The Second Ghost Story Megapack Read online

  Table of Contents

  COPYRIGHT INFO

  A NOTE FROM THE PUBLISHER

  THE MEGAPACK SERIES

  THE SIGNAL-MAN, by Charles Dickens

  THE SOUL OF THE GREAT BELL, by Lafcadio Hearn

  PRESENT AT A HANGING, by Ambrose Bierce

  CANON ALBERIC’S SCRAP-BOOK by M. R. James

  THE MASS OF SHADOWS, by Anatole France

  THE MAN WHO WENT TOO FAR, by E.F. Benson

  THE THING AT NOLAN, by Ambrose Bierce

  THE PHANTOM ’RICKSHAW, by Rudyard Kipling

  THE RIVAL GHOSTS by Brander Matthews

  THE INTERVAL, by Vincent O’Sullivan

  A GHOST, by Guy De Maupassant

  A COLD GREETING, by Ambrose Bierce

  THE TURN OF THE SCREW, by Henry James

  THE SHADOWS ON THE WALL, by Mary E. Wilkins Freeman

  THE MESSENGER, by Robert W. Chambers

  THE BEAST WITH FIVE FINGERS, by W. F. Harvey

  WHAT WAS IT?, by Fitz-James O’Brien

  THE SHELL OF SENSE, by Olivia Howard Dunbar

  THE WOMAN AT SEVEN BROTHERS, by Wilbur Daniel Steele

  AT THE GATE, by Myla Jo Closser

  LIGEIA, by Edgar Allan Poe

  THE HAUNTED ORCHARD, by Richard Le Gallienne

  KERFOL, by Edith Wharton

  THE WIND IN THE ROSE-BUSH, by Mary E. Wilkins Freeman

  THE STORY OF MING-Y, by Lafcadio Hearn

  GHOST STORY MEGAPACK VOL 2

  Version 1.0.1

  COPYRIGHT INFO

  The Second Ghost Story Megapack is copyright © 2013 by Wildside Press LLC. Indiviual stories are copyrighted by their authors. Cover art © Thinkstock. All rights reserved. For more information, contact the publisher through wildsidepress.com or the Wildside Press Forums.

  NOTE

  Language has not been updated for “political correctness” and some stories may contain language which some may find offensive. Please note that languages change and evolve, and what was acceptable in the time of original publication may prove offensive to some today.

  A NOTE FROM THE PUBLISHER

  Over the last year, our “Megapack” series of ebook anthologies has proved to be one of our most popular endeavors. (Maybe it helps that we sometimes offer them as premiums to our mailing list!) One question we keep getting asked is, “Who’s the editor?”

  The Megapacks (except where specifically credited) are a group effort. Everyone at Wildside works on them. This includes John Betancourt, Carla Coupe, Steve Coupe, Bonner Menking, Colin Azariah-Kribbs, Robert Reginald, A.E. Warren, and many of Wildside’s authors…who often suggest stories to include (and not just their own!)

  A NOTE FOR KINDLE READERS

  All of the Kindle versions of our Megapacks employ active tables of contents for easy navigation…please look for one before writing reviews on Amazon that complain about the lack! (They are sometimes at the ends of ebooks, depending on your reader/version.)

  RECOMMEND A FAVORITE STORY?

  Do you know a great classic science fiction story, or have a favorite author whom you believe is perfect for the Megapack series? We’d love your suggestions! You can post them on our message board at http://movies.ning.com/forum (there is an area for Wildside Press comments).

  Note: we only consider stories that have already been professionally published. This is not a market for new works.

  TYPOS

  Unfortunately, as hard as we try, a few typos do slip through. We update our ebooks periodically, so make sure you have the current version (or download a fresh copy if it’s been sitting in your ebook reader for months.) It may have already been updated.

  If you spot a new typo, please let us know. We’ll fix it for everyone (and email a revised copy to you when it’s updated, in either epub or Kindle format). You can email the publisher at [email protected].

  —John Betancourt

  Publisher, Wildside Press LLC

  www.wildsidepress.com

  THE MEGAPACK SERIES

  SCIENCE FICTION & FANTASY

  The Edward Bellamy Megapack

  The First Reginald Bretnor Megapack

  The Philip K. Dick Megapack

  The Murray Leinster Megapack

  The Second Murray Leinster Megapack

  The Martian Megapack

  The Andre Norton Megapack

  The Pinocchio Megapack

  The H. Beam Piper Megapack

  The Pulp Fiction Megapack

  The Randall Garrett Megapack

  The Second Randall Garrett Megapack

  The Mack Reynolds Megapack

  The First Science Fiction Megapack

  The Second Science Fiction Megapack

  The Third Science Fiction Megapack

  The Fourth Science Fiction Megapack

  The Fifth Science Fiction Megapack

  The Sixth Science Fiction Megapack

  The Seventh Science Fiction Megapack

  The Robert Sheckley Megapack

  The Steampunk Megapack

  The Time Travel Megapack

  The Vampire Megapack

  The Werewolf Megapack

  The Wizard of Oz Megapack

  HORROR

  The Achmed Abdullah Megapack

  The E.F. Benson Megapack

  The Second E.F. Benson Megapack

  The Cthulhu Mythos Megapack

  The Ghost Story Megapack

  The Second Ghost Story Megapack

  The Third Ghost Story Megapack

  The Horror Megapack

  The M.R. James Megapack

  The Macabre Megapack

  The Second Macabre Megapack

  The Mummy Megapack

  MYSTERY

  The Achmed Abdullah Megapack

  The Charlie Chan Megapack (not available in the U.S.)

  The Craig Kennedy Scientific Detective Megapack

  The Detective Megapack

  The Father Brown Megapack

  The Jacques Futrelle Megapack

  The Dashiell Hammett Megapack

  The Mystery Megapack

  The Penny Parker Megapack

  The Pulp Fiction Megapack

  The Victorian Mystery Megapack

  The Wilkie Collins Megapack

  GENERAL INTEREST

  The Adventure Megapack

  The Baseball Megapack

  The Cat Megapack

  The Second Cat Megapack

  The Christmas Megapack

  The Second Christmas Megapack

  The Classic American Short Stories Megapack

  The Classic Humor Megapack

  The Dog Megapack

  The Military Megapack

  WESTERNS

  The B.M. Bower Megapack

  The Max Brand Megapack

  The Buffalo Bill Megapack

  The Cowboy Megapack

  The Zane Grey Megapack

  The Western Megapack

  The Second Western Megapack

  The Wizard of Oz Megapack

  YOUNG ADULT

  The Boys’ Adventure Megapack

  The Dan Carter, Cub Scout Megapack

  The G.A. Henty Megapack

  The Rover Boys Megapack

  The Tom Corbett, Space Cadet Megapack

  The Tom Swift Megapack

  AUTHOR MEGAPACKS

  The Achmed Abdullah Megapack

  The Edward Bellamy Megapack

  The B.M. Bower Megapack

  The E.F. Benson Megapack

  The Second E.F. Benson Megapack

  The Max Brand Megapack

  The First Reginald Bretnor Megapack

  The Wilkie Collins Megapack

  The Guy de Maupassant Megapack
r />   The Philip K. Dick Megapack

  The Jacques Futrelle Megapack

  The Randall Garrett Megapack

  The Anna Katharine Green Megapack

  The Zane Grey Megapack

  The Second Randall Garrett Megapack

  The Dashiell Hammett Megapack

  The M.R. James Megapack

  The Murray Leinster Megapack

  The Second Murray Leinster Megapack

  The George Barr McCutcheon Megapack

  The Talbot Mundy Megapack

  The Andre Norton Megapack

  The H. Beam Piper Megapack

  The Mack Reynolds Megapack

  The Rafael Sabatini Megapack

  The Saki Megapack

  The Robert Sheckley Megapack

  THE SIGNAL-MAN, by Charles Dickens

  “Halloa! Below there!”

  When he heard a voice thus calling to him, he was standing at the door of his box, with a flag in his hand, furled round its short pole. One would have thought, considering the nature of the ground, that he could not have doubted from what quarter the voice came; but instead of looking up to where I stood on the top of the steep cutting nearly over his head, he turned himself about, and looked down the Line. There was something remarkable in his manner of doing so, though I could not have said for my life what. But I know it was remarkable enough to attract my notice, even though his figure was foreshortened and shadowed, down in the deep trench, and mine was high above him, so steeped in the glow of an angry sunset, that I had shaded my eyes with my hand before I saw him at all.

  “Halloa! Below!”

  From looking down the Line, he turned himself about again, and, raising his eyes, saw my figure high above him.

  “Is there any path by which I can come down and speak to you?”

  He looked up at me without replying, and I looked down at him without pressing him too soon with a repetition of my idle question. Just then there came a vague vibration in the earth and air, quickly changing into a violent pulsation, and an oncoming rush that caused me to start back, as though it had force to draw me down. When such vapour as rose to my height from this rapid train had passed me, and was skimming away over the landscape, I looked down again, and saw him refurling the flag he had shown while the train went by.

  I repeated my inquiry. After a pause, during which he seemed to regard me with fixed attention, he motioned with his rolled-up flag towards a point on my level, some two or three hundred yards distant. I called down to him, “All right!” and made for that point. There, by dint of looking closely about me, I found a rough zigzag descending path notched out, which I followed.

  The cutting was extremely deep, and unusually precipitate. It was made through a clammy stone, that became oozier and wetter as I went down. For these reasons, I found the way long enough to give me time to recall a singular air of reluctance or compulsion with which he had pointed out the path.

  When I came down low enough upon the zigzag descent to see him again, I saw that he was standing between the rails on the way by which the train had lately passed, in an attitude as if he were waiting for me to appear. He had his left hand at his chin, and that left elbow rested on his right hand, crossed over his breast. His attitude was one of such expectation and watchfulness that I stopped a moment, wondering at it.

  I resumed my downward way, and stepping out upon the level of the railroad, and drawing nearer to him, saw that he was a dark, sallow man, with a dark beard and rather heavy eyebrows. His post was in as solitary and dismal a place as ever I saw. On either side, a dripping-wet wall of jagged stone, excluding all view but a strip of sky; the perspective one way only a crooked prolongation of this great dungeon; the shorter perspective in the other direction terminating in a gloomy red light, and the gloomier entrance to a black tunnel, in whose massive architecture there was a barbarous, depressing, and forbidding air. So little sunlight ever found its way to this spot, that it had an earthy, deadly smell; and so much cold wind rushed through it, that it struck chill to me, as if I had left the natural world.

  Before he stirred, I was near enough to him to have touched him. Not even then removing his eyes from mine, he stepped back one step, and lifted his hand.

  This was a lonesome post to occupy (I said), and it had riveted my attention when I looked down from up yonder. A visitor was a rarity, I should suppose; not an unwelcome rarity, I hoped? In me, he merely saw a man who had been shut up within narrow limits all his life, and who, being at last set free, had a newly-awakened interest in these great works. To such purpose I spoke to him; but I am far from sure of the terms I used; for, besides that I am not happy in opening any conversation, there was something in the man that daunted me.

  He directed a most curious look towards the red light near the tunnel’s mouth, and looked all about it, as if something were missing from it, and then looked at me.

  That light was part of his charge? Was it not?

  He answered in a low voice—“Don’t you know it is?”

  The monstrous thought came into my mind, as I perused the fixed eyes and the saturnine face, that this was a spirit, not a man. I have speculated since, whether there may have been infection in his mind.

  In my turn, I stepped back. But in making the action, I detected in his eyes some latent fear of me. This put the monstrous thought to flight.

  “You look at me,” I said, forcing a smile, “as if you had a dread of me.”

  “I was doubtful,” he returned, “whether I had seen you before.”

  “Where?”

  He pointed to the red light he had looked at.

  “There?” I said.

  Intently watchful of me, he replied (but without sound), “Yes.”

  “My good fellow, what should I do there? However, be that as it may, I never was there, you may swear.”

  “I think I may,” he rejoined. “Yes; I am sure I may.”

  His manner cleared, like my own. He replied to my remarks with readiness, and in well-chosen words. Had he much to do there? Yes; that was to say, he had enough responsibility to bear; but exactness and watchfulness were what was required of him, and of actual work—manual labour—he had next to none. To change that signal, to trim those lights, and to turn this iron handle now and then, was all he had to do under that head. Regarding those many long and lonely hours of which I seemed to make so much, he could only say that the routine of his life had shaped itself into that form, and he had grown used to it. He had taught himself a language down here,—if only to know it by sight, and to have formed his own crude ideas of its pronunciation, could be called learning it. He had also worked at fractions and decimals, and tried a little algebra; but he was, and had been as a boy, a poor hand at figures. Was it necessary for him when on duty always to remain in that channel of damp air, and could he never rise into the sunshine from between those high stone walls? Why, that depended upon times and circumstances. Under some conditions there would be less upon the Line than under others, and the same held good as to certain hours of the day and night. In bright weather, he did choose occasions for getting a little above these lower shadows; but, being at all times liable to be called by his electric bell, and at such times listening for it with redoubled anxiety, the relief was less than I would suppose.

  He took me into his box, where there was a fire, a desk for an official book in which he had to make certain entries, a telegraphic instrument with its dial, face, and needles, and the little bell of which he had spoken. On my trusting that he would excuse the remark that he had been well educated, and (I hoped I might say without offence) perhaps educated above that station, he observed that instances of slight incongruity in such wise would rarely be found wanting among large bodies of men; that he had heard it was so in workhouses, in the police force, even in that last desperate resource, the army; and that he knew it was so, more or less, in any great railway staff. He had been, when young (if I could believe it, sitting in that hut,—he scarcely could), a student of natural ph
ilosophy, and had attended lectures; but he had run wild, misused his opportunities, gone down, and never risen again. He had no complaint to offer about that. He had made his bed, and he lay upon it. It was far too late to make another.

  All that I have here condensed he said in a quiet manner, with his grave, dark regards divided between me and the fire. He threw in the word, “Sir,” from time to time, and especially when he referred to his youth,—as though to request me to understand that he claimed to be nothing but what I found him. He was several times interrupted by the little bell, and had to read off messages, and send replies. Once he had to stand without the door, and display a flag as a train passed, and make some verbal communication to the driver. In the discharge of his duties, I observed him to be remarkably exact and vigilant, breaking off his discourse at a syllable, and remaining silent until what he had to do was done.

  In a word, I should have set this man down as one of the safest of men to be employed in that capacity, but for the circumstance that while he was speaking to me he twice broke off with a fallen colour, turned his face towards the little bell when it did NOT ring, opened the door of the hut (which was kept shut to exclude the unhealthy damp), and looked out towards the red light near the mouth of the tunnel. On both of those occasions, he came back to the fire with the inexplicable air upon him which I had remarked, without being able to define, when we were so far asunder.

  Said I, when I rose to leave him, “You almost make me think that I have met with a contented man.”

  (I am afraid I must acknowledge that I said it to lead him on.)

  “I believe I used to be so,” he rejoined, in the low voice in which he had first spoken; “but I am troubled, sir, I am troubled.”

  He would have recalled the words if he could. He had said them, however, and I took them up quickly.

  “With what? What is your trouble?”

  “It is very difficult to impart, sir. It is very, very difficult to speak of. If ever you make me another visit, I will try to tell you.”

  “But I expressly intend to make you another visit. Say, when shall it be?”

  “I go off early in the morning, and I shall be on again at ten to-morrow night, sir.”

  “I will come at eleven.”

  He thanked me, and went out at the door with me. “I’ll show my white light, sir,” he said, in his peculiar low voice, “till you have found the way up. When you have found it, don’t call out! And when you are at the top, don’t call out!”