The following week I had another rather strange experience in Liverpool. I was getting dozens of letters weekly at that time, as the first of my series of ghost stories had appeared in the “Weekly Despatch,” and my fame as a spook hunter had spread far and wide in consequence. A lady in Liverpool wrote to me, saying that her daughter, Emily, was tormented by a man coming into her bedroom every night at the same time and walking off with her bedclothes. He said nothing, merely opened her door, and, approaching the bed on tip-toe, caught hold of the clothes and hurriedly retreated with them. Spirit lights, my correspondent added, were constantly seen in the room, and at times figures like angels, and she would be glad if I would visit the house, and discover for her, if possible, some explanation of the occurrences. The nature of the manifestations being somewhat extraordinary, I thought it discreet to take a friend. The house was in a crescent, close to Clayton Square. We were shown into the drawing-room, where all the family were assembled, and we were at once regaled with detailed accounts of all that was alleged to happen. Then we were taken to the bedroom that was haunted, and the young lady whose bed the ghost stripped, at our request, sat there with us. As soon as the electric light was switched off, she began to see spirit lights. We saw nothing. No man appeared, and, on taking our departure, we both agreed that the phenomena were subjective, and that it was simply a case of hallucination. Accordingly, I advised her mother to consult a good general practitioner, as, in all probability, her daughter needed a tonic and change of air. I strongly warned her against consulting any professional Spiritualist.
Well, I returned to London, and thought no more of the matter till the following Christmas, when, quite by chance, I ran against a young doctor, to whom I had mentioned the incident. Evidently eager to communicate something, he remarked, “You remember that Liverpool case you told me about—the case of the young lady whose bedclothes used to disappear, and which you thought was hallucination? Well, you were mistaken. Since I saw you, I have become acquainted with the doctor who attends her, and he told me that, whilst he was there one day, the bedroom door opened and in walked a young man. He says the girl immediately exclaimed, ‘Here is the man who haunts my room at night. For goodness sake, Doctor, do something!’ Whereupon, the man, muttering some words in German, abruptly left the room. My doctor friend immediately ran after him, but he was nowhere to be seen, and although the house was at once searched, no traces of him could be found. Now, what do you think of the case?”
“It is certainly a very unusual one,” I replied, “and, as you say, this sequel quite upsets my theory of hallucination. It may be a case of projection. Someone who knows the girl and wishes to torment her is experimenting in visiting her in his immaterial ego. I have heard of similar cases.”
“But she knows no one like him,” my friend responded.
“Probably not,” I said. “The image she sees may be, and very likely is, merely an assumed one. Does she know any Indians, or anyone who is an earnest student of the occult? Find out if you can.”
I have not yet heard from my friend, but I still incline to the idea that the ghost in this case was a phantasm of the living, rather than a phantasm of the dead.
CHAPTER XV
SOME STRANGE CASES IN BIRMINGHAM, HARROGATE, SUSSEX AND NEWCASTLE
Whilst I was still writing for “The Weekly Despatch,” I happened to visit an old friend of mine, a Captain Rupert Tennison, who was staying with an aged relative in the Hagley Road, Birmingham.
“This is hardly the house you would expect to see a ghost in, is it?” he remarked to me after luncheon. “And yet I can assure you I had a very remarkable psychic experience here, in this very room. I’ve often wanted to tell you about it. It happened one New Year’s Eve three and a half years ago. My aunt had a nephew, on her husband’s side, called Jack Wilmot, and he and I used to meet here regularly at the commencement of every New Year. On this occasion, however, my aunt informed me that Wilmot was unable to be present, as he was detained in Mexico, where he had a very good post as a mining engineer.