Famous Modern Ghost Stories

and sat down at the long discolored oaken table, nodding good-da

aid I, "what is good for a s

he inquired

f red wine, th

and I poured a little Bordeaux into it. M

red, Marianne?" I asked.

ried, Monsieur Da

s Jean Marie Tregu

nsieur Darrel-his

"Jean Marie is a

-" began the girl, but I raised

nd I took a hearty draught of the schist. "Now," said

e above in the broad room. I believe they

ris? Oh, I know. Ma

ith you," smi

x Fortin opened it. Dust covered his spectacles and nose; hi

yor and I are packing up the effects of the

t be very careful in packing those butterfly cases; the

ith me and pointed to

and I are putting felt around each box. The E

Red Admiral and the Purple Empe

re were cases filled with crimson tiger moths all aflame with color; cases devoted to the common yellow butterflies; symphonies in orange an

rple emperor, the Apatura Iris, that fatal specimen t

fly, and stood looking

loor where he was nailing down

ame, your wife, gives the Purple Emperor'

odd

epting anyth

a gift,

the case? That butterfly is worth a g

wish to sell that specimen, do

stroy it," said the mayor

I, "like your burying the brass

doggedly, "and I should prefer not

rtin, who immediat

said I, digging my hands into my pockets; "yo

sulkily; "there's more tru

yor of St. Gildas and St. Jul

in the lo

hen-Jeanne-

ihan with convict

perhaps, Monsieur the mayor, you

everybody knows it,

mist!" I obser

he Purple Emperor was a scientific man. Now suppose I should tell you t

?" I ex

y night; some call it the Death's Head, but

ommonly known as the 'death's-head moth.' Why the misc

Gildas," said Max Fortin. "Even Froissart speaks of it in his comme

Jacques Sorgue? I n

some unfrocked priest-I forge

sorcery ever since I kicked that skull into the gravel pit, and I am tired of it, I tell you frank

and ninety-six,"

ing men are afraid of

window," said Max Fortin; "it means e

head on the back," observed Le Bihan piously, "but I take it that he mea

imagination one can make out a skull on the t

o touch," said the m

en handled," a

l the time," I observed,

added th

e Bihan: do you mean to tell me that yo

mouth tightly and p

e," I said; "I ask

ped Le Bihan. "Fortin saw what

hingly at the

by itself," said Fortin with a shiver, "but-but then, how did

w cobblestone that you mistook for the skul

bblestone, Monsieur

et to say that I took the trouble to roll two innocent cobblestones into

ed Le Bihan with

train of coincidences so that the result seems to savor of the supernatural. Now,

ed hastily from their knees

s that?" deman

had said. Max Fo

Bihan, "the Black Pr

phecy?" stammered Fortin; "Froiss

ck Priest rise

olk shall sh

Priest rises

d God St. G

been in St. Gildas playing tricks to frighten old fools like you. If you have nothing better to talk about than nursery legends

eeping across the river sands, higher, higher, and I saw the seaweed floating on the beach, and the lancons springing from the foam, silvery threadlike flashes in the gloom. Curlew were flying up the river in

e white semaphore on the hills, black clouds crowded up over the horizon. After a little the thunder boomed, dull, distant, and slender skeins of lightning unraveled across the crest of the com

ining now at the semaphore. High in the storm whirl a few gulls pitched; a nearer cloud tr

t the sea, where the waves were bursting into strange white shapes that seemed to fling out menacing arms toward me. Then somet

rocks. The wet turf creaked under my heavy boots, the black-thorn scraped and grated against knee and elbow. Over all lay a strange light, pallid, ghastly, where the sea spray whirled across the landscape

motioning me to hasten; and then for the first ti

orm threatened?" she said. "Oh, you are dripping! Go quickly

irs to change my dripping clothe

was a driftwood fire on the hearth, and

ent is out. Do you think they are in danger, dear?"

I, looking out of the window. Far across the moor

rmured Lys; "come

rug, my hands in my pocket

I said. "I feel l

r scarlet lips. I always

very still, t

l as

oed a voice,

I asked, turning so th

id you

eath'?" I as

choed a vo

ed her to the window and opened it a little way to give her air. As I did so the chain lightning split the zenith, the thunder crashed, and a sheet of

ng to me, and we saw that it was a d

nderstand, things that must be nameless forever and ever, until God rolls up the scroll of life and all is ended. We spoke of hope and fear and faith, and the mystery of the saints; we spoke of the beginn

ath to this house," I said,

love God," murmured Lys, and she drew

hrew it out into the storm

emain," s

f Jacques Sorgue. I shaded the candle, but Lys grew restless, and finally I took the book

thought it was dead, but when I looked closer I saw a lambent fire in its amber eye

and sticky; the illuminated gold and blue initials le

id to myself; and I held the discolored page close t

condemned to be burned with hot irons, until his seared soul quit its body and fly to its master the devil. But when the Black Priest lay in the crypt of Plougastel, his master Satan came at night and set him free, and carried him across land and sea to Mahmoud, which is

d," said the Chronicle, "he cursed the Sieur de Trevec and his descendants, and he said he would surely return to St. Gildas. 'For the violence you do to me, I will do violence to you. For the evil I suffer at your hands, I will work evil on you and your descendants. Woe to your children, Sieur de Trevec!'" There was a whirr, a beating of strong wings, and my candle flashed up as in a sudden breeze. A humming filled the room; the great moth

glass melting away before it like mist, and through the smoke of my revolver I saw something creep swiftly into t

ow. The glass was unbroken. I stooped stiffly, picked up my revolver and opened the cylinder. Every cartridge had been fired. Mechanically I closed the cylinder and placed the revolver in my pocket. The book, the Chronicles of Jacques Sorgue, lay on the table beside me, and as I started