The Ghost's Summons

Belgravia, January 1868 issue. This is actually, I find, Mary
Elizabeth Braddon (1835-1915). I suspect this one was not intended
entirely seriously.


THE GHOST'S SUMMONS
by Ada Buisson

"WANTED, sir--a patient."

It was in the early days of my professional career, when patients
were scarce and fees scarcer; and though I was in the act of sitting
down to my chop, and had promised myself a glass of steaming punch
afterwards, in honour of the Christmas season, I hurried instantly
into my surgery.

I entered briskly; but no sooner did I catch sight of the figure
standing leaning against the counter than I started back with a
strange feeling of horror which for the life of me I could not
comprehend.

Never shall I forget the ghastliness of that face--the white
horror stamped upon every feature--the agony which seemed to sink the
very eyes beneath the contracted brows; it was awful to me to behold,
accustomed as I was to scenes of terror.

"You seek advice," I began, with some hesitation.

"No; I am not ill."

"You require then--"

"Hush!" he interrupted, approaching more nearly, and dropping his
already low murmur to a mere whisper. "I believe you are not rich.
Would you be willing to earn a thousand pounds?"

A thousand pounds! His words seemed to burn my very ears.

"I should be thankful, if I could do so honestly," I replied with
dignity. "What is the service required of me?"

A peculiar look of intense horror passed over the white face
before me; but the blue-black lips answered firmly, "To attend a death-
bed."

"A thousand pounds to attend a death-bed! Where am I to go,
then?--whose is it?"

"+Mine.+"

The voice in which this was said sounded so hollow and distant,
that involuntarily I shrank back. "Yours! What nonsense! You are not a
dying man. You are pale, but you appear perfectly healthy. You--"

"Hush!" he interrupted; "I know all this. You cannot be more
convinced of my physical health than I am myself; yet I know that
before the clock tolls the first hour after midnight I shall be a dead
man."

"But--"

He shuddered slightly; but stretching out his hand commandingly,
motioned me to be silent. "I am but too well informed of what I
affirm," he said quietly; "I have received a mysterious summons from
the dead. No mortal aid can avail me. I am as doomed as the wretch on
whom the judge has passed sentence. I do not come either to seek your
advice or to argue the matter with you, but simply to buy your
services. I offer you a thousand pounds to pass the night in my
chamber, and witness the scene which takes place. The sum may appear
to you extravagant. But I have no further need to count the cost of
any gratification; and the spectacle you will have to witness is no
common sight of horror."

The words, strange as they were, were spoken calmly enough; but
as the last sentence dropped slowly from the livid lips, an expression
of such wild horror again passed over the stranger's face, that, in
spite of the immense fee, I hesitated to answer.

"You fear to trust to the promise of a dead man! See here, and be
convinced," he exclaimed eagerly; and the next instant, on the counter
between us lay a parchment document; and following the indication of
that white muscular hand, I read the words, "And to Mr. Frederick
Read, of 14 High-street, Alton, I bequeath the sum of one thousand
pounds for certain service rendered to me."

"I have had that will drawn up within the last twenty-four hours,
and I signed it an hour ago, in the presence of competent witnesses. I
am prepared, you see. Now, do you accept my offer, or not?"

My answer was to walk across the room and take down my hat, and
then lock the door of the surgery communicating with the house.

* * * * * *

It was a dark, icy-cold night, and somehow the courage and
determination which the sight of my own name in connection with a
thousand pounds had given me, flagged considerably as I found myself
hurried along through the silent darkness by a man whose death-bed I
was about to attend.

He was grimly silent; but as his hand touched mine, in spite of
the frost, it felt like a burning coal.

On we went--tramp, tramp, through the snow--on, on, till even I
grew weary, and at length on my appalled ear struck the chimes of a
church-clock; whilst close at hand I distinguished the snowy hillocks
of a churchyard.

Heavens! was this awful scene of which I was to be the witness to
take place veritably amongst the dead?

"Eleven," groaned the doomed man. "Gracious God! but two hours
more, and that ghostly messenger will bring the summons. Come, come;
for mercy's sake, let us hasten."

There was but a short road separating us now from a wall which
surrounded a large mansion, and along this we hastened until we
reached a small door.

Passing through this, in a few minutes we were stealthily
ascending the private staircase to a splendidly-furnished apartment,
which left no doubt of the wealth of its owner.

All was intensely silent, however, through the house; and about
this room in particular there was a stillness that, as I gazed around,
struck me as almost ghastly.

My companion glanced at the clock on the mantelshelf, and sank
into a large chair by the side of the fire with a shudder. "Only an
hour and a half longer," he muttered. "Great heaven! I thought I had
more fortitude. This horror unmans me." Then, in a fiercer-tone, and
clutching my arm, he added, "Ha! you mock me, you think me mad; but
wait till you see--wait till you see!"

I put my hand on his wrist; for there was now a fever in his
sunken eyes which checked the superstitious chill which had been
gathering over me, and made me hope that, after all, my first
suspicion was correct, and that my patient was but the victim of some
fearful, hallucination.

"Mock you!" I answered soothingly. "Far from it; I sympathise
intensely with you, and would do much to aid you. You require sleep.
Lie down, and leave me to watch."

He groaned, but rose, and began throwing off his clothes; and,
watching my opportunity, I slipped a sleeping-powder, which I had
managed to put in my pocket before leaving the surgery, into the
tumbler of claret that stood beside him.

The more I saw, the more I felt convinced that it was the nervous
system of my patient which required my attention; and it was with
sincere satisfaction I saw him drink the wine, and then stretch
himself on the luxurious bed.

"Ha," thought I, as the clock struck twelve, and instead of a
groan, the deep breathing of the sleeper sounded through the room;
"you won't receive any summons to-night, and I may make myself
comfortable."

Noiselessly, therefore, I replenished the fire, poured myself out
a large glass of wine, and drawing the curtain so that the firelight
should not disturb the sleeper, I put myself in a position to follow
his example.

How long I slept 1 know not, but suddenly I aroused with a start
and as ghostly a thrill of horror as ever I remember to have felt in
my life.

+Something+--what, I knew not--seemed near, something nameless,
but unutterably awful.

I gazed round.

The fire emitted a faint blue glow, just sufficient to enable me
to see that the room was exactly the same as when I fell asleep, but
that the long hand of the clock wanted but five minutes of the
mysterious hour which was to be the death-moment of the "summoned"
man!

Was there anything in it, then?--any truth in the strange story
he had told?

The silence was intense.

I could not even hear a breath from the bed; and I was about to
rise and approach, when again that awful horror seized me, and at the
same moment my eye fell upon the mirror opposite the door, and I saw-

Great heaven! that awful Shape--that ghastly mockery of what had
been humanity--was it really a messenger from the buried, quiet dead?

It stood there in visible death-clothes; but the awful face was
ghastly with corruption, and the sunken eyes gleamed forth a green
glassy glare which seemed a veritable blast from the infernal fires
below.

To move or utter a sound in that hideous presence was impossible;
and like a statue I sat and saw that horrid Shape move slowly towards
the bed.

What was the awful scene enacted there, I know not. I heard
nothing, except a low stifled agonised groan; and I saw the shadow of
that ghastly messenger bending over the bed.

Whether it was some dreadful but wordless sentence its breathless
lips conveyed as it stood there, I know not; but for an instant the'
shadow of a claw-like hand from which the third finger was missing,
appeared extended over the doomed man's head; and then, as the clock
struck one clear silvery stroke, it fell, and a wild shriek rang
through the room--a death-shriek.

I am not given to fainting, but I certainly confess that the next
tea minutes of my existence was a cold blank; and even when I did
manage to stagger to my feet, I gazed round, vainly endeavouring to
understand the chilly horror which still possessed me.

Thank God! the room was rid of that awful presence--I saw that;
so, gulping down some wine, I lighted a wax-taper and staggered
towards the bed. Ah, how I prayed that, after all, I might have been
dreaming, and that my own excited imagination had but conjured up some
hideous memory of the dissecting-room!

But one glance was sufficient to answer that.

No! The summons had indeed been given and answered.

I flashed the light over the dead face, swollen, convulsed still
with the death-agony; but suddenly I shrank back.

Even as I gazed, the expression of the face seemed to change: the
blackness faded into a deathly whiteness; the convulsed features
relaxed, and, even as if the victim of that dread apparition still
lived, a sad solemn smile stole over the pale lips.

I was intensely horrified, but still I retained sufficient self-
consciousness to be struck professionally by such a phenomenon.

Surely there was something more than supernatural agency in all
this?

Again I scrutinised the dead face, and even the throat and chest;
but, with the exception of a tiny pimple on one temple beneath a
cluster of hair, not a mark appeared. To look at the corpse, one would
have believed that this man had indeed died by the visitation of God,
peacefully, whilst sleeping.

How long I stood there I know not, but time enough to gather my
scattered senses and to reflect that, all things considered, my own
position would be very unpleasant if I was found thus unexpectedly in
the room of the mysteriously dead man.

So, as noiselessly as I could, I made my way out of the house.
No one met me on the private staircase; the little door opening into
the road was easily unfastened; and thankful indeed was I to feel
again the fresh wintry air as I hurried along that road by the
churchyard.

* * * * * *

There was a magnificent funeral soon in that church; and it was
said that the young widow of the buried man was inconsolable; and then
rumours got abroad of a horrible apparition which had been seen on the
night of the death; and it was whispered the young widow was
terrified, and insisted upon leaving her splendid mansion.

I was too mystified with the whole affair to risk my reputation
by saying what I knew, and I should have allowed my share in it to
remain for ever buried in oblivion, had I not suddenly heard that the
widow, objecting to many of the legacies in the last will of her
husband, intended to dispute it on the score of insanity, and then
there gradually arose the rumour of his belief in having received a
mysterious summons.

On this I went to the lawyer, and sent a message to the lady,
that, as the last person who had attended her husband, I undertook to
prove his sanity; and I besought her to grant me an interview, in
which I would relate as strange and horrible a story as ear had ever
heard.

The same evening I received an invitation to go to the mansion. I
was ushered immediately into a splendid room, and there, standing
before the fire, was the most dazzlingly beautiful young creature I
had ever seen.

She was very small, but exquisitely made; had it not been for the
dignity of her carriage, I should have believed her a mere child. With
a stately bow she advanced, but did not speak. "I come on a strange
and painful errand," I began, and then I started, for I happened to
glance full into her eyes, and from them down to the small right hand
grasping the chair. The +wedding-ring+ was on that hand!

"I conclude you are the Mr. Read who requested permission to tell
me some absurd ghost-story, and whom my late husband mentions here."
And as she spoke she stretched out her left hand towards something--
but what I knew not, for my eyes were fixed on that hand.

Horror! White and delicate it might be, but it was shaped like a
claw, and the third finger was missing!

One sentence was enough after that. "Madam, all I can tell you
is, that the ghost who summoned your husband was marked by a singular
deformity. The third finger of the left hand was missing," I said
sternly; and the next instant I had left that beautiful sinful
presence.

* * * * * *

That will was never disputed. The next morning, too, I received a
check for a thousand pounds; and the next news I heard of the widow
was that she had herself seen that awful apparition, and had left the
mansion immediately.