty through the thin layer of grime that covered her. Her fearful eyes sat large in her skull, sunken in from starvation. The eyes held age, but her face seemed young.

"I’m not going to hurt you", he said gently. "I just want to help you. My name is Sean."

She sat there in silence allowing him to survey her. She had not seen another being since she was put here. The closer he came to her, the more sense he made to her eyes.

He was thin and had an aura of weakness about him. His hair was cut short, close to his scalp. It was a deep brown color that matched his button eyes. He had a long nose that sloped down into a small hook. When he breathed, the edges of his nostrils peaked out from underneath the hook. He had small thin lips outlined by a strong jaw line that sat on a thick neck. His heavy eyebrows creased as he twitched his nose, showing his nostrils again. He gave her a closed-mouth smile, uneasy of her staring.

"Let’s get you out of here," he said as he reached for a key that hung on the wall high above her.

He slowly bent down over her and unlocked the chains that bound her legs and arms. She heard the metal crash against itself as it fell on the splintered floor. She still said nothing and continued observing this man about her. She could see his arms were thin but muscular and covered lightly in dark black hairs down to his wrist and faintly on the knuckles of his carpenter-like hands. He stood up and grabbed her hand, lifting her up to her feet quickly. She screamed as the pain shot through her legs in sharp currents. She buckled herself up and fell to the ground in a ball. She held her bent legs sobbing in a low moan smelling the rot of the wood beneath her. He bent down and wrapped his arms under hers and pulled her up again. She screamed even louder and tried to fall again. He continued to hold her up forcing blood flow to her legs.

"I know it hurts, but if you stand up it will go away-- I promise," he said with a hint of authority in his voice.

She slowly straightened out her legs and stood up with her knees bent. When he felt some of her strength regain, he let her go. The light tingle of pain stayed behind her knees and there was tightness in her calves, but it was nothing compared to the pain of before. He looped his arm with hers and walked her towards the door. As he began to go up the small steps, she stopped walking, giving him a light jolt.

"What’s wrong?" he asked.

"I cannot leave yet," her voice comforted her with familiarity from a past that she once thought lost.

He was surprised to hear her speak. Her voice was soft and melodic. He felt the guilt leaving him. Sean felt he was even now; one life for another.

" It’s okay now. The people that put you here are gone. They can’t hurt you anymore, but we have to leave quickly," he said, trying to reassure her.

"I cannot leave yet," she said again, a little startled from the neediness in her voice. She pressed herself up against him wrapping her arms around his neck. She whispered softly in his ear "Thank you," lying her head on his shoulder nuzzling him, causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand up.

"There’s plenty of time for that later," Sean said nervously. "Right now we really have to --" he choked on the last word as she slowly sank her teeth into the thick skin of his neck. He fell to the floor in a crumpled heap as she drained him of his life. She lifted her teeth out of his neck, giving the two small holes a quick flick of the tongue. She stood up slowly, letting the blood rush to her stomach and walked to the door. She turned around to look at the dwelling where the church people had kept her for so long, starving her of any strength and life. She looked at the limp body of her hero as he lay near the chains that once held her. She took a deep breath and watched him whimper weakly as something furry ran across his leg.

 

 

 

A True Tale Of A Truly Haunted House

© 2004 Albert Donnay, email:  adonnay@jhu.edu

(This article may be posted or reprinted in full without permission but not edited)

 

This tale of a haunted house is true and because it is, every other haunted house story you have ever read also may be true. It was written by a patient of William Wilmer, after whom the Johns Hopkins Wilmer Eye Clinic is named, and published by Wilmer in the American Journal of Ophthalmology in 1921. His patient, Mrs. H, describes what happened after her family and servants moved on November 15, 1912, into a "large, rambling, high-studded house, built around 1870, and much out of repair.

"It had not been occupied for the owners for the past ten years, though occasionally it had been rented for the winter. The house was situated on a sunny street, and although the sun bathed the outside of the house, it rarely seemed to penetrate through the tall and narrow windows. All the floors and stairways were heavily carpeted. Absolute silence reigned through the house, not a foot-fall could be heard. There was no electricity, the house being lit throughout by gas. …

"G [Mr. H] and I had not been in the house more than a couple of days when we felt very depressed. The house was overpoweringly quiet. The servants walked about on thickly carpeted floors so quietly that I could not even hear them at their work.

"One morning I heard footsteps in the room over my head. I hurried up the stairs. To my surprise the room was empty. I passed into the next room, and then into all the rooms on that floor, and then to the floor above, to find that I was the only person in that part of the house.

"I had not been in the house more than a couple of weeks when I began to have severe headaches and to feel weak and tired. I took iron pills three times a day and spent a couple of hours each afternoon in my room, lying down and resting, a rather discouraging process, as after resting my headache was always worse than it had been before.

"It had always been G’s habit at night before going to bed to sit in the dining room and eat some fruit. In this house when seated at night at the table with his back to the hall, he invariably felt as if someone was behind him, watching him. He therefore turned his chair, to be able to watch what was going on in the hall.

"The children grew pale and listless and lost their appetites. The playroom at the top of the house they deserted. In spite of their rocking horse and toys being there, they begged to be allowed to play and have lessons in their bedroom.

"I grew more tired and indifferent to everything, and also felt very cold in the evenings, and wore shawls and scarves most of the time. The children seemed so poorly and I was so tired, I took them away the day after Christmas for the holidays.

"While we were away, G was frequently disturbed at night. Several times he was awakened by a bell ringing, but on going to the front and back doors, he could find no one at either. Also several times he was awakened by what he thought was the telephone bell. One night he was roused by hearing the fire department dashing up the street and coming to a stop nearby. He hurried to the window and found the street quiet and deserted.

"Soon after the New Year, the children and I, with the nurses, returned to the house. We all felt better for our change and returned quite glad to settle down again. Soon, however, the gloom of the house began to cast a shadow over us once more. The children grew paler and had heavy colds. When out of doors their colds grew less and they seemed better.

"My headaches returned, and I frequently felt as if a string had been tied tightly around my left arm. One night I was awakened by a heavy door slamming quite near me. It woke G too, and he said to me, ‘What was that?’ ‘Only the door of the room,’ I replied; but as I grew more wide awake I realized that it could not be any one of the doors of the room as they were tightly closed.

"Another time, a little before daylight, I was awakened by heavy footsteps going down a staircase behind the wall at the head of my bed. Then a number of crashes downstairs, as if several pots and pans had been hit together or against the kitchen stove. Soon I realized that there was no staircase behind the wall, only the thickly carpeted front stairs on which no footsteps could be heard. Also that it would be impossible in my room to hear any sounds from the kitchen, no matter how loud.

"On one occasion, in the middle of the morning, as I passed from the drawing room into the dining room, I was surprised to see at the further end of the dining room, coming towards me, a strange woman, dark haired and dressed in black. As I walked steadily on into the dining room to meet her, she disappeared, and in her place I saw a reflection of myself in the mirror, dressed in a light silk waist. I laughed at myself, and wondered how the lights and mirrors could have played me such a trick. This happened three different times, always with the same surprise to me and the same relief when the vision turned into myself.

"As I was dressing for breakfast one morning B (four years old) came to my room and asked me why I had called him. I told him that I had not called him; that I had not been in his room. With big and startled eyes, he said, ‘Who was it then that called me? Who made that pounding noise?’ I told him it was undoubtedly the wind rattling his window. ‘No,’ he said, ‘it was not that, it was somebody that called me. Who was it?’ And so on he talked, insisting that he had been called, and for me to explain who it had been.

"The days went on, and the children grew paler and more listless. Some days, as their colds seemed worse, I kept them in bed. Then again, as there did not seem to be very much the matter with them and they appeared to be growing too fond of staying in bed, I made them get up and go for a walk in the sun. It was very hard to make them eat. B would play vigorously for a little while, and then would lie, stretched out, limp and listless upon the floor, a toy in front of him clasped in his hand, his eyes glued upon it and yet apparently neither seeing nor thinking about it. About half an hour later, perhaps, he would suddenly get up and play again.

"About this time my plants died. Some of them I had had for a number of years. At this time I had a cold and cough, and ached all over as if I were going to have an attack of flu, but as I had no fever, I went about as usual. G was not feeling at all well either. He had a great deal of pain at the back of his head and felt as if he was going to have typhoid fever for a second time. The servants, too, had grown pale and moved about the house listlessly.

"On the night of January 15 we went to the opera. That night I had vague and strange dreams, which appeared to last for hours. When the morning came, I felt too tired and ill to get up. G told me that in the middle of the night he woke up, feeling as if someone had grabbed him by the throat and was trying to strangle him. He sat up in bed and had a violent fit of coughing, which lasted about five minutes. His first thought had been that burglars were in the house, but as everything was quiet he instantly dismissed that idea. It then flashed across his mind that I had been playing a joke on him, but upon looking at me, he saw that I was in a heavy sleep, very much as if I had been drugged. Until we lived in this house, I had always been a light sleeper, waking at the slightest sound. In this house, however, nothing seemed to wake or disturb me. Quite the contrary with G, for in the past he had always slept heavily, never hearing a sound and nothing disturbed him. Now he was continually waking, answering the telephone and the doorbell, which had never rung, and looking for burglars, who never materialized.

"That morning after breakfast, as was my usual custom, I sent for the children’s nurse, a Scotch woman who had lived with me for several years. She looked worn out, and when I asked how the children had slept she burst out with, ‘It has been a most terrible night. This house is haunted.’

"I laughingly told her that that was the most ridiculous thing I had ever heard. ‘I would have said the same thing three months ago,’ she answered, ‘but I have had such experiences that I am now convinced of it, and everyone in the house has had experiences too.’ She said that after being in the house two or three days, things had begun to happen. She had not told me before, as she and the rest of the household had made up their minds that I ought not to be disturbed about it. ‘But last night,’ she continued, ‘when the children were attacked, it became my duty to let you know at once. While you were at the opera,’ she went on, ‘about half past eight, B woke up and ran screaming through the hall to my room, "Don’t let that big fat man touch me." He was terrified. It took Fraulein and me until ten o’clock to calm him. He slept the rest of the night with me, in my room. Fraulein slept in B’s bed, besides G Jr., to protect him.

"G Jr. did not wake up all night but the muscles of his face kept twitching, as if someone was continually pinching him. In the morning when he woke, he said indignantly to Fraulein, "Why have you been sitting on top of me?" And when she told him that she had not been sitting upon him, but had been in the bed next to him, he said, "No, you have been sitting on top of me, and you were awfully heavy, too."

‘Often in the evening, after the children have gone to bed, never until after dark and the lights are lighted, Fraulein and I may be laughing and talking, when all of a sudden we hear the heavy tread of an old man walking slowly and steadily along the hall on the floor above us. It has not been one of the servants, for I have often run up stairs to see, and I have found the whole upper story of the house in darkness and empty. Sometimes as I walk along the hall I feel as if someone was following me, going to touch me. You cannot understand it if you have not experienced it, but it is real.

‘Some nights after I have been in bed for a while, I have felt as if the bed clothes were jerked off me, and I have also felt as if I had been struck on the shoulder. One night I woke up and saw sitting on the foot of my bed a man and a woman. The woman was young, dark and slight, and wore a large picture hat. The man was older, smooth shaven and a little bald. I was paralyzed and could not move, when suddenly I felt a tap on my shoulder and I was able to sit up, and the man and the woman faded away. Sometimes, after I have gone to bed, the noises from the storeroom are tremendous. It does not happen every night; perhaps a week or ten days will pass, and then again it may be several nights in succession. Sometimes it sounds as if furniture was being piled against the door, as if china was being moved about, and occasionally a long and fearful sigh or wail.’

"The governess, Fraulein Y, then came to me. She also spoke of the heavy footsteps at night – like an old man in overshoes walking slowly along. She also heard the noise in the storeroom, the moving and piling up of furniture. She slept in a big, four-post bed, with a canopy. One night, after she had been in bed a little while, she felt the bed shaken, and the canopy swayed. Thinking that a draught from the open windows might be causing the sensation, she got up and closed them. She returned to bed, and after a short time the shaking of the bed was repeated. Again she got up, examined the room thoroughly, but was unable to unearth anything.

"I interviewed all the servants in turn. They all had heard at some time or another, the footsteps at night going slowly along the corridor outside of their rooms. Each one at first had thought it one of the others, and was surprised, after inquiring, to find none of them about. They all spoke of strange experiences after they had gone to bed; as if something crept around the bed and then over them, and then they were unable to move. Sometimes it lasted for a long time, sometimes shorter. Not every night, but perhaps every second or third night. It never happened to them all on the same night, but to one and then to another.

"Much amused as we were by all these tales, we nevertheless felt as if there was a serious aspect to it. Why had all the servants whom we had had for several years, gone practically mad all of a sudden? We began to trace back the history of the house. The last occupants we found had exactly the same experiences as ourselves, with the exception that they stated that some of them had seen creeping around their beds visions clad in purple and white. Going back still further, we learned that almost everyone had felt ill and had been under the doctor’s care, although nothing very definite had been found the matter with them.

"Saturday morning, the eighteenth of January, G’s brother told us that he thought we were all being poisoned; that several years before he had read an article which told how a whole family had been poisoned by gas and had had the most curious delusions and experiences. He advised us to see Professor S at once. As he was out of town, his assistant, Mr. S, came at once to our house.

"We told him how listless and ill the children appeared. He found one of them lying on the floor, and the other two in bed. We related the experiences of the children and servants, and told him about the plants. He examined the house thoroughly from top to bottom and interviewed the servants. He found the furnace in a very bad condition, the combustion being imperfect, the fumes, instead of going up the chimney, were pouring gases of carbon monoxide into our rooms. He advised us not to let the children sleep in the house another night. If they did, he said we might find in the morning that some one of them would never wake again.

"Early in the afternoon our physician arrived and examined the children and agreed with Mr. S that they were being poisoned. … He also stated that none of us ought to stay in the house another night."

Here ends the account of Mrs. H. According to Dr. Wilmer, Mrs. H and her family all eventually recovered and never again reported seeing, hearing or feeling any ghosts. Many victims of carbon monoxide poisoning are not so lucky, however, and continue to suffer from similar symptoms for years, even after their exposure ends. Given that carbon monoxide is still the most common cause of toxic poisonings and deaths in America, it is probably still a common cause of haunted houses.

If you or others in your home ever experience any of the ghostly symptoms reported by Mrs. H, you should have your furnace, oven and other gas appliances inspected by a professional for carbon monoxide. While it is also a good idea to install carbon monoxide alarms, these are designed only to save your life from very high levels of carbon monoxide exposure and may not warn you of the lower levels known to cause headaches, depression and the other symptoms reported by Mrs. H.