by H G Wells

" assure you," said I, " take very tangible ghost to frighten me " And I stood up fire with my glass in my hand

" your own choosing," said the man withered arm, and glanced at me askance

"Eight-and-twenty years," said I, " lived, and never ghost have I seen "

The old woman sat staring hard fire, her pale eyes wide open "Ay," she broke in; "and eight-and-twenty years lived and never seen the likes house, I reckon There's many things , when one's still but eight-and-twenty " She swayed her head slowly from side to side "A many things and sorrow for "

I half suspected the old people were trying to enhance the spiritual terrors house by their droning insistence I put down my empty glass table and looked room, and caught glimpse of myself, abbreviated and broadened to an impossible sturdiness, queer old mirror end room "Well," , "if anything to-night, the wiser For I come business with an open mind "

"It's your own choosing," said the man withered arm once more

I heard the sound of stick and shambling step flags passage outside, door creaked on its hinges as second old man entered, more bent, more wrinkled, more aged even first He supported himself by single crutch, his eyes were covered by shade, lower lip, half averted, hung pale and pink decaying yellow teeth straight for an arm-chair opposite side table, sat down clumsily, and began to cough The man withered arm gave this new-comer short glance of positive dislike; the old woman took no notice arrival, but remained with her eyes fixed steadily fire

" --it's your own choosing," said the man withered arm, coughing had ceased for while

"It's my own choosing," I answered

The man shade became aware presence first time, and threw his head back for moment and sideways, me I caught momentary glimpse eyes, small and bright and inflamed Then he began to cough and splutter again

"Why don't you drink ? " said the man withered arm, pushing the beer towards him The man shade poured out glassful with shaky hand that splashed half again deal table monstrous shadow of him crouched wall and mocked his action as he poured and drank confess I had scarce expected these grotesque custodians to my mind something inhuman in senility, something crouching and atavistic; the human qualities seem to drop from old people insensibly day by day The three made me feel uncomfortable, with their gaunt silences, their bent carriage, their evident unfriendliness and to one another

"If," said I, " show me haunted room of yours, make myself comfortable there "

The old man cough jerked his head back so suddenly startled me, and shot another glance red eyes at me from under the shade; but no one answered me I waited minute, glancing from one other

"If," little louder, " show me haunted room of yours, relieve you task of entertaining me "

"There's candle slab outside the door," said the man withered arm, looking at my feet as he addressed me "But go red room to-night----"

("This night of all nights ! " said the old woman )

"You go alone "

" ," I answered "And do I go ? "

"You go along the passage for bit," said he, "until you come to door, and is spiral staircase, and half-way up landing and another door covered with baize Go and down the long corridor end, red room is left up the steps "

"Have I got that right ? " , and repeated his directions He corrected me in one particular

"And really going ? " said the man shade, looking at me again third time, queer, unnatural tilting face

("This night of all nights ! " said the old woman )

" what for," , and moved towards the door As so, the old man shade rose and staggered round the table, so be closer others and fire door I turned and looked at them, and saw they were all close together, dark against the firelight, staring at me over their shoulders, with an intent expression on their ancient faces

"Good-night," , setting the door open

"It's your own choosing," said the man withered arm

I left the door wide open until the candle was well alight, and then I shut them in and walked down the chilly, echoing passage

confess oddness three old pensioners in whose charge her ladyship had left the castle, deep-toned, old-fashioned furniture housekeeper's room they foregathered, affected me efforts myself at matter-of-fact phase They seemed to belong to another age, an older age, an age when things spiritual were different of ours, less certain; an age when omens and witches were credible, and ghosts beyond denying Their very existence was spectral; the cut clothing, fashions born in dead brains The ornaments and conveniences room were ghostly--the thoughts of vanished men, which still haunted rather than participated of to-day But with an effort such thoughts right-about The long, draughty subterranean passage was chilly and dusty, and my candle flared and made the shadows cower and quiver The echoes rang up and down the spiral staircase, and shadow came sweeping up after me, and one fled before me darkness overhead landing and stopped there for moment, listening to rustling that I fancied I heard; then, satisfied absolute silence, I pushed open the baize-covered door and stood corridor

The effect was scarcely what I expected, moonlight, coming in great window grand staircase, picked out everything in vivid black shadow or silvery illumination Everything was in its place: the house deserted yesterday instead of eighteen There were candles sockets sconces, and whatever dust had gathered carpets or polished flooring was distributed so evenly be invisible moonlight about to advance, and stopped abruptly bronze group stood landing, hidden from me corner wall, but its shadow fell with marvellous distinctness white panelling, and the impression of someone crouching to waylay me I stood rigid for half minute perhaps Then, with my hand pocket that held my revolver, I advanced, only to discover Ganymede and Eagle glistening moonlight That incident for time restored my nerve, and porcelain Chinaman on buhl table, whose head rocked silently as I passed him, scarcely startled me

The door red room steps up were in shadowy corner I moved my candle from side to side, clearly the nature recess I stood before opening the door Here , thought I, that my predecessor was found, memory story sudden twinge of apprehension I glanced over my shoulder Ganymede moonlight, and opened the door red room rather hastily, with my face half turned pallid silence landing

I entered, closed the door behind me at once, turned the key lock within, and stood candle held aloft, surveying the scene vigil, the great red room of Lorraine Castle, young duke had died Or, rather, he had begun his dying, for he had opened the door and fallen headlong down the steps I had just ascended That the end vigil, gallant attempt to conquer the ghostly tradition place, and never, , had apoplexy better served the ends of superstition And there were other and older stories that clung room, back half-credible beginning of it all, the tale of timid wife tragic end that came to her husband's jest of frightening her And looking around that large sombre room, with its shadowy window bays, its recesses and alcoves, one could well understand the legends that had sprouted in its black corners, its germinating darkness My candle was little tongue of light in its vastness, that failed to pierce the opposite end room, and left an ocean of mystery and suggestion beyond its island of light