The Colfax chronicle. [volume] (Colfax, Grant Parish, La.) 1877-1981, 1884-10-18

through n6tlS 6uu I1aSSdycS-tno SuoobS
of former occupants; of strange whis-
perings and uncanny noises. There GER
tainly were curious sounds about the
house, especially in the upper part,
where lumber-closets were locked and
sealed up, through whose shrunken and
ill-itting doors the wind howled with
uuearthly walls. In the dining hall
was row of old family pictures, faded
and grim; and the popular belief was
that, at the "witching hour" these
worthless descended from their frames
and held high festival in the scene Of
former banquetings. No servant would
60 at night into this room alone or in
the dark.
We had with us a young footman
called Carroll, the son of an Irish ten
ant; devoted to his masters, under
whom he had been brought up. He
was fine young fellow, bold as lion.
and ready to face flesh and blood in
any shape; but very craven as re-
garded spirits, fairies and supernatural
beings, in whom he believed implicitly.
One night, after seeing the invalid set
tied to rest and committed to the care
of the appointed watcher, came down
to the drawing-roOm to write letters.
It was an immense saloon, with
doubling and prolonging its dimensions
wide folding doors of looking glass
at the end. / had been writing for
some time; far, indeed, into the ''small
hours The fire was nearly out and
the candles, which at their best had
only served to make darkness visible in
that great place, had burnt low. The
room was getting chilly, dark shadows
gathering in the corners. Who has not
known the creepy, shivering feeling
that will come over us at such times,
when IN the dead silence of the sleep
ing house we alone are wakeful? The
furniture around begins to crack; the
falling Of cinder with clink upon
the hearth makes us start. And il at
such time the door should slowly and
solemnly open wide, as doors sometimes
will, spontaneous" we look up with
quickening pulse, half expecting to see
some ghastly spectral shape glide in.
admitted by invisible hands. Should
sickness be in the house, and the angel of
death-who knows?-be brooding with
dark wing over. our dwelling, the
nerves, strained by anxiety, are more
than usually susceptible OF impress
sions. Twas gathering my papers to-
gether and preparing to steal upstairs
past the sick-room, glad to escape from
the pervading chilliness and gloom,
when the door opened. Not, this time,
of itself; for there-.he picture of alb
ject terror--stood Carroll, the footman.
He was as pale as ashes, shaking all
over; his hair dishevelled, and clothes
apparently thrown on in haste. To my
alarmed exclamation, "What is the
matter?" he was unable, for minute.
to make any reply, so violently his
lips were trembling, parched with fear.
At last made out. among half-articu-
late sounds, the words, ''Ghost, groans. J"
90" said, '.what nonsense! You
have been having q bad dream. You
ought to know better, you who"--
My homily was cut short by groan
so fearful, so unlike anything l had ever
heard or imagined, that l was dumb
with horror.
"Ah-h-h!-there it is again. whis-
pered Carroll, dropping on his knees
and crossing himself; while vehemently
humping his breast, he, as a good
Catholic, began to humble with white
lips the prayers for the dead. Up the
stairs through the open door the sounds
had come; and after a few minutes,
they were repeated, this time more
family than before.
''Let us go down and try to find out
what it is" said, at last. And in spite
Of poor CAROLS misery and entreaties,
making a strong effort, took the lamp
from his trembling hands and began to
descend the wide staircase. Nothing
was stirring. In the great dining room,
where l went in, while the unhappy
footman kept safely at the door, casting
frightened glauces at the portraits on
the walls, all was rs usual. As we went
lower down the groans grew louder and
more appalling. Hoarse, unnatural,
long as could not be i'm
.agined to proceed from human throat,
they seemed to issue from the bowels of
the earth, and to be re-echoed by the
walls of the great dark lofty kitchens.
Beyond these kitchens we're long stone
passages. leading to cellars and pan
tries and servants halls, all unused and
shut up since the mansions palmy
days; and into these we penetrated, led
by the fearful sounds.
All here was dust and desolation.
The smell of age and mould was every
where; the air was chill; and the rusty
hinges Of the doors shrieked as they
were pushed open. soaring away the
spiders, whose webs hung in festoons
across the passages, and brushed
against our faces as we went along.
Doubtless, for years no foot had in.
vaded this dank and dreary region,
given over to mildew and decay; or
disturbed the rats, which ran scamper-
ing of at our approach. The groans
seemed very near us now. and came
more frequently. 1t was terrible, in
that gruesome place, to hearken to the
unearthly sounds. l could hear my
agonized companion calling upon every
saint in the calendar to take pity upon
the soul in pain. At length there came
q groan more fearful than anv that had