A CHRISTMAS EVE ADVENTURE

New Zealand Tablet, 22 December 1910, Page 13 (Supplement)

A CHRISTMAS EVE ADVENTURE

'Twas a wild night, even for Christmas Eve. From early morning a blinding snow-storm had been increasing in force and violence, and now at late bedtime we gathered round the pleasant fire in Tom Connor's kitchen to await " the fairing ' before venturing homewards. When I say ' we,' I mean the dozen or so of the young men of Drumnadarragh that were regular nightly visitors to Tom Connor's of the Cross Roads. On this particular night there were several extra casuals, as Tom's was a noted house for Yuletide games and amusements, and Tom himself was one of the finest story-tellers in the country. Though now a staid and settled country carpenter, making gates and doors and wheel-barrows for the homely neighbors in Drumnadarragh, he had been a rolling-stone in bis day, and had seen life and experienced strange adventures in many foreign lands. He never was known to tell the same story twice, and yet his stock was never exhausted. This fact set some of the sceptics a-whisperingbehind Tom's back, of —that, perhaps, not all of our host's alleged adventures were real. But whether real or imaginary, they were, at any rate, always interesting, and no one dared to openly question their reliability. At the usual time for dispersing, someone suggested that we should stop till twelve, o'clock and visit the stable where Tom kept his donkey, in order to prove or disprove the popular belief that donkeys always go down on their knees at midnight on Christmas Eve. And so we ranged ourselves in a large semi-circle round the fire, and requested Tom to fill in the interval with an appropriate story. At

and marvelled at his audacity to hint at such a thing before Tom. 'You don't believe in ghosts, then?' said Tom quietly. ' Well, 1 rather guess not,' replied Jim. ' I've never yet seen one, though I have seen some strange things in Chicago in my time.' ' You wouldn't be afraid of one, I suppose,' said Tom, with a note of sarcasm in his tone. 'Not at all,' boasted Jim; '1 guess I'd rather enjoy meeting a real live ghost.' To-night?' persisted Tom. ' Yes, to-night,' said Jim, with perhaps a shade less enthusiasm in his tone. ' Then, it's a bargain. Now, boys,' said Tom, turning to us, 'you all know that since the old squire died the Hall is deserted. No one can live in it on account of the unearthly noises that in the dead of night are heard in its rooms and corridors. I heard them myself the night I ran for Father John to attend old Mrs. Boyle God rest her soul —and when I couldn't take time to go round by the old road. If Mr. Bryan (Tom always said Mr." when ho wanted to be more than usually sarcastic) is so eager to make the acquaintance of a real live ghost, lie has now the chance of his life. It is only about a mile to the Hall, and he will be there shortly after midnight—just the most suitable time for a ghostly appointment.' Jim did not seem to relish this turn of events, but having made his boast, he could not very well refuse the challenge without being accused of cowardice. ' But,' said Jim, ' suppose I explore every room in the Hall tonight, how are you to know for certain that I did so? Won't you say that I didn't go near the place or stopped short at the gate lodge?'

That difficulty is easily got over,’ replied Tom. ‘You will take with you a long “ tenpenny nail” and a small hammer from my work-box. Two or three of the boys will accompany you to within view of the Hall. You will then proceed by yourself, and entering the Hall by one of the windows of which nothing remains but the woodwork- - you will go up the main stairs and drive the nail into the topmost step. The boys will hear the sound of the hammer, and the nail will be there to-morrow to prove you are not an empty boaster.’ There was no escape, and, much as he disliked it, Jim had to accept the conditions. Tim McGovern, Charlie Murphy, and I volunteered to lie the convoy, and the four of us were soon on our way. The snow had ceased to fall and the moon appeared to be striving furiously to get from behind the heavy banks of cloud that obscured her. Occasionally she succeeded, but onlv for a few seconds at a time before being again hidden from view. There was little talk as we plodded along through the yielding snow on the lonely road leading to the Hall. Truth to tell, any of us would have gone ten miles round before we would have passed the Hall alone so late at night. Probably we all thought of this and said nothing. Soon we arrived at the gates, or rather where the gates had been, as barely a vestige of them remained. Pushing onwards by the grass-grown path that was once an avenue, we gained the immediate vicinity of the Hall itself. Very dark and forbidding it looked under the fitful beams of moonlight. For nearly ten years it had been lying vacant and going to decay, and ever since the mysterious death of the old squire it had been spoken of as ‘ the haunted Hall.’ ‘ Here,’ said Charlie, ‘we won’t go any farther. Let us wait under this tree.’ We stopped, and I could see

that it was only by a great effort that Jim was able to continue alone. He started running across the open space and soon was lost to our view in the shadow of the building. AA held our breath in expectancy for the sound of the hammer, and after what seemed an interminable time we heard the first tap, another louder, then others in quick succession, ending with a muffled sound, as if the hammer had struck something soft. A second later there was an ear-piercing scream that almost froze us with horror. In the dim light 1 could see that my companions’ faces were pale as death, and our first impulse was to run for our lives. After waiting a few minutes, with no further sound and no sign of Jim, we rushed forward to the window through which he had entered. AA called him, in voices that seemed strange and husky even to ourselves, but no answer came. ‘We must go in,’ said Charlie, who seemed less excited than either 'Tim or I. All three abreast, we clambered in, and made our way to the bottom of the stairs. There we found Jim lying quite motionless and in a fainting condition. Hastily we picked him up and hurried out of the building without waiting to explore further. Once out in the open air, he quickly revived, and soon we were out on the road again and hurrying along towards Tom Connor’s. If we were silent when going, we were more so going back. We were not anxious to hear what had happened to Jim after that last muffled hammerstroke, and he seemed no more anxious to begin the narration. In fact, our one thought was to get inside a human dwelling, and among companions with as little delay as possible.’ When we reached Tom’s and rushed in all together, we must have looked like ghostly visitors, so startled were the others who had remained to hear the re-

suit of our escapade. Of course we were immediately overwhelmed with questions, but it was some time before Jim could give anything like a connected account of what happened. Bit by bit we learned that he had driven the nail into the stairs as arranged, but as he arose from doing so, a black figure glided along the wall, and,' as he turned to descend, clutched at him. He felt his overcoat grabbed by some unseen hand, and with a shriek he plunged forward. The coat tore with a snap, and he fell headlong down the stairs, remembering nothing more until he was outside with Tim, Charlie, and me. We supported his statement by affirming that we heard the hammering; and, most wonderful of all, his overcoat was found to have a piece torn off at the bottom. The whole thing created a decidedly " creepy ' feeling among the audience, and nobody seemed anxious to start for home. Indeed, we all suddenly discovered that it would be more convenient to go to early Mass from Tom's than from our own homes. The following morning Charlie and I went over to the Hall to rescue Tom's hammer. We discovered it lying at the bottom of the stairs; but we also made another discovery which deeply interested us. There, on the topmost stair, was the nail driven home, through the missing portion of Jim's overcoat. In his haste and nervousness he had accidentally nailed himself by the coat-tail to the stairs. As he arose from his bent position, his shadow on the wall in the dim moonlight seemed an oncoming spectre, while the tug at his coat, when he tried to get away, must have conjured up visions of Tarn O'Shanter. We returned with the hammer; but even when armed with a hammer it is dangerous to broach the subject of Christmas Eve ghosts to Jim Bryan.