Rutland Herald

THE HAUNTED CHAMBER.

We are at length enabled to present our readers with all the particulars of this extraordinary and horrible story. The circumstances are perfectly true; the names we alter, on account of the curiosity of the multitude: and the location we must entirely suppress for the same reason.—

It is now some time since the first alarm. The family of Mrs. L. had retired to rest, and all had been quiet for some hours. About two o'clock in the morning, a daughter of Mrs. L., who slept in a room adjoining her mother, was roused by some one striking her smartly upon the cheek. She sprang up suddenly, and observed a candle at some distance from the bed, upon the floor, apparently just blown out as the wick was still burning. Afraid to move, she lay trembling until morning, unable again to close her eyes. As soon as it was light, she rose and examined the room,—Every thing was in its place, but there was the candle still upon the floor. The circumstances created great alarm in the family, particularly as there was no gentleman in the house. The doors were all found secure as they had been left over night, and the inmates were not able to ascertain that any thing had been stolen.

For several nights the whole family slept in one room, and were not again disturbed. Having recovered from their fright, and considering it silly thus to huddle together, they again retired to their separate apartments. This was one week after the first alarm. Mrs. L. was just beginning to sleep, when an invisible figure caught the bed post and shook it most violently. She roused her daughter who was sleeping with her, and in a whisper told her the circumstances. They listened in fearful silence for some time, and as the shaking was not repeated, the daughter naturally concluded that the previous alarm had so much agitated her mother, that the present was an imaginary case. She urged her parent to compose herself, and they had both concluded it must have been fancy, when they heard a noise in an extreme corner of the room, like the striking of two pieces of iron together. Their agitation was now greatly increased, and they scarcely could breathe for fear. Presently they saw sparks, and then discovered that it was some one endeavoring to strike a light with a tinder box. Soon the task was accomplished, and a candle lighted. They were then able to discern a tall figure in a night dress, which rose slowly with the light and disappeared, slamming the door too with great violence.

The daughter immediately sprung out of bed—rushed to the door, and fastened it securely on the inside. As the tinder box was still upon the inside, Miss L. lighted a candle and left it burning during the remainder of the night. For more than one hour they heard footsteps in different directions, traversing the whole house. As they were both free from superstition, the idea of a ghost never for a moment entered their brain.—They concluded that it must be a thief, and while her children were safe, Mrs. L. cared not what property might be stolen.

At length, steps were again heard upon the stairs, and the door of the chamber was tried.—Finding it fast, the intruder stamped, muttered, and passing up the next flight of stairs, went into the room of a female servant over the chamber of Mrs. L. The ladies were now alarmed for the safety of their servant, but being alone, and in a retired part of the city, they were too much frightened to render any assistance. No further disturbance took place during the night, and in the morning a general muster was held in the dining room. Mrs. T., the married daughter of Mrs. L., who slept in the room adjoining that of her mother, and the subject of the previous attack and assault, had been also disturbed by some one shaking the bed. The hired girl, Mary, was the only one who had not been alarmed during the night.

After breakfast, Mr. T., the son-in-law, who was some miles in the country, was sent for; and the following night, he, with several of his friends, kept watch in the house. In the meantime the story had got abroad among the neighbors, and many of the silly and ignorant at once concluded that the family had been guilty of some horrible deed, and the spirit of a murdered person haunted the chamber of the highly respectable old lady.—Others even went so far as to say, that they remembered that a dreadful murder had been committed in the house a few years ago.

Soon after Mr. T. and his friends had occupied the dining room the following night, they heard the apparition coming down the stairs. They prepared themselves with clubs, pistols, &c. to meet the intruder boldly, ghost or no ghost.—They opened the dining room door just as the figure had reached the foot of the stairs; and, springing their dark lanterns, discovered the servant girl Mary, in her white dress. The party drew aside and Mary passed in. She then took the tinder box from under her arm, and struck a light. They ascertained that she was a somnambulist, and was, at that moment, fast asleep. Having made this discovery, they ordered her to go about the house, and watched her until she again retired to her room.

In the morning the mystery was explained, very much to the dissatisfaction of many wondering neighbors, who had prided themselves upon having a fine ghost story to relate. Mr. T. remained, that while Mary was travelling about the house, her face presented the appearance of the utmost agony: Tears would suddenly burst from her eyes in torrents, and she was constantly catching at her dress as if to tear something from it. Upon examining Mary in the morning, she confessed she was a sleep walker, but begged Mrs. L. not to discharge her, as she was poor and knew not where she could get another place. She said they might fasten down the window and lock the door upon the outside; she could then do no harm, and could create no further disturbance.

As she was an excellent servant, and there was no other objection to her, the arrangement was consented to, and poor Mary was locked up every night. No further alarm occurred for nearly a week, when Mary again rose in her sleep, and contrived to force the bolt of her chamber door and once more disturbed the whole house by her violence. Mr. T. caught her by the arm, and shook her not a little before she was awakened. Her agitation and alarm threw her into strong hysterics. She foamed in convulsions, and it was a long time before she could be restored and placed again in her room,—While in the spasms, she was continually clutching her dress, until it was torn into mere shreds.

At a late hour on the following morning she requested that all would leave the room except Mrs. T., to whom she appeared particularly attached,—Finding herself alone with Mrs. T. the unhappy girl related the circumstance which had produced her unfortunate propensity. She was the daughter of a respectable farmer, and had been considered beautiful. Mrs. T. informs us that she still retained the marks of a once splendid countenance. She had loved and had been betrayed. To conceal her shame she had left her father's house secretly, and never returned. Her loss had occasioned, as she had since heard, the death of a fond mother, and destroyed forever the earthly happiness of an affectionate father. The offspring of her shame, a beautiful boy, she loved with all the tenderness of a mother, but the finger of scorn was pointed at her, until she could no longer brave the jests of the crowd.

In a moment of rage and despair, she determined upon his death. To accomplish this, she left the house, at which she had given him birth, at midnight—proceeded to a pond hard by, and there drowned him. His little hands were fastened in her dress, and she tore it from his grasp, while his piteous cries were ringing in her ears. She fled, she knew not whither, and from that horrible moment, she had known no peace. This little form haunted her imagination day and night, and she often dreamed of again performing the cruel murder. It was during these visions that she walked, and the tearing of her dress was in consequence of fancying that the boy still held it in his grasp.

Mary obtained a promise from Mrs. T. that she would not disclose her crime until the next morning; and that night she made her escape from the house, and has not since been heard of. The officers were in pursuit of her, but she eluded their vigilance. More recently the body of a female, apparently about twenty-five years of age, was discovered in the very pond in which Mary told Mrs. T. she drowned her homeless boy: and from the description which has been given of her dress, the family conclude that it was the corpse of their miserable servant.—N. Y. Whig