Yes, if some one will kindly put me in the way of getting such a place for a residence I shall be his or her debtor, while for recompense, as soon as ever matters have been a bit seen to, and the place is habitable, they shall have the honour of first sleeping in the most haunted room in the house.
This is, I am well aware, a very choice kind of house, but that there are such places every one is aware, and my story is to be about one of these old man-forsaken spots, that years ago existed in Hertfordshire. I say years ago existed, for though the house still stands, it is in a dreadfully modernised form. Wings were pulled down, wainscotings torn out, and the place so altered that a tenant was found, and the haunters so disgusted with their home that the noises ceased, and the old reputation was forgotten.
I write this story as it was told to me by a friend, in whose word I have faith sufficient to vouch for the truth of what he heard.
There was an old legend attached to the place, something relating to the right of possession, and some one coming home to oust the then holder of the estate; then followed midnight murder, the concealment of the deed, and, as ’tis said, the spirits of the murderer and murdered haunted the scene of the dread deed.
Be that as it may, family after family took the house and left in a very short time. Strange noises were heard, strange stories got about the village; servants at first could only be sent from one room to another in twos or threes for mutual protection. Jane fell down in a fit; Mary was found staring, with her eyes fixed on nothingness, and her mouth wide open; Betsey was lost, but afterwards found in the best bedroom, with the whole of her person buried beneath the clothes, when she struggled and screamed horribly at their being dragged off; cooks Number 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5 used to go about after dark with their aprons over their heads; Mary Hann would not sleep alone; Thomas said nothing, but took to wearing his hair standing on end like quills upon the fretful etcetera, or better still, in this case, like a hedgehog; and all ended by giving notice one after the other, so fast, that at last it came to a fresh servant reaching the village, hearing the character of the house, and then going back without even testing the place, for, like a snowball, the horrors said to abound, increased at a fearful ratio when slipping glibly off Rumour’s many tongues. At last the house stood empty year after year. The agent who was empowered to let it did his best. House-hunters came, looked at it, asked questions, and then, after a few inquiries, house-hunters went, and the house stood empty, when, as season after season passed, the forlorn aspect of the place became worse; the paint peeled off the window frames; the gutters rotted; green mould settled upon the doors; grass grew up between the steps; while the large slab was raised right out of its place by a growth of fungus; idle boys threw stones at the windows, and then ran for their lives; shutters became loose and flapped about; while neglect and ruin were everywhere, and the house was said to be more haunted than ever.
Fortunately, The Grange was the property of a wealthy man, who did not feel the loss of the rent, and as time wore on the place was known as “The Harnted House,” and no attempt was made to let it, so that it became at last almost untenable.
At length a new agent came to the neighbouring town, and after a few months’ stay his curiosity became aroused, and being a quiet sensible fellow, he talked to first one acquaintance and then another, heard the story of the haunted house from different sources, and the upstart was, that a party of half a dozen, of whom my friend was one, agreed to sit up with the agent in the ghostly place, and try and investigate the matter, so as to place the strange rumours in a better light if possible.
The night fixed upon came, and well provided with creature comforts, the party adjourned to the Grange; Mr Hemson, the agent, having been in the afternoon, and seen that a supply of fuel was placed ready, and at the same time had all he could done towards making what had evidently been a little breakfast-room comfortable.
On reaching the hall door the snow was falling heavily, while a sad moaning wind swept round the house, and blew the large flakes in the unwonted visitors’ faces. Dreary and dismal looked the old Elizabethan Grange, and more than one of the venturesome party felt a shiver—perhaps of cold—pass through him as a large key was thrust into the lock, and with a groan the door turned upon its hinges.
Mr Hemson had brought with him a bull’s-eye dark lanthorn, and now turning it on, the party found themselves in a small square hall with a wide staircase in front, and about three doors on either side. All looked gloomy and weird, while a sensation of chill fell upon one and all as they passed across the earthy-smelling place, followed Mr Hemson down a few stairs to the right, and then stood in the little breakfast-room, where a few sparks yet remained of the large fire that had been lit.