Flack's Folly.

Evening Post, Volume LXXXIII, Issue 94, 20 April 1912, Page 10

Flack's Folly.

— — _____ _ j>j By HORACE J. SIMPSON. [All Efchte Reserved/}

The gloom of evening wts deepening 'to darknee*, and tbe mournful cry of Beabirds wheeling restlessly about the nKiddy shore* accentuated the sad ■silence brooding upon the river which ' ■wriggled it« cooxso to the sea. The j yacht Musa glided a stealthy shadow j down rrpat the dying tide. Not s, - breath fluttered her idle canvas, hardly a ripple lapped against the' polish of her raxor bow. • I '3>ick AJchest-er, her owner, lea&ed lazily ' upon the • tiller, puffing hard at •4' solacing cigar. Harvey Dimchurch, ■ Tfliom Aichester had induced to join him in a fortnight's pottering among * tie melancholy solitudes of Mareheea j •■ 'ijivta:, eat tapping bia heels against ih* •cabin companion. ' "The ebb is about done," Alcheeter j ' aaid. "We shall get little further to- '. .flight. Wieh a breeze would spring up. ri'i hate being compelled to anchor near j i^'Chis confounded spot." i , ".,1, "It is rather a forsaken sort of place •ill which to pass the hours of darkness/ Dimchurch agreed. "But it would be little less so furtner down,'--*Vwould it ? By what 1 remember of thtf "Jj-'iver, we are not likely to fall in with craft for company between here and the' nan." - '.!_'.," 'No," said Alchester, "and there la not a single habitation along either shore. FlackY Folly is the last buildLing of any kiiid this , eid-e of the Ger-' " n|[an Ocean. And I'd rather be in niid- 1 j-Atlantic than forced to bring up within -Jive miles -of it. I spent one night here '. v,", yedr or two ago, and I don't smack lipe at the prospect of another, I - can tell you. However, it can't be ~n"elped. ' We 'can't go down-stream over 7 a, , flood-tide, with Aot a cat's-paw to help us. And to go back to Marshsea ,-ow.^aftar-. taking half a day to get? -away from it would be something of a fool's game. No — -we must stay here. Nerves -," «pietty good,- old chap?"- • ► j', ~* *«"Fair%" said, with diffident curiosity. "What's the mystery, Dick " y '■ / "Don'iJ'-be' in too much of a hurry," Alchester admonished. "It's quite pos- — fiibla. that yo.u'll know abon enough. I'm sure you will if you get the fright I had when first I heard the confounded thing." 'iWhat thing? What is there to hear?" Harvey Dimchurch enquired, with ill-concealed impatience. "Wait till we get below, old chap. I'll tell you all I know myself," promised the Musa's owner. "Let go, Jorkins !" he shouted for'ard to theman who constituted the yacht's whole crew- • - - -Tbe cable rattled over the little wind- <." .lees^ and the Musa began slowly to ' ' swing to the already-flowing tide. • - SmarSy the three made things snug on deck, and with the ' sails stowed away in their white canvas covens, and the burnished copper riding-lamp .swinging gently from' the fore-stay, Dick Al- .. cheßter and his friend descended to the lifcfcle cabin -for supper. • After the meal Harvey Dimchurch stdtetchea* himself fnlt length upon the , ' «tarboard : locker, a fresh cigar 'between' .' hie lips. / ' - ."Ndw ifor that story, old man," he cemmded his host. ■'-.. ' ' "Oh I" said Alchester, as if he had already forgotten his- promise. ''Thetre's ■^.-really nothing to tell — at least, very . little can be told, for the thing is more • otfifeßß'a mystery, even; .to those 'who ■ have Jived all their Kvefl' in the neigh- ■ boorhood." ■ jVA ghost, ©r some such- rot as thafcj -• I- suppose?" hazarded Dimchurch.' i'C£k:h what 'j*>u like, old chap, whet you have heard the little I can tell yon about it. And 1 if you can get to the. bottom of it, there's no doubt that Marshaea -will be properly grateful to yon." f Harvey Dimchurch yawned lazily. "Fire away, Dick I" he commanded good-hnmouredry. "Bight," consented 1 Alchester. "Once ' upon a time — all stories commence like . that, you know — a shepherd lived in a - lone tut on the north • bank of the Marshsea river— almost exactly opposite to where we are now brought up. For ' forty years' he had lived there, with no -• other companions at night than his/dogs, of which, he had, generally two or three. "Somewhere between twenty and thirty years ago he was found dead one morning by his employer's eldest son, a young gentleman named- Herbert Flack, ■who had then "been married just over a year. Mr. • Flack and his young wife were taking a long walk by the sea-wall, as waa their habit of a forenoon, when suddenly they came upon the body of the old shepherd stretched right across the footpath, with the blood streaming from a ghastly gash in his throat, and ' his trousers pockets turned -inside out, whilst crouched close, as if to, guard its unfortunate master, was one of the ' shepherd's dogs. . ' "Mr. BQaok bade> his wife walk back whilst he went to see if the poor man were yet within reach of human aid. But she *ta* .a plucky woman, and refused, thinking that poasibry she too could be of assistance. They advanced .Sbgether/in, spite, df -the, warning' growl of the' faifcbmli dog. Flack knew the wiiiDak, howe«er> and ispoketo"it sooth'For a. moment it was .quiet, and allowed them to get within two or three ieefc of its master's body. . Than with a, bJeod-atrdling howl if sprang --at the tiiroafc o^Jfo". FliMk., , -, ;; poor wife uttered", a j piercing shriek-i-aitd fainted. Some naeo working, ia a. field nearly a quarter. oi' a mile stway heard her scream, and hastened to thfl ppofc. When, they arrived - the ■ big - brut© of a dog had completely overpotsfftmLthe unfortunate gentleman and bitted 'him? badly about the face and hands. With difficulty the men beat off %oa ■ infuriated 1 animal, and one of finean despatched the poor creature wiih a« blow from a spade he was carrying. ,"ono Tan all the way to Macshsea vd."l|ae f or' 'medical aeeistaaoe. A doctor r galloped on his cob doWn to &c spot. Reefco^aifves were administered to the ./, lady'/. »nd; sirs and; her injured httfcbatwl conveyed to their home. Then the body ."cfViaS&Tilwfrdered shepherd— for roost plainly it was nruurder — was carried yevereniJy to Afarshfiea inorfctiary."« Alctieetef 'paused: "V "Go on, old man,*' urged Iris frMod, "I'm intensely interested." "Well/ pursued bis host, "in due f- (rfuUto-an inqueefc -was held on tb© body -trf tte poor old shepherd, and a verddefc ""2*>raraed' of" 'wilful" murdpr against . seta* per&ou «• pvtetma unknowriT? • No other decision was possible. Not the . fai&toftt trace of sax assailant could the police discover, nor of a weapon with which, the ghastly deed was committed. _ Medical testimony oottkl only aver that * tttol© rather blunt, insfcroiaeot had been ..U6fld,"~ . • : "And Itfr. Flack and his lady?" enquired Dimchurch. "The gentleman recovered «k>wly. „,Poit. the dog -had -mauled his. face so jniioh that to the day of his death, which -place some four or five years ago, it w^s terribly diefigured. So much, so, in''de«f> that he, being a sensitive man, shan-ned h& feUow-cteatures on account 61 it, and became practically a recluse. "Three months' after the finding of the- shepherd's, body Mrs. Flack's first V^MldH^^dau^^rj^ffa^bgxa, . , iiAndtea-

year later, her .husband, , had the lonely hut on the 6ea. : wall demolished and a large rambling timber-built structure erected on its site. It was put together very hurriedly, and almost hefore it was finished ho went to live in it with hio wife and child. "The good people of Marshseu. village could not understand that a gentleman of his meens should abandon a comfortable houso on the outskute of the village to live in such a temporary, barnlike structure nearly six miles from thf nearest shop, and over three from a dwelling of any kind. They thought him little leps than mad so to isolate himself and family from the conveniences of life. And they nicknamed the rude dwelling 'Flack's Folly,' which has stuck to it to this very day. Certainly the poor gentleman's face, they Said, was not pleasing to lodlc upon. Bnt everybody in Matshsea knew how it had happened, and they thought there wa* no reason why he should be so sensitive about it." "Poor toeggar!" Dimchurch sympathised. "Got morbid, evidently. Thought everybody stared at him, no doubt. It's understandable. And what else happened. Dick?" ■ "Well," went on Alehester, "now comes the mystery. Two or three years after the Flacks moved into thdir lonely ■ '«sidence, some fishermen 'groping' one dark night for flounders is a sluice dose by were startled out of their wits by ■ unearthly howlings from the direction of the 'Folly,' and though they at once pulled off to their smack they passed a terrible night in being forced to listen 1 to the awful 'sounds which rent, the still air ',at iilterv-als varying from five to twenty 'minutes 'until daybreak, when all was quiet again. " In the morning they sailed back to Marshsea and told their tale. Next night a few braver spirits went down by the sea-wall to ascertain the truth for themselves. But they returned in fear and- trembling". The howls were too horrible for description, they said. "All kinds of theories were started. Most people thought that Flack himself had gone mad, as a result pf the dogbites. But that was disproved by his going to the village a day or 60 afterwards and transacting business in his usual manner. Then it was agreed that the spirit of the shepherd's dog had come back to mourn for its murdered master. It seemed the only feasible •solution, for, though nobody ever saw anything, nearly all Marshsea — the masculine portion of it, anyhow — heard at one time or another those terrible howls. "And so it went on for some years. At last a belated traveller along the seawall, not only was nearly frightened to death by the unearthly sounds which • paralysed his senses when passing 'Flack's Folly,* but the appearance of a flying figure in white evidently bent Upon pursuing him heaped terror upon terror. And taking to his heels he ran the whole six miles to Marshsea, chased, he afterwards averred, nearly to the village by the ghost of the departed shepherd, where it vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. ' "There was no doubt of the genuineness of the man's fright. For he burst into the door of the coastguard station and • fell exhausted at the feet of the man. on watch,. And though he recover- • ed -sufficiently to give A- coherent version of the affair, he never 'snook off the effects of the shock, and was -more or less an ii#ali# till his deaths few years later." ', "But was he the only one who saw the apparition?" asked Diorfchurch tenseJ y- -' '. " , . "No," replied Alchester.' "From that time the figure was seen By 'many' people, but principally by fishermen • from the nveD. And Marsnsea "adhered to the theory of the man who first saw it—that the dog's howling had brought back the spirit df its master, and together they haunted the solitudes they knew in life. Many a man has since sworn that he recognised, the old shepherd clothed in white, racing along the sea-wall with the speed of the wind, the invisible dog howling at his heels. I myself have never seen the shepherd, but, as I have hinted, on that never-to-be-forgotten night I spent a year or two ago at this very spot I heard the dog as plainly as I now hear myself speaking." • " And you expect to hear it to-night ?" enquired Dimchurch, a sceptical smile flitting across his features. "I shall consider myself lucky if I do^not," answered Alchester resignedly. ' 1 see," eaid Dimchurch, now smiling broadly. "The shepherd and h;s dog will givfe their famous performance to-night and nightly throughout the year free, gratis, and for nothing— real blood-freezing effects absolutely guaranteed." ' " I'm sorry you treat it like that, old chap, • Alchester said seriously. "But, no, the figure is not seen nor the howling heard? each night of the year. Indeed, nobody has ever heard the dog except at about the moon's full, though the shepherd has been seen at all times. However, you evidently think the whole story one of silly superstition, so perhaps it would be better to say no more, about it." "Well " Dimchurch commenced, but was interrupted by the companion dido being pushed back with a loud bang. , "Hullo— what's, up !" cried Alchester in some agitation, whilst .even the sceptical Dimchurch went a shade, paler. "Confound it, Jorkins!" exclaimed the "Musa's" owner as.thV sailor hastily j descended into the cabin. "What do ■ you mean, by rushing in upoa us like this?" r . . k The-inan pat, ; the food' he bad brought upon the little swinging table and faced the two yachtsmen, tremblingly. . "to /V a § J4l' ..dorg, sir," he faltered. "Hefe out to-night. I heard him plainlist ! there he is again !" An,d quite -distinctly to their listening ««ra was borne, across the calm waters a long, .dismal howl, unmistakably that of a dog at. first, .but ending in a weird •ori,e£ as{ of 'a human being in terrible »©ony. "You heafrd .it?" Alcheeter asked bi» friend nervously. "Yee," r admitted Dimchurch with' relact4u9.ce. , , . „ "And you believe the story now?" _ 'T have not said I disbelieved it. That i«, there is no doubt'that the folk around bete have seen and heard these things. ■ Wfcwt I do not- credit, aa a reasoning being, is that the dead shepherd or hie dog has any connection with them." • ( "Why love ye,- sir," pufe in Jorkine, * "you don't know mudi about it, or ye wouldn't say that! There isn't a man', ■woman, nor ohild;>in f| MarsJiea that 'ud go near Flack* Folly- a-rter suneet if t they weren't obliged.- They've got nioxe sanse. I, myself, 'nave heard that dorg too 1 many 1 times to say ho don't roam about -o' nights. '^with his 'old master. 'Arf I tell ye, sir— it's made me hair stand up straight an' m& ekin creep on me bones more'n once.' "Have you seen the shepfierd too, Jorkiiw?" Dimchurch. asked . him curiously. "Isot close, sir— at a distance, though, many a time. But I. know plenty as have ieert him — ah, as close as I am to you this very minute!— an' have b«?n frightened out o' their wits nearly. _'bcose me. for sayjn" it,..sjr— but if you wasn't a stranger to- these parts jou'd" be ac afeared to go near Flack s Folly arter dark as th' rest of us.," I »^*-3%scjni£(digsHDlgdy " ' *

"That may be »i\ Jenkins," he ba,ici indulgently. "But I'm going ashore this very evoning to investigate thie mystery — you'll como with me'/" "Not for a thousau' pound, mi\ 1 won't — beggin' your pardon for reftusinV 'Then T shall have t» fall buck upon Mr. Alehester," Dimchurch laughed, turning to his host. "Who will disappoint you, old chap," promptly put in -that gentleman. "Then I'll go alone. You'll lend me the boat, Dick?" "If you persist in snch madness — ye«. But do listen to people who knaw more of this thing that you can possibly know, being almost a. stranger to the neighbourhood. No good could. come of your going ashore to investigate, as you pub it. For over twenty years the thing has puzzled and terrified the locale — some of, them ,with as much courage aa your self — and is it likely that you can succeed where they have failed?" "I don't cay I can succeed in elucidating the mystery,'' argued Dimchurch. "I simply feel that I should like to discover a little more of it than Mareheea folk presumably know. I may come back no wieer than I went. But at all events the thing cannot harm me. 1 am not foolish enough to believo that." "1 am not co sure," persisted his friend. "The belief in. and fear of, the supernatural ai'e handed 'down to utf by our forefathers and «y strongly rooted in our natai es that we succumb to their hereditary influence often against our will and reasoning. You may be firmly persuaded now that a eight of the bhepherd or the howl of his dog shall miAte no impression upon you. But I doubt if your courage would survive the test alone ashore there in the darkness." "I'm going, anyhow^" Dimchurch said obstinately. "And it won't be very dark. The moon will be up very 6hortly. " k Dick Alehester saw the ueelessneM of argument with his resolute friend, and the subject was allowed to drop. At ten. o'clock, however, another piercing howl caused them to finish hurriedly the game of cards they were playing together. Dimcburch took a small revolver fromhis bunk and loaded it carefully. ' " It -might be of service,' 1 he grimly informed his host. " Once more — don't go, old man, pleaded Alehester. " But' Dimchurch remained adamant in his resolve, laughing lightly at _ the other's' apparent timidity and promisirig that he would not go fio far away from the ■ dinghy ac to be unable easily to regain her should it be necessary. He jumped into the boat and sculled softly ashore in 'the moonlight, Alehester full of forebodings for Me chum's safety, and Jorkins volubly prophesying that disaster would assuredly overtake the Btrong : headed gentleman; A hundred yards from the "Mußa" another howl, awful in its strange resemblance to a human wail in spite of its seemingly canine origin, made even the sceptical Dim^hurch go cold all over.But he .pulled himself together and sculled quickly for the shore. 'As he drew near enough to see the buildins known as Flack s Folly dimly outlined against the sky he noticed a light at a window at the western end of the atructure, and drew confidence from the obvious proximity of human beings. He directed the boat s head for the building, and in a few minutes her keel grated | on the shingle at .the foot of the steep sea-wall. He jumped out, the revolver in one hand and the dinghy's anchor in the other. Carrying the anchor, as far up the .stones as the rope would allow, he pressed one of the flukes into an interstice and climbed to the narrow path at the top. No sooner had he gained, it than a figure apparently clothed in white showed for a moment in a streak of moonlight which appeared to cut in half a clump of bushes on the landward side of the sea-wall. Then it- vanished, hidden by the larger half of the clump, which ran for some 50yds along the foot of the embankment. Dimchurch was momentarily terrorstricken. He had to admit it to himself. But common-sense and his natural coin-age soon asserted their superiority to superstitious dread. He fingered his revolver, and mentally made a vow that the apparition should have a warm time of it could he but get to close quarters with it. Slowly he crept along the path, keeping a sharp eye on the bushes beneath. Suddenly a sound was borne to his strained ears. He s-tood still and listened. It was the soft voice of a woman, and it hummed distinctly a tune he knew well. For a moment he felt like laughing aloud. What a fool be had been for allowing himself to be frightened , by a woman taking a moonlight stroll! One of the inmates' of the building on the left, of course! He thought it strange that Alchester had said nothing of fts present tenants, and wondered whether Flack's widow resided there. Possibly it was she enjoying that walk by the light of the moon— or a daughter, perhaps. And then he remembered . that had he not heard the humming he had intended to track the figure with ' a loaded revolver in hu> hands. Heavens 1 he might have been guilty of murder— and of a woman ! The thought appalled him. The humming ceased for a second. Then it was resumed in a louder tone. There was a cracking of bushes, and a whit© figure burst from the shadowy clump and climbed in the full moonlight up the grassy slope of the sea-wall. Unmistakably it was a woman, and one whose slender figure and supple agility bespoke her youth. And she had turned in his direction. Ho thought quickly. His unexpected appearance there at that hour would probably give her a big fright. Holding his breath he slid to the ground and iay flat in the long grass fringing the path. And the flguie came softly on, 'humming happily. The earth vibrated gently to her footsteps as she passed, and the flutter of her skirts fanned his face. Then the humming grew fainter and ultimately died iv the distance. . He got up and looked around. He could .see nothing. But the. faint click. of a latch from the direction of the Folly told him that she had entered the garden gate, and a second later the bang of a door convinced him that the lady had entered the house and he was free to return to his boat. He hurried to the dinghy, pushed her ■off, and sculled rapidly back to the "Musa." " "Who lives in that building ashore? " he asked Alchester as- Boon as they were below. "Mm. Flack and her two daughters," Alchaster informed him. "Morna and Lucy, I think their names are. Very pretty girls, I believe. But they live so secluded a life that few people know anything about them " "I've seen one or the other," Dimchurch told his friend. "Arid I'm prepared to bet my Sunday boots that theae girle are at the bottom of this mystery of youn». Some dolt saw one of them strolling along the sea-wall on a moonlight evening and, frightened out of the little wits he possessed, laid the fouuda- . tion of that silly story about the ehepI Herd's ghost." "But -would these girls chase a man the whole six miles to MarshseaV" Alchester naked almost angrily. "Of couree not ! The idiot merely ran away from a creative of his * own imagination." ! "And from the bowlings, too?" Alcheßter asked, with the air of one propounding a poser. "You have heard them yourself, you know !" "Yets,'' Dimchurch confessed ; " but I'll ferret out_ that an well. I'm going to get an introduction to these Flacks — especially as you bay the yirla are protty." J^fou'U ijod_it _difltaHLt»?' Alcheeter.

piophetk'd. ''I don't 6ee how you arc going to n'nd anyone knowing them well enough to introduce you."' "Then I'll introduce myself," Dimchurch declared. "It will be pardonable under the circumstances. I'll low ashoie fiiht thing in the morning, and if I can't find some excuse for making their acquaintance, call me a duffer. Now I'm goin^ to turn in. Night-night, old chap !" Hurvey Dimchurch and Lucy Flack sat together in two deck chairs aboard the former's new yacht Moina. The craft wae anchdred off Flack's Folly, and the two had been talking about the lonely building ashore. 'Tin very ylad we have succeeded iv getting your mother away from there at last." Dimchurch eaid to the girl. "Yes," was her answer, " but we should have failed co long as Morna lived." "I "cannot understand her devotion to the place," he said in a perplexed tone. "Mother was never devoted to it, Harvey. She had a good and sufficient reason for staying there, met ac poor father had. for having it built. Both had a horror of my sieter'fi affliction becoming known to tho. world, and took what seemed the only means 10 prevent it." "Your -eister'fi affliction-— Morua's? Why, she itemed as healthy, as blight and intelligent, as yourself*! I -never knew she had had a day's illneed till ihe one that caused her* death." "Shti never had — never had an ordinary illnees, that is. But, Harvey, as we arc to be mariied shortly, and as Morna. ifi dead, I think 1 may tell you our story — tho story that has Dlighted all our lives." . .She bent her head close to his and told him what she had to say in a sad whisper. "Heavens!" he exclaimed, as she finished. "And that is the. solution of the mystery of the shepherd's dog. How that absurd story must have pained you nil I For, of coitree, you must have known of the superstitious tales believed in by the Marehsea .v.illageiß." "Yes, we knew of them. But wo so rarely saw a soul outeide our own family and old Dr. Manning that they troubled us less than one would suppose.". "But, Morna — did she know?" he asked, horrified. "I think not. We always tried to keep her in ignorance of the stories which came to our ears. In any ca«e, she probably would not have connected them with herself, for, ac I {old you, she was not in the least aware of her horrible affliction. Usually one clear day before the full moon she would go strange in her manner and in a few hours loße her reason . altogether. But' though her howls were terrible to listen to, she was as tractable as a child. And we found that if we allowed her'to roam about uncontrolled at such times she recovered quite a day sooner, than if we kept her to .the Tiouee, "Poor Morna !" said Dimchurch, taking his sweetheart's hand and pressing it to his lips. "let's talk of something else, Lucy."