A Murder on the Eve of St. John.

Oamaru Mail, Volume XVI, Issue 5085, 22 September 1891, Page 4

A Murder on the Eve of St. John.

A WEIRD GHOST STORY FROM SWITZERLAND.

There is an excellent ghost story, quite of the first-class, in the -Jul}' number of Blackwood. It is called "The Eve of St. John in a Deserted Chalet,'' and is told by Frank Cowper as a marvellous experience through which he passed on a little "plateau quite hidden from the Lake of Geneva, but sufficiently near to lie visible from the Hotel of Territet. If it he a genuine experience, and not merely spun from the imagination of the writer —in which case, of course, it would lose all interest —it is impossible to deny that Mr Cowper is right in saying " it seems as easy to explain it as a spiritual manifestation as to believe in so marvellously circumstantial a dream."

The story is briefly as follows :—High in the hill around Lake Geneva, Frank Cowper. belated, found himself at midnight beside a ruined chalet, on the Eve of St. John. Cold, weary, and faint from loss of blood by a fall, he sought refuge within. There was a dank, horrible sinell inside of the chalet, and the light which he bad seen in the window as he approached, disappeared. Groping in the darkness, his foot kicked against a bundle, ■which he took to be a bundle of sticks or twigs. He sat upon it, and the twigs, or what he thought to be twigs, cracked and broke under iiis weight. Just as he was nodding off to sleep something grasped his hand and held it as cold as ice

A long, unearthly, far-away laugh—a laugh so full of blood-curdling, heartless mocking devilry, such as I never

heard before. and I hope never to hear again, broke the dead silence. At the same time a shadow seemed to pass between me and the pale light which marked the other window. As he sac there with his hand fast as with paralysis, the twigs in the sack on which he was sitting c-ackled when he moved, and a pale phosphorescent glow, which he had noticed when entering the chalet, seemed brighter over the sack than elsewhere. There was a great tub in the corner, a kind of tub which he had never seen before. He looked closer at the sack, and noticed what looked like three long twigs lying across it; he looked closer still, and to his horror he saw they were the emaciated fingers of what was almost a skeleton. Springing up in horror, his foot kicked the sack, and the skull rolled out on the floor. But there was worse to follow :

I started up, and would have rushed from the hut.

" Good heavens ! what is that ?" I gasped, as, instead of stepping forward, I shrank back in great horror. A figure was entering the hut—a wizened decrepit figure, staggering under .a heavy load. It made no sound as it came in. I could not see its face. The load oil its back seemed to be alive. It stirred and writhed as it lay across the shoulders of its bearer. The figure came close to me ; as it stepped over the sack, the same horrible, bloodcurdling, cruel, low laugh or chuckle grated on the silence. It paused and looked up. Can any words describe that face—the expression—l wonder?—malignant, gratified hate, the cruel smile of a dangerous lunatic, cunning and diabolical; the ferocity of a brutal murderer, were all in that awful face : the face of a man long dead, grinning, dry, black, and repulsive, like tiie mummies in the morgue of the Hospice of St. Bernard. Tiie figure passed on. It went towards the huge tub in the corner. The burden still convulsively writhed at intervals. I noticed for the first time that a vapor seemed to curl up and float over the great caldron. The figure with its still feebly moving burden, had reached the corner. Silently it came up to the tub. The burden twitched convulsively. There was a heave. The vapor seemed suddenly agitated, and the figure remained alone, intently watching the interior of the tub. The vibrating of"the huge vessel and the twistinir vapor told of some frightful contortions within. But all was silent as the grave. I could stand it no longer : I rushed to the door. Notwithstanding this terrible experience Mr Cowper managed to return to the chalet and go to sleep, which says a great deal for the strength of his nerves. When he awoke he remembered what lie had seen, as if in a horrible dream, but in the li"ht of day he saw the ghastly hands and the grinning skull. He went to examine the gigantic wooden vessel, and in it he found another skeleton. The head had fallen off, and was lying at the side of a heap of mouldering bones. He hurried down to the lake and came upon two peasants who. upon hearing that he had passed the night in the chalet, asked him if he had seen a ghost. He asked them why the chalet was left neglected. They told him that it had once belonged to a fairly well-to-do peasant : The husband's life was wretched. The th x'.iMbr was young, big, brutal. The husband was small, old, cunning. It was when the cows had to the mountains. There was a very good path up there then. Pierrach and his wife had gone up to their chalet with their cows. " If. was just such a night as last night. and it was—why, it is the Feast of" St. John to-day!" and the peasants looked at each other and nodded significantlv. The rJniutnii'.r was seen climbing the mountain path. He never was seen again. Nor were Pierroch or his wife ever heard of after. The chalet was visited a week later, but nothing was found. The lui.'e tub was full of water as usual. For there was no water up there, and that made the pasture less useful than it would have been. All the water for the cattle had to be accumulated in that large tub. either from the snow or rain. All was in fairly good order. A sackful of hay lay on the iloor of the stall. The few cows Pierroch possessed had all disappeared, and the door stood wide open. Nothing more was ever heard of ativ one of the three. Since then the place bore an evil name. It was called the ' Revenants.' and no one ever went there now.- Only on St. Johns Eve a light was always seen.

"Clearly Mr Frank Cowper should immediately place himself in communication with the Society for Psychical Research, and if there be any truth in his narrative a picked body of psychical researchers should spend the Eve of St. John in that ruined chalet.