The Canterville Ghost

Chapter 2

The storm raged fiercely all that night, but nothing of particular note

occurred. The next morning, however, when they came down to breakfast,

they found the terrible stain of blood once again on the floor. "I don't

think it can be the fault of the Paragon Detergent," said Washington,

"for I have tried it with everything. It must be the ghost." He

accordingly rubbed out the stain a second time, but the second morning

it appeared again. The third morning also it was there, though the

library had been locked up at night by Mr. Otis himself, and the key

carried up-stairs. The whole family were now quite interested; Mr. Otis

began to suspect that he had been too dogmatic in his denial of the

existence of ghosts, Mrs. Otis expressed her intention of joining the

Psychical Society, and Washington prepared a long letter to Messrs.

Myers and Podmore on the subject of the Permanence of Sanguineous Stains

when connected with Crime. That night all doubts about the objective

existence of phantasmata were removed for ever.

The day had been warm and sunny; and, in the cool of the evening, the

whole family went out to drive. They did not return home till nine

o'clock, when they had a light supper. The conversation in no way turned

upon ghosts, so there were not even those primary conditions of

receptive expectations which so often precede the presentation of

psychical phenomena. The subjects discussed, as I have since learned

from Mr. Otis, were merely such as form the ordinary conversation of

cultured Americans of the better class, such as the immense superiority

of Miss Fanny Devonport over Sarah Bernhardt as an actress; the

difficulty of obtaining green corn, buckwheat cakes, and hominy, even in

the best English houses; the importance of Boston in the development of

the world-soul; the advantages of the baggage-check system in railway

travelling; and the sweetness of the New York accent as compared to the

London drawl. No mention at all was made of the supernatural, nor was

Sir Simon de Canterville alluded to in any way. At eleven o'clock the

family retired, and by half-past all the lights were out. Some time

after, Mr. Otis was awakened by a curious noise in the corridor, outside

his room. It sounded like the clank of metal, and seemed to be coming

nearer every moment. He got up at once, struck a match, and looked at

the time. It was exactly one o'clock. He was quite calm, and felt his

pulse, which was not at all feverish. The strange noise still continued,

and with it he heard distinctly the sound of footsteps. He put on his

slippers, took a small oblong phial out of his dressing-case, and opened

the door. Right in front of him he saw, in the wan moonlight, an old man

of terrible aspect. His eyes were as red burning coals; long grey hair

fell over his shoulders in matted coils; his garments, which were of

antique cut, were soiled and ragged, and from his wrists and ankles hung

heavy manacles and rusty gyves.

"My dear sir," said Mr. Otis, "I really must insist on your oiling those

chains, and have brought you for that purpose a small bottle of the

Tammany Rising Sun Lubricator. It is said to be completely efficacious

upon one application, and there are several testimonials to that effect

on the wrapper from some of our most eminent native divines. I shall

leave it here for you by the bedroom candles, and will be happy to

supply you with more, should you require it." With these words the

United States Minister laid the bottle down on a marble table, and,

closing his door, retired to rest.

For a moment the Canterville ghost stood quite motionless in natural

indignation; then, dashing the bottle violently upon the polished floor,

he fled down the corridor, uttering hollow groans, and emitting a

ghastly green light. Just, however, as he reached the top of the great

oak staircase, a door was flung open, two little white-robed figures

appeared, and a large pillow whizzed past his head! There was evidently

no time to be lost, so, hastily adopting the Fourth dimension of Space

as a means of escape, he vanished through the wainscoting, and the house

became quite quiet.

On reaching a small secret chamber in the left wing, he leaned up

against a moonbeam to recover his breath, and began to try and realize

his position. Never, in a brilliant and uninterrupted career of three

hundred years, had he been so grossly insulted. He thought of the

Dowager Duchess, whom he had frightened into a fit as she stood before

the glass in her lace and diamonds; of the four housemaids, who had gone

into hysterics when he merely grinned at them through the curtains on

one of the spare bedrooms; of the rector of the parish, whose candle he

had blown out as he was coming late one night from the library, and who

had been under the care of Sir William Gull ever since, a perfect martyr

to nervous disorders; and of old Madame de Tremouillac, who, having

wakened up one morning early and seen a skeleton seated in an armchair

by the fire reading her diary, had been confined to her bed for six

weeks with an attack of brain fever, and, on her recovery, had become

reconciled to the Church, and broken off her connection with that

notorious sceptic, Monsieur de Voltaire. He remembered the terrible

night when the wicked Lord Canterville was found choking in his

dressing-room, with the knave of diamonds half-way down his throat, and

confessed, just before he died, that he had cheated Charles James Fox

out of 50,000 at Crockford's by means of that very card, and swore that

the ghost had made him swallow it. All his great achievements came back

to him again, from the butler who had shot himself in the pantry because

he had seen a green hand tapping at the window-pane, to the beautiful

Lady Stutfield, who was always obliged to wear a black velvet band round

her throat to hide the mark of five fingers burnt upon her white skin,

and who drowned herself at last in the carp-pond at the end of the

King's Walk. With the enthusiastic egotism of the true artist, he went

over his most celebrated performances, and smiled bitterly to himself as

he recalled to mind his last appearance as "Red Reuben, or the Strangled

Babe," his _d***_ as "Guant Gibeon, the Blood-sucker of Bexley Moor,"

and the _furore_ he had excited one lovely June evening by merely

playing ninepins with his own bones upon the lawn-tennis ground. And

after all this some wretched modern Americans were to come and offer him

the Rising Sun Lubricator, and throw pillows at his head! It was quite

unbearable. Besides, no ghost in history had ever been treated in this

manner. Accordingly, he determined to have vengeance, and remained till

daylight in an attitude of deep thought.