Curious Warnings - The Great Ghost Stories Of M.R. James by M.R. James Read Free Book Online

he looked upon it, a distant, almost inaudible moan seemed to issue from its lips, and the arms began to stir. The terror of the sight forced Stephen backward, and he awoke to the fact that he was indeed standing on the cold boarded floor of the passage in the full light of the moon.
    With a courage which I do not think can be common among boys of his age, he went to the door of the bathroom to ascertain if the figure of his dream were really there. It was not, and he went back to bed.
    Mrs. Bunch was much impressed next morning by his story, and went so far as to replace the muslin curtain over the glazed door of the bathroom.
    Mr. Abney, moreover, to whom he confided his experiences at breakfast, was greatly interested, and made notes of the matter in what he called “his book.”
    The spring equinox was approaching, as Mr. Abney frequently reminded his cousin, adding that this had been always considered by the ancients to be a critical time for the young: that Stephen would do well to take care of himself, and shut his bedroom window at night; and that Censorinus had some valuable remarks on the subject.
    Two incidents that occurred about this time made an impression upon Stephen’s mind.
    The first was after an unusually uneasy and oppressed night that he had passed—though he could not recall any particular dream that he had had.
    The following evening Mrs. Bunch was occupying herself in mending his nightgown.
    “Gracious me, Master Stephen!” she broke forth rather irritably, “how do you manage to tear your nightdress all to flinders this way? Look here, sir, what trouble you do give to poor servants that have to darn and mend after you!”
    There was indeed a most destructive and apparently wanton series of slits or scorings in the garment, which would undoubtedly require a skillful needle to make good. They were confined to the left side of the chest—long, parallel slits, about six inches in length, some of them not quite piercing the texture of the linen. Stephen could only express his entire ignorance of their origin: he was sure that they were not there the night before.
    “But,” he said, “Mrs. Bunch, they are just the same as the scratches on the outside of my bedroom door; and I’m sure I never had anything to do with making them.”
    Mrs. Bunch gazed at him open-mouthed, then snatched up a candle, departed hastily from the room, and was heard making her way upstairs.
    In a few minutes she came down.
    “Well,” she said, “Master Stephen, it’s a funny thing to me how them marks and scratches can ’a’ come there—too high up for any cat or dog to ’ave made ’em, much less a rat. For all the world like a Chinaman’s fingernails, as my uncle in the tea-trade used to tell us of when we was girls together.
    “I wouldn’t say nothing to master, not if I was you, Master Stephen, my dear; and just turn the key of your door when you go to your bed.”
    “I always do, Mrs. Bunch, as soon as I’ve said my prayers.”
    “Ah, that’s a good child: always say your prayers, and then no one can’t hurt you.”
    Herewith Mrs. Bunch addressed herself to mending the injured nightgown, with intervals of meditation, until bed-time. This was on a Friday night in March, 1812.
    On the following evening the usual duet of Stephen and Mrs. Bunch was augmented by the sudden arrival of Mr. Parkes, the butler, who as a rule kept himself rather to himself in his own pantry. He did not see that Stephen was there: he was, moreover, flustered, and less slow of speech than was his wont.
    “Master may get up his own wine, if he likes, of an evening,” was his first remark. “Either I do it in the daytime or not at all, Mrs. Bunch. I don’t know what it may be: very like it’s the rats, or the wind got into the cellars; but I’m not as young as I was, and I can’t go through with it as I have done.”
    “Well, Mr. Parkes, you know it is a surprising place for the rats, is the Hall.”
    “I’m not denying