The Mammoth Book of Modern Ghost Stories

Bruce smiled at the Swede’s slightly muddled version of the old English proverb, but at the same time he heartily concurred with his friend’s sentiments.

For an hour they measured and checked till eventually the broad white lines were drawn to Neils’s satisfaction, forming the magical star in which it was his intention they should remain while darkness lasted. He then drew certain ancient symbols in its valleys and mounts, and when he had finished Bruce laid the blankets, glasses, water jug, and food in its centre. Meanwhile, Orsen was producing further impedimenta from his case. With lengths of asafcetida grass and blue wax he sealed the windows and bath-waste, making the Sign of the Cross over each seal as he completed it.

“That’ll do for now. I must leave the door till we’re settled in,” he said. “I think we might as well go out and get some fresh air while we can.”

It was then nearly six o’clock. An hour later they returned to the chateau for an early supper. Almost before they had finished eating, dusk began to fall and Orsen glanced anxiously at the lengthening shadows. “We’d better go now,” he said, gulping down the remains of his coffee.

Shivering with cold they undressed and reclothed themselves outside the bathroom. Once inside, the Swede sealed the door; then turning to Bruce gave him a long wreath of garlic flowers and a gold crucifix on a chain which he told him to hang round his neck. Unquestioningly the American obeyed and watched the little man follow suit. As they stepped into the pentacle, Neils gripped his friend by the hand, and said urgently:

“Now, whatever happens and whatever ideas you get about all this being nonsense, you must on no account leave the circle. The evil force, if there is one, is almost certain to try to undermine our defences through you, owing to your spiritual inexperience. Please remember what I’ve said.”

Having huddled into their blankets and tied the handkerchiefs newly soaked in eau-de-Cologne over their faces, they settled down to wait.

Time plodded wearily by and as they had left their watches outside with their clothes they had no means of checking it. Conversation soon flagged owing to the difficulty of speaking through the wet masks, so the two men crouched in silence, each longing desperately for the coming of dawn. Outside, the trees sighed quietly and darkness held the chateau in its thrall.

“It’s very odd, I can’t sense any evil presence here; and if there were one I should have by now,” Orsen whispered after a long silence.

Bruce stiffened and peered through the darkness at the white blob that was Neils’s face. “Now don’t you start talking like that. Remember what you told me. It looks as though those things you mentioned a while ago are having a dig at you.”

“No,” Orsen muttered after a moment, “no, it’s not that. Will you give me some water, please, it’s over on your side.”

Bruce put out his hand to feel for the jug. Without the least warning his strangled yell shattered the deep quiet of the night and he collapsed in a limp tangle over the Swede’s legs.

Orsen stumbled to his feet, his mind reeling – the Thing was in the pentacle. Inside it! There, with them; at their elbows, instead of beyond the barrier which should have kept it out. Why had he felt no warning – no indication of evil?

Shouting aloud a Latin exorcism which would keep the evil at bay for a space of eleven human heart-beats, he stooped, grabbed Bruce under the armpits, and dragged him from the circle.

Once outside it he allowed himself a pause to get back his breath; knowing that since the Thing was in the pentacle the magic barrier would act like the bars of a cage and keep it from getting out. But would it? Even Neils was scared by such an unusual and extraordinarily potent phenomenon.

Wrenching the door open he seized Brace’s unconscious form again and, exerting all his frail physical strength, hauled it along the passage. When at last he reached the ballroom sweat was pouring down his face and he was gasping as though his lungs would burst. Feverishly he searched for his torch and finding it threw its beams on Bruce’s face. It was deathly pale, but with a sob of relief Neils felt the faintly beating heart beneath his hand.

A few minutes later Bruce came out of his faint, but he could remember nothing, save that when he had put out his hand for the water-jug it seemed as though a thousand knives had pierced his body; then everything had gone black.

Neils nodded as his friend finished. “It’s a good thing we left our blankets here. We’ll try and get some sleep!” But he himself did not attempt to sleep. Puzzled and anxious, he remained on watch all night, and as the first rays of dawn crept through the windows he returned to the bathroom.

Two hours later he told Bruce: “I think I’ve found the root of the evil, and I’m going down the village to borrow the largest electric battery I can find.”

“Whatever for?”

“Electric force can be used for many purposes,” was all Neils would say.

It was not until they had completed their evening meal that Neils undid a parcel and produced four bottles of champagne.

“Hullo! What’s this?” Bruce exclaimed.

“I got them from the local estaminet this morning as I thought it was time we returned hospitality to some of the officers in the mess. They’re coming in about ten o’clock.”

“That’s fine,” Bruce grinned. “I reckon I deserve a party after last night.”

Soon after ten their friend the captain, a colonel, and three other officers arrived and they immediately began to make half-humorous inquiries about the ghost.

“Gentlemen,” replied Neils, “I asked you up here because I hope to lay the ghost tonight; but we can’t start work for an hour or two, and in the meantime, as I am a teetotaller, I hope you’ll join Bruce Hemmingway in a glass of wine.”

For two hours Neils kept them enthralled with stories of Saati manifestations he had encountered, so that even the most sceptical was secretly glad that the party numbered seven resolute men; but he would say nothing of his discoveries in the chateau until, glancing at his watch, he saw that it was half-past twelve. Then he began to recount the experiences of Bruce and himself since their arrival.

Turning to Bruce, he went on: “My suspicions were aroused last night when you were attacked in the pentacle. Mentally you were unharmed, but your hand was red and inflamed, as though it had been burnt. Early this morning I returned to the bathroom and pulled up the boards upon which the water-jug was resting, taking care not to touch the floor anywhere near it. Underneath there were the decaying bodies of two rats and three electric wires, the naked leads of which were inserted in the plank to look from above like nails. You remember that curious sound of tapping fingers on the recording machine, which is so much more sensitive than our ears. When I saw those wires I suddenly realized what it meant. Somewhere in the chateau a person was working a morse transmitter.”

“By Jove!” The Colonel jumped to his feet. “A spy!”

Neils nodded. “Yes. Long before the war, no doubt, the Germans laid a secret cable from their own lines to the chateau, reckoning that their agent here would be able to work undisturbed because no one would come to the place on account of its sinister reputation. But to make quite certain of being able to scare away any intruders they ran electric wires to a dozen different points in the building, mainly to door-knobs; but the lavatory seats and bathroom also particularly lent themselves to such a purpose.”

“But we’ve searched every room in the place,” Bruce exclaimed, “so where does the spy conceal himself?”

The officers were now all on their feet. “Grand work, Mr Orsen!” cried the Colonel. “He may even be sending a message now. Let’s go and get him.”

It was after one o’clock when Orsen led the way out of the chateau. They stumbled through tangled undergrowth, barking their shins on unseen obstacles for nearly twenty minutes until Neils halted in a clearing among the trees which was almost filled by a large grassy mound.

“What’s this?” the captain asked, flashing his torch.

“It’s an ice-house,” the little man replied as he pulled open a thick, slanting wooden trap almost hidden by moss and ivy. “In the old days, before refrigerators were invented, people used to cut blocks of ice out of their lakes when they were frozen in the winter and store them in these places. The temperature remained constant owing to