The Elliott O’Donnell Supernatural Megapack Page 2
The E.F. Benson MEGAPACK®
The Second E.F. Benson MEGAPACK®
The Algernon Blackwood MEGAPACK®
The Second Algernon Blackwood MEGAPACK®
The Cthulhu Mythos MEGAPACK®
The Devils & Demons MEGAPACK®
The Elliott O’Donnell Supernatural MEGAPACK®
The Erckmann-Chatrian MEGAPACK®
The Ghost Story MEGAPACK®
The Second Ghost Story MEGAPACK®
The Third Ghost Story MEGAPACK®
The Fourth Ghost Story MEGAPACK®
The Fifth Ghost Story MEGAPACK®
The Sixth Ghost Story MEGAPACK®
The Gothic Terror MEGAPACK®
The Haunts & Horrors MEGAPACK®
The Lon Williams Weird Western MEGAPACK®
The M.R. James MEGAPACK®
The Macabre MEGAPACK®
The Second Macabre MEGAPACK®
The Third Macabre MEGAPACK®
The Arthur Machen MEGAPACK®**
The Monster MEGAPACK®
The Mummy MEGAPACK®
The Occult Detective MEGAPACK®
The Penny Dreadfuls MEGAPACK®
The Darrell Schweitzer MEGAPACK®
The Uncanny Stories MEGAPACK®**
The Vampire MEGAPACK®
The Victorian Ghost Story MEGAPACK®
The Weird Fiction MEGAPACK®
The Werewolf MEGAPACK®
The William Hope Hodgson MEGAPACK®
The Zombie MEGAPACK®
MYSTERY
The First Mystery MEGAPACK®
The Second Mystery MEGAPACK®
The Third Mystery MEGAPACK®
The First Mystery Novel MEGAPACK®
The Achmed Abdullah MEGAPACK®
The Anna Katharine Green Mystery MEGAPACK®
The Arthur Train Crime & Mystery MEGAPACK®
The Boy Detectives MEGAPACK®
The Bulldog Drummond MEGAPACK®*
The Carolyn Wells Mystery MEGAPACK®
The Charlie Chan MEGAPACK®*
The Craig Kennedy Scientific Detective MEGAPACK®
The Crime and Corruption Novel MEGAPACK®
The Detective MEGAPACK®
The Second Detective MEGAPACK®
The Dickson McCunn MEGAPACK®,* by John Buchan
The E. Hoffmann Price Spicy Story MEGAPACK®
The Espionage Novel MEGAPACK®
The Father Brown MEGAPACK®
The Fantômas MEGAPACK®
The Johnston McCulley Mystery MEGAPACK®
The Lady Sleuth MEGAPACK®
The Mary Fortune Mystery & Suspense MEGAPACK®
The First R. Austin Freeman MEGAPACK®
The Second R. Austin Freeman MEGAPACK®*
The Third R. Austin Freeman MEGAPACK®*
The Jacques Futrelle MEGAPACK®
James Holding’s Conmen & Cutthroats MEGAPACK®
James Holding’s Murder & Mayhem MEGAPACK®
The George Allan England MEGAPACK®
The Girl Detective MEGAPACK®
The Second Girl Detective MEGAPACK®
The Gothic Terror MEGAPACK®
The Hardboiled Mystery MEGAPACK®
The Mahboob Chaudri Mystery MEGAPACK®
The Library Fuzz MEGAPACK®
The Noir Mystery MEGAPACK®
The Noir Novel MEGAPACK®
The Penny Parker MEGAPACK®
The Philo Vance MEGAPACK®*
The Pulp Crime MEGAPACK®
The Pulp Fiction MEGAPACK®
The Raffles MEGAPACK®
The Red Finger Pulp Mystery MEGAPACK®, by Arthur Leo Zagat*
The Richard Deming Mystery MEGAPACK®
The Richard Hannay Spy MEGAPACK®*, by John Buchan
The Roy J. Snell Mystery MEGAPACK®
The Sherlock Holmes MEGAPACK®
The Singer Batts Mystery MEGAPACK®: The Complete Series, by Thomas B. Dewey
The Sky Detectives MEGAPACK®
The Spicy Mystery MEGAPACK®
The Suspense Novel MEGAPACK®
The Talmage Powell Crime MEGAPACK®
The Second Talmage Powell Crime MEGAPACK®
The Thubway Tham Mystery MEGAPACK®
The Victorian Mystery MEGAPACK®
The Second Victorian Mystery MEGAPACK®
The Victorian Rogues MEGAPACK®
The Victorian Villains MEGAPACK®
The Weird Crime MEGAPACK®
The Wilkie Collins MEGAPACK®
GENERAL INTEREST
The Adventure MEGAPACK®
The Anne of Green Gables MEGAPACK®
The Baseball MEGAPACK®
The Cat Story MEGAPACK®
The Second Cat Story MEGAPACK®
The Third Cat Story MEGAPACK®
The Christmas MEGAPACK®
The Second Christmas MEGAPACK®
The Charles Dickens Christmas MEGAPACK®
The Classic American Short Stories MEGAPACK®, Vol. 1.
The Classic Humor MEGAPACK®
The Dog Story MEGAPACK®
The Doll Story MEGAPACK®
The Great American Novel MEGAPACK®
The Horse Story MEGAPACK®
The Jungle Story MEGAPACK®
The Lesbian Pulp MEGAPACK®
The Maxim Gorky MEGAPACK®
The Military MEGAPACK®
The Peck’s Bad Boy MEGAPACK®
The Pirate Story MEGAPACK®
The Sea-Story MEGAPACK®
The Thanksgiving MEGAPACK®
The Utopia MEGAPACK®
The Walt Whitman MEGAPACK®
THE GOLDEN AGE OF PULP FICTION
1. George Allan England
THE GOLDEN AGE OF MYSTERY AND CRIME
1. Fletcher Flora
2. Ruth Chessman
* Not available in the United States
** Not available in the European Union
***Out of print.
FREE PROMO MINI-MEGAPACKS®
Each one was only available from our web site for a single day—on Free Ebook Tuesday (which has since been replaced by Discover a New Author Wednesday!) Like us on Facebook or join our mailing list to see new title announcements.
The Poul Anderson MINIPACK™
The John Gregory Betancourt MINIPACK™
The Richard Deming Crime MINIPACK™
The Charles V. de Vet MINIPACK™
The Paul Di Filippo MINIPACK™
The H.B. Fyfe MINIPACK™
The Lt. Jon Jarl of the Space Patrol MINIPACK™, by Eando Binder
The Fritz Leiber MINIPACK™
The Richard Wilson MINIPACK™
The Rufus King Mystery MINIPACK™
The Second Rufus King Mystery MINIPACK™
The Sime~Gen MINIPACK™
The Spicy Mystery MINIPACK™
The Thubway Tham Thanksgiving MINIPACK™
OTHER COLLECTIONS YOU MAY ENJOY
The Great Book of Wonder, by Lord Dunsany (it should have been called “The Lord Dunsany MEGAPACK®”)
The Wildside Book of Fantasy
The Wildside Book of Science Fiction
Yondering: The First Borgo Press Book of Science Fiction Stories
To the Stars—And Beyond! The Second Borgo Press Book of Science Fiction Stories
Once Upon a Future: The Third Borgo Press Book of Science Fiction Stories
Whodunit?—The First Borgo Press Book of
Crime and Mystery Stories
More Whodunits—The Second Borgo Press Book of Crime and Mystery Stories
X is for Xmas: Christmas Mysteries
ANIMAL GHOSTS
OR, ANIMAL HAUNTINGS AND THE HEREAFTER
First Published November, 1913.
PREFACE
If human beings, with all their vices, have a future life, assuredly animals, who in character so often equal, nay, excel human beings, have a future life also.
Those who in the Scriptures find a key to all things, can find nothing in them to confute this argument. There is no saying of Christ that justifies one in supposing that man is the only being, whose existence extends beyond the grave.
Granted, however, merely for the sake of argument, that we have some ground for the denial of a future existence for animals, consider the injustice such a denial would involve. Take, for example, the case of the horse. Harming no one, and without thought of reward, it toils for man all its life, and when too old to work it is put to death without even the compensation of a well-earned rest. But if compensation be God’s law,—as I, for one, believe it to be—and also the raison d’être of a hereafter, then surely the Creator, whose chief claim to our respect and veneration lies in the fact that He is just and merciful, will take good care that the horse—the gentle, patient, never-complaining horse—is well compensated—compensated in a golden hereafter.
Consider again, the case of another of our four-footed friends—the dog; the faithful, affectionate, obedient and forgiving dog, the dog who is so often called upon to stand all sorts of rough treatment, and is shot or poisoned, if, provoked beyond endurance, he at last rounds on his persecutors, and bites. And the cat—the timid, peaceful cat who is mauled, and all but pulled in two by cruel children, and beaten to a jelly when in sheer agony and fright it scratches. Reflect again, on the cow and the sheep, fed only to supply our wants; shouted at and kicked, if, when nearly scared out of their senses, they wander off the track; and pole-axed, or done to death in some equally atrocious manner when the sickening demand for flesh food is at its height.
And yet, you say, these innocent, unoffending—and, I say, martyred—animals are to have no future, no compensation. Monstrous! Absurd! It is an effrontery to common sense, philosophy—anything, everything. It is a damned lie, damned bigotry, damned nonsense. The whole animal world will live again; and it will be man—spoilt, presumptuous, degenerate man—who will not participate in another life, unless he very much improves.
Think well over this,—you who preach the gospel of man’s pre-eminence;—you who prate of God and know nothing whatsoever about Him! The horse, dog, cat,—even the wild animals, whose vices, perchance, pale beside your own, may go to Heaven before you. The Supreme Architect is neither a Nero, nor a Stuart, nor a clown. He will recompense all who deserve recompense, be they great or small—biped or quadruped.
It is to testify to a future existence for animals and to create a wider interest in it that I have undertaken to compile this book; and my object, I think, can best be achieved in my own way, the way of the investigator of haunted places. The mere fact that there are manifestations of “dead” people (pardon the paradox) proves some kind of life after death for human beings; and happily the same proof is available with regard a future life for animals; indeed there are as many animal phantasms as human—perhaps more; hence, if the human being lives again, so do his dumb friends.
Be comforted then, you who love your pets, and have been kind to them. You will see them all again, on the soft undying pasture lands of your Elysium and theirs.
Be warned, you—you who have despised animals, and have been cruel to them. Who knows but that, in your future life, you may be as they are now—in subjection?
* * * *
My task in writing this book has been considerably lightened by the extreme courtesy and kindness of Mr. Shirley, Mr. Eveleigh Nash, and the Proprietors of the Review of Reviews, in allowing me to make use of extracts and quotations from their most valuable works.
—ELLIOTT O’DONNELL.
CHAPTER I
CATS
In opening this volume on Animals and their associations with the unknown, I will commence with a case of hauntings in the Old Manor House, at Oxenby.
My informant was a Mrs. Hartnoll, whom I can see in my mind’s eye, as distinctly as if I were looking at her now. Hers was a personality that no lapse of time, nothing could efface; a personality that made itself felt on boys of all temperaments, most of all, of course, on those who—like myself—were highly strung and sensitive.
She was classical mistress at L.’s, the then well-known dame school in Clifton, where for three years—prior to migrating to a Public School—I was well grounded in all the mysticisms of Kennedy’s Latin Primer and Smith’s First Greek Principia.
I doubt if she got anything more than a very small salary—governesses in those days were shockingly remunerated—and I know,—poor soul, she had to work monstrously hard. Drumming Latin and Greek into heads as thick as ours was no easy task.
But there were times, when the excessive tension on the nerves proving too much, Mrs. Hartnoll stole a little relaxation; when she allowed herself to chat with us, and even to smile—Heavens! those smiles! And when—I can feel the tingling of my pulses at the bare mention of it—she spoke about herself, stated she had once been young—a declaration so astounding, so utterly beyond our comprehension, that we were rendered quite speechless—and told us anecdotes.
Of many of her narratives I have no recollection, but one or two, which interested me more than the rest, are almost as fresh in my mind as when recounted. The one that appealed to me most, and which I have every reason to believe is absolutely true,[1] is as follows:—I give it as nearly as I can in her own somewhat stilted style:—
“Up to the age of nineteen, I resided with my parents in the Manor House, Oxenby. It was an old building, dating back, I believe, to the reign of Edward VI, and had originally served as the residence of noble families. Built, or, rather, faced with split flints, and edged and buttressed with cut grey stone, it had a majestic though very gloomy appearance, and seen from afar resembled nothing so much as a huge and grotesquely decorated sarcophagus. In the centre of its frowning and menacing front was the device of a cat, constructed out of black shingles, and having white shingles for the eyes; the effect being curiously realistic, especially on moonlight nights, when anything more lifelike and sinister could scarcely have been conceived. The artist, whoever he was, had a more than human knowledge of cats—he portrayed not merely their bodies but their souls.
“In style the front of the house was somewhat castellated. Two semicircular bows, or half towers, placed at a suitable distance from each other, rose from the base to the summit of the edifice, to the height of four or five stairs; and were pierced, at every floor, with rows of stone-mullioned windows. The flat wall between had larger windows, lighting the great hall, gallery, and upper apartments. These windows were wholly composed of stained glass, engraved with every imaginable fantastic design—imps, satyrs, dragons, witches, queer-shaped trees, hands, eyes, circles, triangles and cats.
“The towers, half included in the building, were completely circular within, and contained the winding stairs of the mansion; and whoever ascended them when a storm was raging seemed rising by a whirlwind to the clouds.
“In the upper rooms even the wildest screams of the hurricane were drowned in the rattling clamour of the assaulted casements. When a gale of wind took the building in front, it rocked it to the foundations, and, at such times, threatened its instant demolition.
“Midway between the towers there stood forth a heavy stone porch with a Gothic gateway, surmounted by a battlemented parapet, made gable fashion, the apex of which was garnished by a pair of dolphins, rampant and antagonistic, whose corkscrew tails seemed contorted—especially at
night—by the last agonies of rage convulsed. The porch doors stood open, except in tremendous weather; the inner ones were regularly shut and barred after all who entered. They led into a wide vaulted and lofty hall, the walls of which were decorated with faded tapestry, that rose, and fell, and rustled in the most mysterious fashion every time there was the suspicion—and often barely the suspicion—of a breeze.
“Interspersed with the tapestry—and in great contrast to its antiquity—were quite modern and very ordinary portraits of my family. The general fittings and furniture, both of the hall and house, were sombre and handsome—truss-beams, corbels, girders and panels were of the blackest oak; and the general effect of all this, augmented, if anything, by the windows, which were too high and narrow to admit of much light, was much the same as that produced by the interior of a subterranean chapel or charnel house.
“From the hall proceeded doorways and passages, more than my memory can now particularize. Of these portals, one at each end conducted to the tower stairs, others to reception rooms and domestic offices.
“The whole of the house being too large for us, only one wing—the right and newer of the two—was occupied, the other was unfurnished, and generally shut up. I say generally because there were times when either my mother or father—the servants never ventured there—forgot to lock the doors, and the handles yielding to my daring fingers, I surreptitiously crept in.
“Everywhere—even in daylight, even on the sunniest of mornings—were dark shadows that hung around the ingles and recesses of the rooms, the deep cupboards, the passages, and silent, winding staircases.
“There was one corridor—long, low, vaulted—where these shadows assembled in particular. I can see them now, as I saw them then, as they have come to me many times in my dreams, grouped about the doorways, flitting to and fro on the bare, dismal boards, and congregated in menacing clusters at the head of the sepulchral staircase leading to the cellars. Generally, and excepting at times when the weather was particularly violent, the silence here was so emphatic that I could never feel it was altogether natural, but rather that it was assumed especially for my benefit—to intimidate me. If I moved, if I coughed, almost if I breathed, the whole passage was filled with hoarse reverberating echoes, that, in my affrighted ears, appeared to terminate in a series of mirthless, malevolent chuckles. Once, when fascinated beyond control, I stole on tiptoe along the passage, momentarily expecting a door to fly open and something grim and horrible to pounce out on me, I was brought to a standstill by a loud, clanging noise, as if a pail or some such utensil were set down very roughly on a stone floor. Then there was the sound of rushing footsteps and of someone hastily ascending the cellar staircase. In fearful anticipation as to what I should see—for there was something in the sounds that told me they were not made by anything human—I stood in the middle of the passage and stared. Up, up, up they came, until I saw the dark, indefinite shape of something very horrid, but which I could not—I dare not—define. It was accompanied by the clanging of a pail. I tried to scream, but my tongue cleaving to the roof of my mouth prevented my uttering a syllable, and when I essayed to move, I found I was temporarily paralysed. The thing came rushing down on me. I grew icy cold all over, and when it was within a few feet of me, my horror was so great, I fainted.