The Castle-Town Tragedy and Other Tales of Carnacki, the Ghost-finder Read online

  THE

  CASTLE-TOWN TRAGEDY

  AND OTHER TALES OF CARNACKI, THE GHOST-FINDER

  Brandon Barrows

  DUNHAMS MANOR PRESS

  Dunwich – East Brunswick – Fisherville

  © 2016 Brandon barrows

  © 2017 2nd Paperback edition

  Cover by Dave Felton

  “The Arcana of the Alleys” first appeared in

  Occult Detective Quarterly #2

  Published by Dunhams Manor Press

  An imprint of Dynatox Ministries

  Printed in the USA.

  Dunhams Manor Press

  East Brunswick, New Jersey

  USA

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  CONTENTS

  THE CASTLE-TOWN TRAGEDY

  THE MADNESS OF ARTHUR MALBREY

  THE LURKER IN THE ROADHOUSE

  THE ARCANA OF THE ALLEYS

  THE CASTLE-TOWN TRAGEDY

  I arrived at 427 Cheyne Walk far later than my friend Thomas Carnacki’s invitation had indicated and it was with trepidation that I knocked on the door. I had been tardy before, but only rarely and never to this degree. Of the four of us who Carnacki always invited for our semi-regular get-togethers, I was the one who often arrived first, though Jessop, Arkright and Taylor were never far behind. On this night, however, business had made me unavoidably late and I hoped that my somewhat-eccentric friend would not be cross with me. While usually quite placid, if his ire was aroused Carnacki could be a holy terror.

  The door of Carnacki’s townhouse opened and I was greeted perfunctorily by his manservant, then ushered directly into the dining room. My host and his three other guests had already sat down to dinner—were nearly finished with their soup course, in fact—and were interrupted by Carnacki’s man announcing my arrival. My friend graciously waved away my apology without a word and gestured towards my usual seat, which I gratefully took. Carnacki seemed in high spirits—too high to be bothered by my faux pas—and I suspected I was in for a rousing evening.

  The serving girl asked if I would like soup, but Carnacki answered before I could. “No, no, girl! Don’t be silly. We’re nearly finished and Dodgson is just in time for the meat! Bring it out, if you would be so kind.” Nodding and murmuring an apology of her own, the girl took her leave and returned shortly with a platter of some lovely lamb shanks.

  After we were served and had spent a few minutes engaged in the pleasant occupation of our dinner, I commented on the exquisite quality of the meat and again apologized to Carnacki for my tardiness. Carnacki seemed about to answer, but Jessop cut in, declaring, “Well, I’m ruddy glad you showed up, Dodgson! I was afraid Carnacki wouldn’t deign to regale us with his latest yarn if you’d remained absent.”

  Carnacki shot Jessop a dangerous look; his distaste for even the barest mention of his stories before he was good and ready to begin them was well known. Arkright cast a look at Carnacki that said he feared the worst, while Taylor suddenly seemed inordinately engrossed in his meal.

  “Come now, Jessop,” I said. “You know better. Tell us, though, how are your lovely wife and daughters?”

  Realizing his error, Jessop looked properly chagrined and glanced between myself and Carnacki, who said, “Leave it,” brusquely then nodded to me his appreciation at the change of subject. Jessop swallowed, informed us that his girls were all doing quite well, thank you, and we continued on with our meal and some engaging conversation on a variety of other topics.

  After we had finished, we followed Carnacki into his study where he ensconced himself in his big, overstuffed chair along with his pipe and a snifter of good brandy. We were all similarly equipped when he took a puff and began his tale, as was his wont, with little preamble.

  ***

  It’s been a little while since we last met (Carnacki said), so I hope you chaps will find this story worth the wait. I know it was nothing like I’ve ever experienced before, so I hope it’s like nothing you’ve ever heard!

  About a month ago, I received a letter from the newly-christened lord of a small and very old castle-town far, far to the north of here. I cannot say which, for I promised discreetness before beginning my work, but I promise you gentlemen that the absence of names is unimportant to the enjoyment of the tale. Suffice it to say that it is a great distance from London and so dreary a place I need not return any time soon. Indeed, at all, if I have my druthers.

  At any rate, the letter detailed a “haunting”—which, you know, is nothing new or interesting in and of itself to me—but my curiosity was piqued by the very-public nature that the letter claimed. It seemed the square of the town, by the gates to the castle’s courtyard, was the scene of a nightly apparition. More so, it appeared to be the specter of the late lord of the castle—dead for nearly seven years and only very-recently begun to materialize! I was quite intrigued.

  Four days later, after two days’ travel by train and half another by hired wagon out of the nearest city, I arrived in the town of D---. Though it was only late afternoon, I was shocked to find it a veritable “ghost town”, if you’ll pardon the expression. It had been a pleasant day, with clear skies and abundant sunshine, but as we made our way further into the hamlet, it seemed as if a darkness had closed in around us. Oh, I don’t mean literally, of course. It was such a quaint place, with sturdy, old-fashioned, well-maintained structures and relatively-new cobbles lining the main street; a place that perhaps tourists might visit on summer holiday, it being somewhat near the shore. However, there was no one about in the streets and a great many of the buildings’ windows were boarded up, as if abandoned. The whole effect was really quite eerie.

  As we trundled through town towards the castle, I asked my driver if we had come to the right place, for I could not believe my eyes. He chuckled and said, “Nothin’ right about this place, sir. But if you mean is this D----, then yeh, yer’ve arrived.”

  The main street ended just short of the town square, and the driver said he could take his vehicle no further. As I had with me some luggage containing my personal effects and the trunk with the tools necessary for my trade, however, he gave me loan of a dolly to facilitate their transport to the castle itself. I thanked the man, promising to notify him by telegram when I wished to return and ensured his availability with a handful of shillings.

  I walked on towards the square, a bit ill at ease and keeping a keen eye on my surroundings. I noticed right off that some of the boarded-up windows were sealed more poorly than others and that more than a few of these showed light escaping from between the boards. The town was not as abandoned as it first appeared, it seemed. When I knocked on the window-boards of a building that looked to have been a public house, however, the lights were extinguished nearly instantly! A strange way to run a business, indeed.

  In the town square, a fountain of simple but elegant design stood guard, though its waters were dry. From the amount of weathering, I guessed that the statuary must be a few hundred years old and wondere
d briefly at how it must have looked in its heyday. As I stood admiring it, however, my eye was caught by a spot, closer to the castle gates themselves, where the cobblestones were discolored. As I mentioned, the cobbles along the town’s chief thoroughfare seemed fairly new and the majority of the square’s cobbles were of a similar age, but there, no more than six or eight yards from the castle gates, were a clustering that even at a glance seemed far older. Since this was the location where the epistle had claimed the spirit of the deceased former lord appeared, I decided to take a closer look before announcing my presence at the castle.

  I approached, moved to one knee and examined the stones to find that they were, indeed, of an older style and far greater age than others I’d seen. More so, they were covered in a fine spattering of what appeared to be dried blood. Entirely possible that I was wrong, of course, being prejudiced by what I had already been told, and that it was merely paint or some other substance that closely-mimicked vital fluids; but I thought not, having seen my share of gore. I was both disgusted and further intrigued.

  I used the gate’s ancient clapper to announce myself and was greeted almost immediately by a very-aged butler in a uniform that was out of style decades ago. Within the castle’s courtyard, I saw that the castle itself was poorly-named, being more of a stone manor house, though of considerable size. The place was not terribly well-kept, unlike the town surrounding it, and though I said not a word to that effect, the butler apologized for the state of things, claiming a much-reduced staff due to “the recent events”. I sympathized with the old boy, but I knew it to be a fib; it had been many years of poor upkeep that left the place in its current state, not merely a few months. Whatever prosperity the town had experienced, it was apparently not shared by their lord’s family.

  In the “castle’s” foyer, I was greeted by the Lord M---, a slender man in his early 30s with a handsome, if somewhat worn, cast. He was quite glad to see me and made it abundantly clear that he was grateful for my having traveled such a great distance. He had become aware of me due to the publicity associated with the Steeple Monster Case and was unsure if I would be available to assist him in the matter.

  After we had shook hands and the lord had instructed the butler—who was called Henry—to bring my things to my assigned chambers, he said, “Well, there’s still a few hours until dinner. Please, Mr. Carnacki, do join me in my study for a drink and a better explanation for why I’ve requested your services.”

  The study was much larger and draftier than the one in which we now sit, but not uncomfortable, and contained a wealth of books I would have been very glad for a chance to peruse had I been visiting for other purposes. The young blueblood poured me a Scotch, then one for himself, and we sat facing each other before the hearth, in which a fire burned low. I sipped from the liquor, which was excellent, and the Lord M--- made some small talk, asking about my travel and so forth, to which I responded politely while trying to steer the conversation towards the business at hand.

  Acquiescing, Lord M--- reiterated the bare facts he had put into his letter: nightly, at exactly 10:15, the specter of the previous master of the castle—Lord B---, deceased for more than seven years—appeared just outside of the gates in the town square and wailed abominably for a period of slightly greater than one hour before disappearing back into non-existence. I listened to that which I already knew, then delved deeper.

  “And Lord B--- was your father?”

  “No,” he admitted. “My uncle.”

  “I see. And only recently made the new lord of D---, though Lord B--- has been gone so long?” He grew grim at that, the handsome face going dim as if obscured by a passing cloud.

  “Yes,” he finally answered. “My inheritance was held up in court these past years. The matter was only resolved earlier this year.”

  I considered this then said, “Forgive me for asking, but did not Lord B--- have any closer heirs?”

  “Yes, there was a son—my cousin, of course. He died not long before Lord B---. It was… a sordid story. I’d rather not go into it, if it’s not necessary. I have the family name to think of and I wouldn’t like to go spreading tales, if possible. In fact, I would very much appreciate your discretion about all of this, upon your return home.”

  “I understand,” I said. “Very noble of you. And of course, you may count upon my tact. For now, we can let the matter rest, but if I deem it necessary, you must promise to provide me any and all details I require. I cannot be effective or successful in my investigation if secrets are kept from me. I hope we can agree upon this.”

  Lord M--- consented and promised solemnly and then Henry called us to dinner.

  As we dined, in a grand hall even chillier than the study, we were served by the butler and a pair of ladies so ancient it was a wonder they had not retired. The meal was quite good—roast fowl and trimmings—and whilst we ate, I asked pointed questions on the details of the haunting. Here, at least, the master of the house was more forthcoming.

  When I asked if he was quite certain that the spirit was his uncle, he said that yes, he had seen it with his own eyes. The old man had also been witnessed by members of the household and numerous residents of the town—hence, its being only half-occupied at present. Superstitious folks, he called them, to which I could not rightly agree. It is not superstition, after all, if one has seen specters with one’s own eyes!

  Regardless, there was no doubt that it was Lord B---. He would appear on his knees, his clothing covered in blood and seeming to cradle something in his arms, though he held nothing as far as could be seen with mortal eyes. Once he had appeared, within moments of materializing, he would begin to howl hideously and continuously in a voice so ghastly-loud that it could be clearly heard throughout the castle, the town and even for a distance out into the countryside. Witnesses claimed the sound was quite mournful and evoked a sadness in the listener, as well as the supernatural fear that is to be expected. Furthermore, nothing seemed able to block or even dull the sound; pillows over the head or fingers stuck in ears were as useless as doing nothing at all. This would last for just over an hour before the ghost faded instantly into nothingness.

  I wanted to know if anyone had tried communicating with the haunt and Lord M--- said that yes, some very brave souls, mainly servants who had been close to their master during his life, had tried, but were met with utter indifference. Lord B--- could not be made to give even the slightest response. It was as if he was completely unaware of their existence, allowing himself to be swallowed by the agony that apparently plagued him.

  I considered all this, judging each word for its truthfulness, and when my client had finished, made a leap of intuition that clearly shocked him.

  “Just as he did when his son was slain, I presume.”

  To this, Lord M--- nodded solemnly and suppressed the barest hint of ire that crossed his face. A less observant man than I would not have picked up on it. He said, “Yes. So you have heard the tale after all, I take it.”

  “Not this one,” I allowed, shaking my head. “But enough of them to make an educated guess. I think you’d better tell me the whole story now.”

  He glanced at the great old grandfather clock along the wall, noted that it was just half-past seven and supposed that we still had time enough.

  He told me that Lord B---’s son, as a young man, had gone to South Africa under the auspices of Her Majesty to fight the Boers. In this endeavor, he had done quite well and won respect and honors for himself and his kin, returning home a decorated veteran. Lord B--- had been uneasy with the idea of his only child risking life and limb half a world away—his lady wife having perished in the birthing of the son she’d never met and the gentleman having never remarried—and was overjoyed to have his son back safe and sound. Upon the young sir’s return, the father bid him marry and begin producing heirs of his own to ensure the continuation of the family name. Having sown his wild oats, the youth agreed and not long after, a betrothal to the daughter of a quite-wealt
hy local merchant was arranged. A year later, the town celebrated their union in grand fashion.

  “And was this marriage happy?” I asked.

  “At first it seemed to be, but as time wore on and no heir was produced, it became decidedly less so. I didn’t see the happy years for myself, of course, but it is generally agreed that the pair were quite contented in each other and their life. By the time I arrived, however, they had soured considerably on both subjects.”

  “Oh?” I prompted.

  Lord M--- shifted uncomfortably and cast his gaze once again at the clock, which had only slightly moved and would provide no escape. “Ah, yes. Did I fail to mention? I came for an extended visit some years ago and my uncle and I grew quite close. I ended up never leaving, save for brief trips here and there.”

  The answer was not to the question I thought I’d been asking, but I let it go for the moment. “I see. Please, do go on.”

  He did. Time marched forward, punctuated by his arrival, and before long it was clear to all that the handsome, elegant couple who had seemed so happy such a comparatively short time before had quite fallen out. They even went so far as to move into separate suites in the castle, which troubled Lord B--- considerably. Soon, however, things settled into a new normal, as they tend to do, and at least publicly, the couple continued to be civil towards one another. The Lord B--- was unhappy with the situation, but as his son and daughter-in-law remained under the same roof, he convinced himself that there was yet hope. Then came the rumors…

  The castle gossip had it that the young lady has taken a lover. Old Lord B--- was devastated by the news, which was kept from him and his son far longer than should have been possible by those who served them. The staff loved the gentleman fiercely, for he was a good and kind man, and they were eminently protective of him and his offspring. Such things cannot long be kept in the dark, however, especially when a pregnancy is involved, which soon became undeniable evidence of infidelity. The situation could no longer be ignored by either the lord of the castle or the young lady’s husband.