I could see no chair, only
a coarse deal table, a straw mattress, and a kind of trough. An air of
irredeemable gloom and horror hung over and pervaded everything. As I
stood there, I felt I was waiting for something--something that was
concealed in the corner of the room I dreaded. I tried to reason with
myself, to assure myself that there was nothing there that could hurt
me, nothing that could even terrify me, but my efforts were in
vain--my fears grew. Had I had some definite knowledge as to the cause
of my alarm I should not have suffered so much, but it was my
ignorance of what was there, of what I feared, that made my terror so
poignant. Each second saw the agony of my suspense increase. I dared
not move. I hardly dare breathe, and I dreaded lest the violent
pulsation of my heart should attract the attention of the Unknown
Presence and precipitate its coming out. Yet despite the perturbation
of my mind, I caught myself analysing my feelings. It was not danger I
abhorred so much, as its absolute effect--fright. I shuddered at the
bare thought of what result the most trivial incident--the creaking of
a board, ticking of a beetle, or hooting of an owl--might have on the
intolerable agitation of my soul. In this unnerved and pitiable condition I felt that the period was
bound to come, sooner or later, when I should have to abandon life and
reason together in the most desperate of struggles with--fear. At length, something moved. An icy chill ran through my frame, and the
horror of my anticipations immediately reached its culminating point. The Presence was about to reveal itself. The gentle rubbing of a soft body on the floor, the crack of a bony
joint, breathing, another crack, and then--was it my own excited
imagination--or the disturbing influence of the atmosphere--or the
uncertain twilight of the chamber that produced before me, in the
stygian darkness of the recess, the vacillating and indistinct outline
of something luminous, and horrid? I would gladly have risked futurity
to have looked elsewhere--I could not. My eyes were fixed--I was
compelled to gaze steadily in front of me. Slowly, very slowly, the thing, whatever it was, took shape. Legs--crooked, misshapen, human legs. A body--tawny and hunched. Arms--long and spidery, with crooked, knotted fingers. A head--large
and bestial, and covered with a tangled mass of grey hair that hung
around its protruding forehead and pointed ears in ghastly mockery of
curls. A face--and herein was the realisation of all my direst
expectations--a face--white and staring, piglike in formation,
malevolent in expression; a hellish combination of all things foul and
animal, and yet withal not without a touch of pathos. As I stared at it aghast, it reared itself on its haunches after the
manner of an ape, and leered piteously at me. Then, shuffling forward,
it rolled over, and lay sprawled out like some ungainly turtle--and
wallowed, as for warmth, in the cold grey beams of early dawn. At this juncture the handle of the chamber door turned, some one
entered, there was a loud cry--and I awoke--awoke to find the whole
tower, walls and rafters, ringing with the most appalling screams I
have ever heard,--screams of some thing or of some one--for there was
in them a strong element of what was human as well as animal--in the
greatest distress. Wondering what it meant, and more than ever terrified, I sat up in bed
and listened,--listened whilst a conviction--the result of intuition,
suggestion, or what you will, but a conviction all the same--forced me
to associate the sounds with the thing in my dream. And I associate
them still. *       *       *       *       *

It was, I think, in the same year--in the year that the foregoing
account was narrated to me--that I heard another story of the
hauntings at Glamis, a story in connection with a lady whom I will
call Miss Macginney. I append her experience as nearly as possible as
she is stated to have told it. *       *       *       *       *

I seldom talk about my adventure, Miss Maginney announced, because so
many people ridicule the superphysical, and laugh at the mere mention
of ghosts. I own I did the same myself till I stayed at Glamis; but a
week there quite cured me of scepticism, and I came away a confirmed
believer. The incident occurred nearly twenty years ago--shortly after my return
from India, where my father was then stationed. It was years since I had been to Scotland, indeed I had only once
crossed the border and that when I was a babe; consequently I was
delighted to receive an invitation to spend a few weeks in the land of
my birth. I went to Edinburgh first--I was born in Drumsheugh
Gardens--and thence to Glamis. It was late in the autumn, the weather was intensely cold, and I
arrived at the castle in a blizzard. Indeed, I do not recollect ever
having been out in such a frightful storm. It was as much as the
horses could do to make headway, and when we reached the castle we
found a crowd of anxious faces eagerly awaiting us in the hall. Chilled! I was chilled to the bone, and thought I never should thaw. But the huge fires and bright and cosy atmosphere of the rooms--for
the interior of Glamis was modernised throughout--soon set me right,
and by tea time I felt nicely warm and comfortable. My bedroom was in the oldest part of the castle--the Square Tower--but
although I had been warned by some of the guests that it might be
haunted, I can assure you that when I went to bed no subject was
farther from my thoughts than the subject of ghosts. I returned to my
room at about half-past eleven. The storm was then at its height--all
was babel and confusion--impenetrable darkness mingled with the
wildest roaring and shrieking; and when I peeped through my casement
window I could see nothing--the panes were shrouded in snow--snow
which was incessantly dashed against them with cyclonic fury. I fixed
a comb in the window-frame so as not to be kept awake by the constant
jarring; and with the caution characteristic of my sex looked into
the wardrobe and under the bed for burglars--though Heaven knows what
I should have done had I found one there--placed a candlestick and
matchbox on the table by my bedside, lest the roof or window should be
blown in during the night or any other catastrophe happen, and after
all these preparations got into bed. At this period of my life I was a
sound sleeper, and, being somewhat unusually tired after my journey, I
was soon in a dreamless slumber. What awoke me I cannot say, but I
came to myself with a violent start, such as might have been
occasioned by a loud noise. Indeed, that was, at first, my impression,
and I strained my ears to try and ascertain the cause of it. All was,
however, silent. The storm had abated, and the castle and grounds were
wrapped in an almost preternatural hush. The sky had cleared, and the
room was partially illuminated by a broad stream of silvery light that
filtered softly in through the white and tightly drawn blinds.