Ghost Stories Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  About the Author

  Also by E. F. Benson

  Title Page

  Introduction by Mark Gatiss

  Spinach

  In the Tube

  The Man Who Went Too Far

  Mrs Amworth

  The Room in the Tower

  The Bus-Conductor

  Negotium Perambulans

  ‘And No Bird Sings’

  Caterpillars

  Copyright

  ABOUT THE BOOK

  There’s nothing sinister about a London bus. Nothing supernatural could occur on a busy Tube platform. There’s nothing terrifying about a little caterpillar. And a telephone, what could be scary about that? Don’t be frightened of the dark corners of your room. Don’s be alarmed by a sudden, inexplicable chill. There’s no need for a ticking clock, a limping footstep, or a knock at the door to start you trembling. There’s nothing to be scared of. Nothing at all.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Edward Frederick Benson was born on 24 July, 1867 in Berkshire, the son of a future Archbishop of Canterbury, and one of six children. He studied at King’s College, Cambridge and at the British School of Archaeology in Athens. Benson’s first book, Dodo, was published to popular acclaim in 1893 and was followed by over a hundred books, including novels, histories, biographies and ghost stories. In 1920 Benson became a full-time tenant of Lamb House in Rye, which had once been home to the novelist Henry James. Rye provided the setting for the well-loved Mapp and Lucia stories and their author served three terms as mayor of Rye in the late 1930s. E. F. Benson died on 29 February, 1940.

  ALSO BY E. F. BENSON

  Mapp and Lucia

  Queen Lucia

  Miss Mapp

  Lucia in London

  Lucia’s Progress

  Trouble for Lucia

  E. F. BENSON

  Ghost Stories

  SELECTED AND INTRODUCED BY

  Mark Gatiss

  Introduction

  Even in a land of eccentrics, the Benson family were particular.

  Paterfamilias Edward proposed marriage to Minnie when she was only twelve. He went on to become the Archbishop of Canterbury, she a startlingly visible gay woman who liked to be known as ‘Ben’ and was referred to by Gladstone as ‘the cleverest woman in Europe’.

  Edward and Minnie’s troubled union bore six children, four of whom survived into somewhat fey adulthood. The fifth, Edward Frederick, went on to become a figure skater, social butterfly and one of the funniest writers these isles ever produced. Though most famous today for his sublime Mapp and Lucia stories, ‘Fred’ Benson was renowned in his day for his ghostly tales or, as he preferred them, his ‘spook stories’.

  Benson’s acquaintanceship with the supernatural (barring his family’s cache with the heavenly realm) may perhaps be traced to his attendance at the very first of M. R. James’s Christmas ghost readings at King’s College, Cambridge. Though he was never close to the Master of the Ghost Story (unlike his brother Arthur), their work may be said to sit companionably together, James’s air of dusty academia sprinkled with a concoction all Fred’s own.

  Benson’s ghostly world will be familiar to Mapp and Lucia enthusiasts. It is a place of summer leases and house-envy, of confirmed bachelorhood and of (sometimes literally) monstrous women. But there are surprises here too. The very funny ‘Spinach’ properly skewers mediumship, yet in other stories, such as the scary ‘In the Tube’, he seems genuinely fascinated by the notion of ‘astral projection’. ‘The Man Who Went Too Far’ (much admired by H. P. Lovecraft) hints at a fascination with an ancient and dangerous pagan sensibility. The ghastly ‘Mrs Amworth’, though she sets up ‘an example of luncheon parties and little dinners’ that could exist in Tilling, proves to have altogether darker appetites.

  I love these stories, not only for their grace and easy style, but because they show the incredible range of Benson’s taste; by turns sly, hilarious, horrifying and strange. It’s easy to imagine Fred in the garden of Lamb House, Rye, smiling to himself in the summer sunshine, his nib scratching away as he took his imagination spiralling down ever murkier avenues. The most famous stories retain a unique power. ‘The Room in the Tower’ is properly creepy (‘Jack will show you to your room. I have given you the room in the tower’) and ‘The Bus-Conductor’ has assumed almost the status of an urban legend thanks to its inclusion in the legendary Ealing portmanteau film Dead of Night. ‘Negotium Perambulans’ and ‘And No Bird Sings’ nod to the slithering monstrosities of M. R. James and the extraordinarily weird and grim ‘Caterpillars’ is perhaps a ghost story like no other.

  If you’re new to Benson’s ‘Spook Stories’, then you’re in for a treat; if you’re returning to them, then this handsome edition will hopefully reacquaint you with the shades of some old friends. In any event, it is wonderful to think that Fred Benson’s particular approach to the ghost story will always be appreciated by lovers of the genre.

  He never married. As the obituaries used to say.

  Mark Gatiss, London 2016

  Spinach

  Ludovic Byron and his sister Sylvia had adopted these pretty, though quite incredible, names because those for which their injudicious parents and godparents were responsible were not so suitable, though quite as incredible. They rightly felt that there was a lack of spiritual suggestiveness in Thomas and Caroline Carrot which would be a decided handicap in their psychical careers, and would cool rather than kindle the faith of those inquirers who were so eager to have séances with the Byrons.

  The change, however, had not been made without earnest thought on their parts, for they were two very scrupulous young people, and wondered whether it would be ‘acting a lie’ thus to profess to be what they were not, and whether, in consequence, the clearness of their psychical sight would be dimmed. But they found to their great joy that their spiritual guides or controls, Asteria and Violetta, communicated quite as freely with the Byrons as with the Carrots, and by now they called each other by their assumed names quite naturally, and had almost themselves forgotten that they had ever been other than what they were styled on their neat professional engagement-cards.

  While it would be tedious to trace Ludovic’s progress from the time when it was first revealed to him that he had rare mediumistic gifts down to the present day, when he was quite at the head of his interesting profession, it is necessary to explain the manner in which his powers were manifested. When the circle was assembled (fees payable in advance), he composed himself in his chair, and seemed to sink into a sort of trance, in which Asteria took possession of him and communicated through his mouth with the devotees. Asteria, when living on the material plane had been a Greek maiden of ancient Athens, who had become a Christian and suffered martyrdom in Rome about the same time as St Peter. She had wonderful things to tell them all about her experiences on this earth, a little vague, perhaps, as was only natural after so long a lapse of time, but she spoke dreamily yet convincingly about the Parthenon and the Forum and the Aegean sea (so blue), and the catacombs (so black), and the beautiful Italian and Greek sunsets, and this was all the more remarkable because Ludovic had never been outside the country of his birth.

  But far more interesting to the circle, any of whom could take a ticket for Rome or Athens and see the sunsets and the catacombs for themselves, were the encouraging things she said about her present existence. Everyone was wonderfully happy and busy helping those who had lately passed over to the other side, and they all lived in an industrious ecstasy of spiritual progress. There were refreshments and relaxations as well, quantities of the most beautiful flowers and exquisite fruits and crystal rivers and azure mountains, and flowing robes and delightful habitations. None
of these things was precisely material; you ‘thought’ a flower or a robe, and there it was!

  Asteria knew many of the friends and relatives, who had passed over, of Ludovic’s circle, and they sent through her loving messages and sweet thoughts. There was George, for instance – did any of the sitters know George? Very often somebody did know George. George was the late husband of one of the sitters, or the father of another, or the little son, who had passed over, of a third, and so George would say how happy he was, and how much love he sent. Then Asteria would tell them that Jane wanted to talk to her dear one, and if nobody knew Jane, it was Mary. And Asteria explained quite satisfactorily how it was that, among all the thousands who were continually passing over, just those who had friends and relations among the ladies and gentlemen who sat with Ludovic Byron were clever enough to ‘spot’ Asteria as being his spiritual guide, who would put them into communication with their loved ones. This was due to currents of sympathy which immediately drew them to her.

  Then, when the séance had gone on for some time, Asteria would say that the power was getting weak, and she would bid them goodbye and fade into silence. Presently Ludovic came out of his trance, and they would all tell him how wonderful it had been. At other séances he would not go into trance at all, but Asteria used his hand and his pencil, and wrote pages of automatic script in quaint, slightly foreign English, with here and there a word in strange and undecipherable characters, which was probably Greek. George and Jane and Mary were then dictating to Asteria, who caused Ludovic to write down what she said, and sometimes they were very playful, and did not like their wife’s hat or their husband’s tie, just by way of showing that they were really there. And then any member of the circle could ask Asteria questions, and she gave them beautiful answers.

  Sylvia and her guide, Violetta, were not in so advanced a stage of development as Ludovic and Asteria; indeed, it was only lately that Sylvia had discovered that she had psychical gifts and had got into touch with her guide. Violetta had been a Florentine lady of noble birth, and was born (on the material plane) in the year 1492, which was a very interesting date, as it made her an exact contemporary of Savonarola and Leonardo da Vinci. She had often heard Savonarola preach, and had seen Leonardo at his easel, and it was splendid to know that Savonarola often preached now to enraptured audiences, and that Leonardo was producing pictures vastly superior to anything he had done on earth. They were not material pictures exactly, but thought-pictures. He thought them, and there the pictures were. This corresponded precisely with what Asteria had said about the flowers, and was therefore corroborative evidence.

  This winter and spring had been a very busy time for Ludovic, and Mrs Sapson, one of the most regular attendants at his séances, had been trying to persuade him to go for a short holiday. He was very unwilling to do so, for he was giving five full séances every day (which naturally ‘mounted up’), and he was loth to abandon, even for a short time, the work that so many people found so enlightening. But then Mrs Sapson had been very clever, and had asked Asteria at one of the séances whether he ought not to take a rest, and Asteria distinctly said: ‘Wisdom counsels prudence; be it so.’ After the séance was over, therefore, Mrs Sapson, strong in spiritual support, renewed her arguments with redoubled force. She was a large, emphatic widow, who received no end of messages from her husband William. He had been a choleric stockbroker on this plane, but his character had marvellously mellowed and improved, and now he knew what a waste of time it had been to make so much money and lose so much temper.

  ‘Dear Mr Ludovic,’ she said, ‘you must have a rest. You can’t fly in the face of sweet Asteria. Besides, I have just got a lovely plan for you. I own a charming little cottage near Rye, which is vacant. My tenant has – has suddenly quitted it. It is a dear little place, everything quite ready for you. No expense at all, except what you eat and drink, and seabathing and golf at your door. Such a place for quiet and meditation, and – who knows – some wonderful visitor (not earthly, of course, for there are no bothering neighbours) might come to you there.’

  Of course, this charming offer made a great difference. Ludovic felt that he could give up his spiritual work for a fortnight with less of a wrench than was possible when he thought that he would have to pay for lodgings. He expressed his gratitude in suitable terms, and promised to consult Sylvia, who at the moment was engaged with Violetta. She leaped at the idea when it was referred to her, and the matter was instantly settled.

  The two were chatting together on the eve of their departure.

  ‘Wonderfully kind of Mrs Sapson,’ said Ludovic. ‘But it’s odd that she didn’t offer us the cottage before. She was wanting me to take a holiday a month ago.’

  ‘Perhaps the tenant has only just left,’ said Sylvia.

  ‘That may be so. Dear me, the country and seabreezes! How nice. But I don’t mean to be idle.’

  ‘Golf?’ suggested Sylvia. ‘Isn’t it very difficult?’

  He walked across to the table and took up a square parcel, which had just been delivered.

  ‘No, not golf,’ he said. ‘But I am going to take up spirit photography. It pays very – I mean it’s very helpful. So I’ve bought a camera and some rolls of films, and the developing and fixing solutions. I shall do it all myself. I used to photograph when I was a boy.’

  ‘That must have cost a good deal of money,’ said Sylvia, who had a great gift for economy.

  ‘Ten pounds, but don’t look pained; I think it’s worth it. Besides, we get our lodging free. And if I have the power of spirit-photography, it will repay us over and over again.’

  ‘Explain the process to me,’ said Sylvia.

  ‘Well, it’s very mysterious, but there’s no doubt that if a medium who has got the gift takes a photograph, there sometimes appears on the negative what is called an “extra”. In other words, if I took a photograph of you there might appear on the film not only your photograph, but that of some spirit, connected with you or the place, standing by you, or perhaps its face floating in the air near you. It would make another branch of our work, it would bring in fresh clients. The old ones too; I think they want something new. Mrs Sapson would love a photograph of herself with her William leaning over her shoulder. Anyhow, it’s worth trying. I shall practise down at the cottage.’

  He put the parcel containing the photographic apparatus with other property for packing, and made himself comfortable in his chair.

  ‘I want you to work too,’ he said. ‘I want you to develop your rapport with Violetta. There’s nothing like practice. Mediumistic power is just as much a gift as music. But you must practise on the piano to be able to play.’

  The two were alone, and the utmost confidence existed between them. They talked to each other with a frankness which would have appalled their sitters.

  ‘Sometimes I wonder whether I have any mediumistic power at all,’ she said. ‘I get in a dreamy sort of state when I am writing automatic script; but is Violetta really communicating, or am I only putting down the thoughts of my subconscious self? Or when Asteria speaks through you is she really an independent intelligence, or is she part of your own?’

  Ludovic was in a very candid mood.

  ‘I don’t know, and I don’t care,’ he said. ‘But my conscious self certainly can’t invent all the things Asteria says, so they come from outside my normal perceptions. And then, after all, Asteria tells things about George and Jane, and so on, concerning their life on earth, which I never knew at all.’

  ‘But their relations who are sitting with you know them,’ said Sylvia. ‘Isn’t it possible that you may get at those facts through telepathy?’

  ‘Yes, but then that’s extremely clever of me if I do,’ said Ludovic. ‘And it’s just as reasonable to say that it’s Asteria. Besides, if it’s all me, how do you account for it that Asteria sometimes says something which goes against all my intentions and inclinations? For instance, when she said, “Wisdom counsels prudence: be it so”, in answer to Mrs Sap
son’s asking if I was not overworked and wanted a holiday, that quite contradicted my own wishes. I didn’t want to go for a holiday at all. Therefore it looks as if Asteria was an external intelligence controlling me.’

  ‘Subconsciously you might have known you wanted a holiday,’ said the ingenious Sylvia.

  ‘That’s far-fetched. Better stick to Asteria. Besides, I sincerely believe that sometimes things come to me from outside my consciousness. And I don’t know – not always, that’s to say – what Asteria has been telling them while I’m in trance. Sometimes it really astonishes me.’

  He poured out a moderate whisky-and-soda.

  ‘I’m looking forward to a holiday from séances,’ he said, ‘now that it’s settled, for, frankly, Asteria has been a little thin and feeble lately. And I’m not sure that Mrs Sapson doesn’t think so too. I think she feels that she’s heard about all that Asteria has got to say, and it would never do to lose her as a sitter. That’s why I should very much like to find that I can produce spirit photographs. It – it would vary the menu.’

  They took with them a grim and capable general servant called Gramsby, and arrived next afternoon at Mrs Sapson’s cottage. It was romantically situated near a range of great sand-dunes which ran along the coast, and was only a few minutes’ walk from the sea. The place was very remote; a minute village with a shop or two and a cluster of fishermen’s huts stood half a mile away, and inland there stretched the empty levels of the Romney marsh away to Rye, which smouldered distantly in the afternoon sunlight. The cottage itself was an enchanting abode, built of timber and rough-cast, with a broad verandah facing south, and a gay little garden in front. Inside, on the ground floor, there were kitchen and dining-room, and a large living-room with access to the verandah. This was well and plainly furnished and had an open fireplace with a wide hearth for a wood fire and an immense chimney. Logs were ready laid there and, indeed, the whole house had the aspect of having been lately tenanted. Upstairs there were sunny bedrooms facing south, which, overlooking the sand-dunes, gave a restful view of the sea beyond; it was impossible to conceive a more tranquil haven for an overworked medium.