He had to admit there was an eerie atmosphere about it but he put this down to having been untenanted for so long. After exploring the rooms on the ground floor, he made his way up the wide stairway to the upper stories. Here, everything was as though it had been in use only the day before. There were eight bedrooms, all with clean sheets and covers on the beds.
In the last one at the end of a long corridor, he walked over to the window and looked out over the grounds. Once the rank weeds were dug up and burned it would not take long to get the gardens back into shape.
To his left was what had once been the orchard. Several fruit trees hung with blossom with the previous year’s leaves lying in thick carpets beneath them. He stood there for several minutes with the light of the setting sun shining directly into his eyes.
It was just as he turned away that he noticed something distinctly odd. For a split second he had the impression that the scene outside changed. Everything happened so suddenly and unexpectedly that he couldn’t be absolutely sure of what he saw. It was as if another scene had been abruptly superimposed upon the unkempt gardens outside.
Almost, he decided, as if they had been subtly altered in some way. He shook his head angrily. Nothing more than a thin cloud passing across the sun, he told himself fiercely.
Going outside, he closed the heavy door and walked back to the village.
By now, he had made up his mind. He was determined to take occupancy of the Manor. From what he had seen, very little needed to be done inside. He could move in right away. A few external repairs and a couple of gardeners to put the grounds into shape, and it would be fully habitable.
That evening, after supper in the dining room of the inn, he mentioned his intentions to the innkeeper. There were now several of the locals in the bar and the air was thick with tobacco smoke.
“Surely you’re not serious, sir?” The other eyed him with a blend of puzzlement and concern on his ruddy features. “I don’t know what you think you saw at that accursed place. But if you saw anything at all, you’ll put that foolish idea out of your mind completely.”
“Why? There’s absolutely nothing wrong with the house. It’s in perfect condition. I won’t even have to buy any furniture.”
“You’ve actually seen it — you’ve been inside?”
“Of course I have. Why shouldn’t I? After all, it is my property now. I can do exactly as I like with it.”
“But—” the innkeeper began. He was on the point of saying something more but at that moment, the old man Charles had met earlier, now seated in the far corner, said,
“You’re a danged fool, mister. Either that or you’ve been seeing things.”
“Just what do you mean by that?” Charles demanded. “I know precisely what I saw.”
The other shook his head, almost pityingly. “I’ve no doubt you saw something. A few folk have but nobody from this village. Ain’t one of us who’d go near that Devil’s place.”
“Suit yourselves,” Charles said shortly. He was beginning to lose his patience with these locals and their fanciful, spectral tales.
The next day, after paying the innkeeper, he thrust his bags into the boot of the car and drove out of the village. The weather had taken a turn for the worse with a high wind and towering clouds threatening rain. As he turned onto the narrow track he eased his foot off the accelerator. A thin mist shrouded the moors and he had no wish to damage the car as it swayed and bumped over the treacherous, rugged terrain.
Topping the low hill, he drove carefully through the gates and parked immediately in front of the Manor. In the dismal gray light it held a strangely forbidding look, quite different from how it had appeared in the bright sunlight.
Taking his bags inside, he set them down in the hall. He had already ascertained there was no electricity laid onto the house but in the kitchen he found three paraffin lamps and several large candles. Having brought with him a plentiful supply of food and drink, he settled in, checking every room for any evidence of a drip with would suggest a leak where rain was getting in. He made himself something to eat, then went into the well-stocked library. Taking down a couple of books, he spent the afternoon reading.
That night, he retired early. It was already dark outside with rain lashing against the windows and the wind howling around the ancient eaves.
Lying in the large bed with the candle flame flickering on the mahogany dresser beside him, he suddenly realized that ever since entering the house, he had been listening intently for sounds that might be lurking behind those normal to old buildings.
There had been nothing.
No ghostly voices murmuring in the dark shadows; no clanking of chains in the long, gloomy corridors. As he had suspected, the spectral stories spoken of by the villagers were nothing more than that — idle gossip handed down from one generation to another and undoubtedly suitably embellished over the years.
He fell asleep almost at once. When he woke, an indeterminate time later, it was still dark. The candle had burned down only a little way. Clearly, he had not slept for long.
He lay quite still for a moment, struggling to identify what had woken him. Then the sound came again. It was quite distinct and unmistakable and it came, not from inside the house, but from outside; horses’ hooves and the creak of carriage wheels.
Puzzled, Charles swung his feet to the floor and padded to the window overlooking the front of the house. Some time while he had slept, the sky had cleared and now the grounds were flooded with yellow moonlight. Details were clearly visible but there was no sign of anything that could have produced the sounds he was still hearing. It was as if invisible carriages were moving away from the house towards the distant gates.
He picked out faint voices and occasional raucous laughter before the last echoes atrophied into silence.
He also noticed another odd effect, one that he had witnessed before during his previous visit.
The entire scene outside shimmered briefly. Details wavered in a curious manner for which he could find no rational explanation, unless it was a distortion produced by the glass.
Somehow, he found his way back to the bed and sat with the covers pulled up to his chest, staring into the darkness. Had he simply imagined those sounds? After all, this was his first night in a strange, old house and perhaps those stories told him at the inn might have affected him more than he had thought.
In the morning, he tried to put the event down to some strange, but extremely vivid, nightmare, telling himself it had not really happened. There were no such things as ghosts. The dead remained dead.
Besides, even if there had been any truth in the old man’s utterance, everyone had escaped the fire, which had supposedly gutted this building. Even that made no sense when there was absolutely no evidence that the Manor had been rebuilt, certainly not within the last century.
To take his mind off the morbid thoughts that raced chaotically through his mind, Charles spent most of the day in the garden close to the house, setting to work with his usual vigor to put the grounds in order again. It was hard work digging up tangled roots, clearing the choking weeds from around thorny rose bushes and apple trees.
By evening, there was a large bonfire burning on a patch of clear ground, the dense white smoke spiraling lazily into the still air.
Satisfied with what he had achieved, he left the fire smoldering and went inside. For some reason, he was feeling tensed and decided to take a couple of the tablets his doctor had prescribed. The doctor had warned him not to take alcohol with the tablets but, as he settled himself in front of the fire in the wide hearth, he thought, “What the hell—”