The Terror of Torlands

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 70, Issue 151, 12 April 1950, Page 7

The Terror of Torlands

By T. C. H. JACOBS

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CHAPTER II . AN ATMOSPHERE OF DEPRESSION “It’s good to hear the river again, Drew,” said Radford. “I'ss, her’s singing pretty now, but next month or December ’twill be a different tale. Her’ll be a fair roaring then, a crying out for a human heart as they do say.” “Blimey, cheerful old blighter!” muttered the Sergeant in the darkness. Radford smiled to himself; He knew the superstition of the moorland men that the river claimed a heart every year. In silence they continued until the outlines of a wall, behind which towered gaunt pines, appeared in view. The great iron gates stood open and they passed into the abysmal gloom of the plantation to emerge in a few minutes at the side of the house itself. Radford halted: . “You might give a hand with our gear, Sergeant. I’ll go around to the front. What staff do we boast these days, Drew?” _ “There’s only me and my son, William, Maister Jacques. The man was left a house in the will and he’s living over t’other side, towards Postbridge, goodish way.” “The.man? Oh, my uncle’s valet you mean, eh?” “Yes, zur. Him what the maister brought home from foreign parts. He was the only one ’sides me and William.”

“I know all'about'’the valet; and William, he is within I suppose? I don’t think I have met him, have I?” “No, zur. He have only been here a year or so. ;I was all on my lonesome, so when he gbt out of a job he come along here for a while and stayed , on. Then the new maister, that was then, he come and took him on regular.” As he strolled around to the front of the. house, Radford wondered what

sort of a life his uncle could have led isolated in the heart of Dartmoor. When he had visited Torlands, years ago, his grandfather had been the master and kept open hpuse for all and sundry. Curiously enough he had never seen the uncle who had succeeded to the estate. Always he seemed to be abroad in some wild country, and on the few occasions wlien he returned to England rarely stayed long enough for his nephew to met him. His final homecoming was in the nature of a tragedy. Apparently he had been in occupation but a few months when he had met a terrible fate on the Moor. William Drew was waiting in the porch as Radford arrived. “Good evening, sir,” he said, bowing, with a respectful smile. One of the most puzzling phenomena

in mental science is the manner in which some people take instant likes and dislikes. Their first impression seldom changes and, strangely enough, is usually supported by subsequent events. Radford was one of these. Though the man had greeted him with the utmost civility and with apparent pleasure, he took an instant dislike to him. He was a direct contrast to his sturdy, honest-eyed parent. There was something servile in his manner. His little close-set eyes were shifty and ferretlike. Considerably taller than his father, he lacked the broad shoulders, and there was none of the healthy vigour or clear skin of the old moorman. The sparse, sandy hair only served to emphasise the low forehead and weak face. Radford acknowledged his greeting somewhat coldly and, as he passed into the hall, the other’s mouth twisted into a sneer. He, too, had taken a dislike.

A fire was burning in the bedroom, its dancing flames throwing weird shadows on the great oak beams of the ceiling. As William set the oil lamp upon the table Radford glanced about the room. The general effect was melancholy, there seemed to be nothing which struck a cheerful chord. Grey and sombre, the old panelling, the dark curtains and carpet and ancient furniture, all combined to produce an atmosphere of depression. The subdued light from the lamp did nothing to dispel the gloom, and Radford made a mental vow to introduce a few bright colours at the earliest possible moment. “Is this where my uncle used 4° sleep?” he asked. “Yes, sir. It’s the best bedroom.” “Well, it’s a mighty dismal sort of show. The kind of place one would expect to interest a ghost.” “Ah.”

There is probably no exclamation in the English language capable of such variethy of renderings. Drew managed to infuse into it a world of sinister meaning. He glanced furtively around the room and a slight tremor shook his body. Even his lips seemed to quiver with fear as he brushed nervous fingers over them.

“Don’t say that, sir,” he whispered huskily. *■ “What the hell’s the matter with you?” ejaculated Radford, staring at him with wide-eyed amazement. Once more the other glanced apprehensively about him, drawing closer as he spoke in a low voice: “They ; do say as how this place is haunted, sir. A hand in the night, sir.” '> “A hand?”

“Yes, sir, a haunting hand, nothing | else. ,? It’s been seen in this very room; a shiny, white hand, all clutching, Avhat floats, around in the air a seeking for a throat to strangle.” His eyes were shining excitedly as he craned his head forward, his hand extended i n a clutching motion. For a moment Radford stared at him, fascinated; conscious of an unpleasant thrill and a chilly sensation stealing along his spine. Then reason asserted itself, and he laughed. And you really believe that tosh?” he asked incredulously. Something like a blush overspread the sallow face of William Drew; the excitement died from his eyes, to be replaced by a sullen resentment as he shifted his gaze. “It ain’t for the likes of me to make fun of that, sir,” he mumbled. Radford’s hand stole to his hip pocket.

“Well, William,” he smiled, “if that very nasty white, clutching hand comes floating around me it’s in for

a real rough time. This is the sort of medicine for unwanted ghosts.” “Be careful, sir,” gasped William, as I he saw the revolver placed upon the (table. “We ain’t much used to firearms here, you might have an accident with it.” “That’s all right. I’ve carried this little chappie for a long time now, it’s an old pal, and it knows its business. But, what the blazes is the matter with you? Afraid of a six-shooter?” The man was still showing every sign of fear. \ “It —it ain’t so much the gun, sir,” he stammered, “as —as what you might do if you gets upset at all.” “Meaning that if I am paid a visit by the aforementioned haunting hand, eh? Then let me tell you, William, that the landscape will be pretty thick with lead, and much too warm to be comfortable. But this is nonsense, supper is the matter which should be Under discussion.” “I’ll go and see about It, sir,” put in William, hastily departing with obvious relief.

Left alone Radford went slowly to the bathroom, pondering on the extraordinary tale he had just heard. He was well acquainted with the superstitious nature of the moorland people, and knew that the longer one stayed the more does the spirit of the place sink into one’s soul. Its vastness and grim charm, the loneliness which can become' so oppressive and .terrible; its weird sighs and sounds which strike dull to the heart and make it a place of horror for the lonely passer. No wonder that men of this primal world believe strange things. However, the unromantic and familia figure of Sergeant Smith unpacking in the bedroom did much to dispel the impression, so that when Radfoi’d descended to the dining room the matter had more or less slipped from his mind-

An agreeable surprise awaited him in the manner in which the table was laid and the quality of the meal served. He had been prepared for rough-and-ready meals until such time as he could engage a cook and housekeeper. In reply to his complimentary remarks William informed him that he had seen service both as cook and steward in the Royal Navy and on private yachts. “I never did'like the sea, sir,” he added, anticipating Radford’s question. “So when I got out of a berth, I came home to live with father, he being getting on in years and me hankering all the time to come back to the moors. Boy and man, father have served your family for nigh on sixty years, and I’d like to think as how I might carry on likewise. I feel, sir, that Torlands is my natural place.” “Then I hope you’ll continue' to feel so, William,” said Radford, kindly. “Thank you very' much, sir.”

Radford gazed after him as he left the room. He was striving hard to alter the .first impression he had obtained of this man. Perhaps, after all, he had taken an unreasonable prejudice. It might have been overanxiety to please which made hirh seem so servile. Certainly he appeared to foster a warm regard for the family and a desire to do his best. His after-supper meditations were interrupted by the arrival of his valet, who stood stiffly at attention as he spoke:

“I’ve unpacked, the eases, sir.” “Oh, good! Plow about your room, all fixed up for you?” “Yes, sir, the little room at the end of your corridor. There’s a bell over your bed what communicates with it.” “Splendid! Well, what do you think of the old homestead?” The Sergeant shifted his feet uncomfortably. “It’s a fine old house, sir,” he said, noncommittally. Radford eyed him curiously as he smiled. “But a trifle on the gloomy side, eh?”

* “That’s just it, sir. It sort of makes me feel creepy, like the Tombs in India. I remember when I was a youngster being put on guard over an ammunition store, right out in the jungle, by a Moslem cemetery, and it was trying work. I’d fancy eyes was watching me all the time, a regular nerve twister of a place at night. They had one or two go balmy on the job, so they put ’em up in pairs after that. I never forgot that feeling of eyes watching me. ;I don’t mean it’s as bad as that here, not by a long sight, but something like it, only milder. It makes me ” o Radford held up his hands in protest: “Sergeant!” “Sir!” “You’re a damned old fool, and I’m going to bed.” “Very good, sir; Everything is prepared.” Radford undressed in a leisurely manner, strolling about the room inspecting the various things which took liis interest. Without a rising wind howled dismally over the Avild moorland, emphasised by the quietness within the house. His feet made no sound on the thick carpet; an air of brooding silence seemed to hang about him, depressing to one of his temperament. Being tired after his journey, he Avas soon asleep; but not for long. Somehow that sense of depression persisted and greAV upon him. He was conscious of it even while he slept. The pitch blackness of the room seemed to possess actual Aveight, ominous and disquieting. He dreamed that a hand was moving over him, yet Avhile he dreamed he kneAV that it Avas only a dream, and perhaps it was this which awakened him. As he came to full consciousness he Avas aware of an icy draught circulating in the room. Surprised and uncomfortable he sat up, peering into the darkness. Then, horror of horrors, he suav it, a gleaming, - Avhite hand, in the far corner. The apparition remained poised in, the air, the long fingers, half crooked in a clutching, cIaAV-like attitude. It shone as Avith hidden fire, Avliite and awful, and, as he stared Avith horrified t amazement, he saw that the nails Avere stained a blood red.

Stark terror seized him, laid cold hands upon his racing heart, paralysing his limbs, making the very hair lift upqn his head; The soldier, avlio had laughed in the face of death a hundred times, cool and debonair, Avas iioav trembling in his bed, seized in the* grip of an unnatural fear. SloAvly the hand opened until the long, gleaming forefinger pointed straight at him; his blood froze in his veins as the spectre advanced through the air. Then it stopped at about the centre of the room and remained pointing, absolutely still, fearsome and loathsome. (To be Continued.) The characters m this story are entirely imaginary, and no reference to living persons is intended.