I have waited till now--well into midday--before beginning to set down
the details of the strange episode of last night. I have spoken with
persons whom I know to be of normal type. I have breakfasted, as usual
heartily, and have every reason to consider myself in perfect health and
sanity. So that the record following may be regarded as not only true in
substance, but exact as to details. I have investigated and reported on
too many cases for the Psychical Research Society to be ignorant of the
necessity for absolute accuracy in such matters of even the minutest
detail. Yesterday was Tuesday, the second day of April, 1907. I passed a day of
interest, with its fair amount of work of varying kinds. Aunt Janet and
I lunched together, had a stroll round the gardens after tea--especially
examining the site for the new Japanese garden, which we shall call
"Janet's Garden." We went in mackintoshes, for the rainy season is in
its full, the only sign of its not being a repetition of the Deluge being
that breaks in the continuance are beginning. They are short at present
but will doubtless enlarge themselves as the season comes towards an end. We dined together at seven. After dinner I had a cigar, and then joined
Aunt Janet for an hour in her drawing-room. I left her at half-past ten,
when I went to my own room and wrote some letters. At ten minutes past
eleven I wound my watch, so I know the time accurately. Having prepared
for bed, I drew back the heavy curtain in front of my window, which opens
on the marble steps into the Italian garden. I had put out my light
before drawing back the curtain, for I wanted to have a look at the scene
before turning in. Aunt Janet has always had an old-fashioned idea of
the need (or propriety, I hardly know which) of keeping windows closed
and curtains drawn. I am gradually getting her to leave my room alone in
this respect, but at present the change is in its fitful stage, and of
course I must not hurry matters or be too persistent, as it would hurt
her feelings. This night was one of those under the old regime. It was
a delight to look out, for the scene was perfect of its own kind. The
long spell of rain--the ceaseless downpour which had for the time flooded
everywhere--had passed, and water in abnormal places rather trickled than
ran. We were now beginning to be in the sloppy rather than the deluged
stage. There was plenty of light to see by, for the moon had begun to
show out fitfully through the masses of flying clouds. The uncertain
light made weird shadows with the shrubs and statues in the garden. The
long straight walk which leads from the marble steps is strewn with fine
sand white from the quartz strand in the nook to the south of the Castle. Tall shrubs of white holly, yew, juniper, cypress, and variegated maple
and spiraea, which stood at intervals along the walk and its branches,
appeared ghost-like in the fitful moonlight. The many vases and statues
and urns, always like phantoms in a half-light, were more than ever
weird. Last night the moonlight was unusually effective, and showed not
only the gardens down to the defending wall, but the deep gloom of the
great forest-trees beyond; and beyond that, again, to where the mountain
chain began, the forest running up their silvered slopes flamelike in
form, deviated here and there by great crags and the outcropping rocky
sinews of the vast mountains. Whilst I was looking at this lovely prospect, I thought I saw something
white flit, like a modified white flash, at odd moments from one to
another of the shrubs or statues--anything which would afford cover from
observation. At first I was not sure whether I really saw anything or
did not. This was in itself a little disturbing to me, for I have been
so long trained to minute observation of facts surrounding me, on which
often depend not only my own life, but the lives of others, that I have
become accustomed to trust my eyes; and anything creating the faintest
doubt in this respect is a cause of more or less anxiety to me. Now,
however, that my attention was called to myself, I looked more keenly,
and in a very short time was satisfied that something was
moving--something clad in white. It was natural enough that my thoughts
should tend towards something uncanny--the belief that this place is
haunted, conveyed in a thousand ways of speech and inference. Aunt
Janet's eerie beliefs, fortified by her books on occult subjects--and of
late, in our isolation from the rest of the world, the subject of daily
conversations--helped to this end. No wonder, then, that, fully awake
and with senses all on edge, I waited for some further manifestation from
this ghostly visitor--as in my mind I took it to be. It must surely be a
ghost or spiritual manifestation of some kind which moved in this silent
way. In order to see and hear better, I softly moved back the folding
grille, opened the French window, and stepped out, bare-footed and
pyjama-clad as I was, on the marble terrace. How cold the wet marble
was! How heavy smelled the rain-laden garden! It was as though the
night and the damp, and even the moonlight, were drawing the aroma from
all the flowers that blossomed. The whole night seemed to exhale heavy,
half-intoxicating odours! I stood at the head of the marble steps, and
all immediately before me was ghostly in the extreme--the white marble
terrace and steps, the white walks of quartz-sand glistening under the
fitful moonlight; the shrubs of white or pale green or yellow,--all
looking dim and ghostly in the glamorous light; the white statues and
vases. And amongst them, still flitting noiselessly, that mysterious
elusive figure which I could not say was based on fact or imagination. I
held my breath, listening intently for every sound; but sound there was
none, save those of the night and its denizens. Owls hooted in the
forest; bats, taking advantage of the cessation of the rain, flitted
about silently, like shadows in the air. But there was no more sign of
moving ghost or phantom, or whatever I had seen might have been--if,
indeed, there had been anything except imagination. So, after waiting awhile, I returned to my room, closed the window, drew
the grille across again, and dragged the heavy curtain before the
opening; then, having extinguished my candles, went to bed in the dark. In a few minutes I must have been asleep. "What was that?" I almost heard the words of my own thought as I sat up
in bed wide awake. To memory rather than present hearing the disturbing
sound had seemed like the faint tapping at the window. For some seconds
I listened, mechanically but intently, with bated breath and that quick
beating of the heart which in a timorous person speaks for fear, and for
expectation in another. In the stillness the sound came again--this time
a very, very faint but unmistakable tapping at the glass door. I jumped up, drew back the curtain, and for a moment stood appalled.