My friends and I were sitting by the fire in an old house. It was Christmas Eve, so we were telling strange stories to each other. After some time, my friend Douglas said he knew one really terrible and scary story.
“Nobody but me, till now, has ever heard it. It’s quite horrifying.” said Douglas, “It’s beyond everything. Nothing at all that I know touches it.”
“Well then,” I said, “just sit right down and begin.”
He turned to the fireplace, kicked a log, watched it for a moment. Then, when he turned back to us, he said: “I can’t begin. I will have to send a message to town. The story’s written. It’s in a locked drawer—it has not been out for years. I could write to my man and attach the key; he could send down the packet as he finds it.” I begged him to write as soon as possible; then I asked him if the experience in question had been his own. He answered quickly. “Oh, thank God, no!”
“And is the record yours? You wrote the thing down?”
“Nothing but the impression. I wrote that here,”—he tapped his heart. “I’ve never lost it.”
“Then your record—?”
“Is in old, faded ink, and in the most beautiful hand.” He hung fire again. “A woman’s. She has been dead for twenty years. She sent me the pages before she died. She was the most lovely person, ten years older than me. She was my sister’s governess,” he said quietly. “She was the nicest woman I’ve ever known in her place; she would be worthy of anything. It was a long time ago, and this situation happened long before that. I studied at Trinity and found her at home when I came here for the second summer. I was often there that year—it was a wonderful year; and in her free time we walked and talked in the garden several times. Oh yeah, don’t smile: I really liked her, and to this day I am glad to think that she liked me too. If she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have told me. She never told anyone. “
“Because the thing had been such a scare?”
He continued to look at me. “You’ll easily judge,” he repeated: “you will.”
I fixed looked at him, too. “I see. She was in love.”
He laughed for the first time. “Yes, she was in love. I saw it, and she saw I saw it; but neither of us spoke of it. I remember the time and the place—the corner of the lawn, the shade of the great beeches and the long, hot summer afternoon. It wasn’t a scene for a
