However, as it was just possible that I might be
mistaken--that there really was a ghost, and as I had not seen Colonel
Onslow for a long time, and indulged in feelings of the warmest regard
both for him and his wife, I resolved to go. Accordingly I set out early in the afternoon of the Good Friday. The
weather, which had been muggy in London, grew colder and colder the
further we advanced along the line, and by the time we reached Eastover
there was every prospect of a storm. As I expected, a closed carriage had been sent to meet me; for the
Colonel, carrying conservatism--with more conservatism than sense,
perhaps--to a fine point, cherished a deep-rooted aversion to
innovations of any sort, and consequently abhorred motors. His house,
Eastover Hall, is three miles from the station, and lies at the foot of
a steep spine of the Chilterns. The grounds of Eastover Hall were extensive; but, in the ordinary sense,
far from beautiful. To me, however, they were more than beautiful; there
was a grandeur in them--a grandeur that appealed to me far more than
mere beauty--the grandeur of desolation, the grandeur of the Unknown. As
we passed through the massive iron gates of the lodge, I looked upon
countless acres of withered, undulating grass; upon a few rank sedges;
upon a score or so of decayed trees; upon a house--huge, bare, grey and
massive; upon bleak walls; upon vacant, eye-like windows; upon crude,
scenic inhospitality, the very magnitude of which overpowered me. I have
said it was cold; but there hung over the estate of Eastover an iciness
that brought with it a quickening, a sickening of the heart, and a
dreariness that, whilst being depressing in the extreme, was, withal,
sublime. Sublime and mysterious; mysterious and insoluble. A thousand
fancies swarmed through my mind; yet I could grapple with none; and I
was loth to acknowledge that, although there are combinations of very
simple material objects which might have had the power of affecting me
thus, yet any attempt to analyse that power was beyond--far beyond--my
mental capability. The house, though old--and its black oak panellings, silent staircases,
dark corridors, and general air of gloom were certainly suggestive of
ghosts--did not affect me in the same degree. The fear it inspired was
the ordinary fear inspired by the ordinary superphysical, but the fear I
felt in the grounds was a fear created by something out of the
way--something far more bizarre than a mere phantom of the dead. The Colonel asked me if I had experienced any unusual sensations the
moment I entered the house, and I told him, "Yes." "Nearly everyone does," he replied, "and yet, so far as I know, no one
has ever seen anything. The noises we hear all round the house have
lately been more frequent. I won't describe them; I want to learn your
unbiassed opinion of them first." We then had tea, and whilst the rest--there was a large
house-party--indulged in music and cards, the Colonel and I had a
delightful chat about old times. I went to bed in the firm resolution of
keeping awake till at least two; but I was very tired, and the excessive
cold had made me extremely sleepy; consequently, despite my heroic
efforts, I gradually dozed off, and knew no more till it was broad
daylight and the butler entered my room with a cup of tea. When I came
down to breakfast I found everyone in the best of spirits. The Onslows
are "great hands" at original entertainments, and the announcement that
there would be a masked ball that evening was received with tremendous
enthusiasm. "To-night we dance, to-morrow we feed on Easter eggs and fancy cakes,"
one of the guests laughingly whispered. "What a nicely ordered
programme! I hear, too, we are to have a real old-fashioned Easter
Day--heaving and lifting, and stool-ball. Egad! The Colonel deserves
knighthood!" Soon after breakfast there was a general stampede to Seeton and
Dinstable to buy gifts; for in that respect again the Onslows stuck to
old customs, and there was a general interchange of presents on Easter
morning. My purchases made, I joined one or two of the house-party at
lunch in Seeton, cycled back alone to Eastover in time for tea; and, at
five o'clock, commenced my first explorations of the grounds. The sky
having become clouded my progress was somewhat slow. I did the Park
first, and I had not gone very far before I detected the same presence I
had so acutely felt the previous afternoon. Like the scent of a wild
beast, it had a certain defined track which I followed astutely,
eventually coming to a full stop in front of a wall of rock. I then
perceived by the aid of a few fitful rays of suppressed light, which at
intervals struggled successfully through a black bank of clouds, the
yawning mouth of a big cavern, from the roof of which hung innumerable
stalactites. I now suddenly realized that I was in a very lonely,
isolated spot, and became immeasurably perturbed. The Unknown Something
in the atmosphere which had inspired me with so much fear was here
conglomerated--it was no longer the mere essence--it was the whole
Thing. The whole Thing, but what was that Thing? A hideous fascination
made me keep my gaze riveted on the gaping hole opposite me. At first I
could make out nothing--nothing but jagged walls and roof, and empty
darkness; then there suddenly appeared in the very innermost recesses of
the cave a faint glow of crimson light which grew and grew, until with
startling abruptness it resolved itself into two huge eyes, red and
menacing. The sight was so unexpected, and, by reason of its intense
malignity, so appalling, that I was simply dumbfounded. I could do
nothing but stare at the Thing--paralysed and speechless. I made a
desperate effort to get back my self-possession; I strove with all my
might to reason with myself, to assure myself that this was the supreme
moment of my life, the moment I had so long and earnestly desired. But
it was in vain; I was terrified--helplessly, hopelessly terrified. The
eyes moved, they drew nearer and nearer to me, and as they did so they
became more and more hostile. I opened my mouth to shout for help, I
could feel my lungs bursting under the tension; not a sound came; and
then--then, as the eyes closed on me, and I could feel the cold, clammy
weight pressing me down, there rang out, loud and clear, in the keen and
cutting air of the spring evening, a whole choir of voices--the village
choral society. I am not particularly fond of music--certainly not of village music,
however well trained it may be; but I can honestly affirm that, at that
moment, no sounds could have been more welcome to me than those old
folk-songs piped by the rustics, for the instant they commenced the
spell that so closely held me prisoner was broken, my faculties
returned, and reeling back out of the clutches of the hateful Thing, I
joyfully turned and fled.