New Zealand Ghosts & Other Haunts

Stauf Stevens
Sometimes, not only can ghosts be dangerous, fear of them can also be dangerous. In 1972 a gentleman by the name of David Tyke was an employee of a moderately successful New York newspaper. As such, he was deeply into writing. He had pen pals with gentleman from around the world, but none so intrigued him as a pair of gentlemen with whom he corresponded from England. They were brothers, whose names were Roger and William Markham. The two shared many stories and witticism, and at one point, decided to meet.

David finally declared that he would travel by boat to England and would meet the brothers in Cornwall. The town where the brothers lived was a rather long ride northwards, during which the three listened to David ramble on about how wonderful it was to live in America. When they finally arrived, they set off for a pub to have a drink. Over the course of the evening, David talked even more as drink loosened his tongue. To hear him tell it, everything and everyone in America was better than anyone and everything elsewhere.

"We certainly won the war for you." David was telling them.

Roger smiled and rested his elbows on the table. "I suppose Americans aren't afraid of ghosts?"

"Americans don't even believe in ghosts." Came the reply.

William added to Roger's smile. "Then I suppose you wouldn't be adverse to spending a night in a haunted house?"

"I told you Americans don't believe in ghosts."

"Then I think it's time we told David about Bendale house." decided Roger.

They told David that the rather large and antiquated house that he and his brother lived in, along with their sister and widowed mother, was once the scene of a terrible tragedy. According to lore, a woman named Margaret Vale had once lived there with her husband. She had come home one night to find him in bed with another woman. In a jealous rage, she tore out his throat with a knife.

She was hanged for her crime. To the end she showed no remorse for what she had done. To the contrary, she went to her death saying that she would do it again. And so, the story goes, she had. Six men had died in that room, two of them in trying to prove that they didn't believe in ghosts.

David was not only not scared of the prospect, he welcomed the challenge. They wagered a hundred dollars that he would not spend the night in the haunted room. But they warned David not to speak of it to their mother for, the brothers said, if she found out about it, she would never permit it. Roger insisted, however, that their mother was old and near deaf, and wouldn't be a bother to anyone if not disturbed.

That night they arrived late at the house and settled in for a delightful dinner. The brother's mother was pleasant and their sister prepared a wonderful meal. After dinner the three men sipped brandy and talked while waiting for the mother and sister to go to bed. When at last, near to eleven o'clock, they did retire, the three went up to the haunted room.

It looked like any other room in the large house, but was farther away from the section where the family lived. It was sparsely furnished, but in good condition, and had obviously not been thoroughly cleaned in years. Despite the dust, there didn't seem to be anything amiss. The lights worked well and William provided fresh sheets. There was a modern lamp on the bed-table and a fixture overhead, as well as numerous candles, for which the brothers provided a lighter in case of emergency, stating that the power was off and on during the witching hour, an effect they blamed on the ghost. David took the proffered lighter and pronounced the room excellent in which to spend the night.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?" asked Roger.

David nodded. "I see nothing wrong here. I'll spend the night here even if it's only to show you that there's no such thing as ghosts."

William gestured to a purple rope that hung down near the bed. "Well, if you need assistance, you can just tug on the bellpull there. If you get into trouble, ring it and we'll come running."

David smiled at his friends. "I won't need it. And just in case you two are planning to scare me tonight, you should know that I brought my own protection." He pulled a revolver out of his suitcase and laid it on the bed.

At that, the brothers wished him good luck and good night, and withdrew from the room. David climbed into bed and lay the revolver next to him, settling in to read himself to sleep with a book of ghost stories that he'd brought with him. That was probably not a good idea. David was a very brave man and really didn't believe in ghosts, but reading a book of scary stories in a supposedly haunted room must surely be enough to play on the nerves. As time wore on, he finally shut off the light and went to sleep.

He didn't sleep for long.

He awoke in the pitch black. To him, this was momentarily distressing. He was sure that there were two windows in the room through which at least moonlight must certainly have poured. There was no such light visible. David fumbled for the bedside light switch and threw it. The lights refused to come on.

David flicked the light switch a few more times, now growing anxious. There was nothing foreboding in the room, but the eerie darkness and the sudden failure of the lights shook him. Withdrawing his lighter, he illuminated the candles by his bedside. The curtains over his windows had been drawn when he'd gone to sleep. Now they were shut tight. That did not disturb David. He knew that he had been tired, and that he might have been mistaken and had closed them.

He was about to go back to sleep when he heard a voice. It came from everywhere and from nowhere. It was neither in the room nor in the hall.

"David, David. I am coming for you."

David sat upright in his bed, grasping the revolver. He still suspected a trick, but his nerves were near to fraying. The atmosphere was evil. In David's mind, you could reach out and touch the hatred.

Again the voice called, nearer now. "David, David. I am coming for you."

With more nerves than ever could I muster, he rose from the bed to meet whoever it was that was coming. The voice echoed in ethereal tones, now most certainly just outside his door. David's hand shook and beads of sweat were appearing on his brow.

"David, David, I am coming for you."

The door knob started to turn, slowly. Then it stopped, righted itself. The door did not open.

Then suddenly there was a ghastly shriek behind him. David whirled to face a tattered, pale figure of a woman brandishing a bloody knife. She screamed, "David! I have come for you!"

David was deathly afraid. Nevertheless, he cried out in terror and fired three times at point-blank range. The figure did not move, only advanced on him, shrieking. At that, David fell over in a dead faint.

The next morning at breakfast David was mysteriously quiet. The brothers congratulated him on having survived the night, and not even having pulled the bellpull. David thanked them for their hospitality and insisted that he would have to go home immediately. The brothers understood, what with having stayed in a haunted room. They did not ask him what he had seen and heard, but wished him well on his way.

Ten years passed without a word from David. Finally, one day, Roger received a letter in the mail. It was from David, saying that he was going to be in England and thought he might drop by for a visit. Roger called William, who had since moved out of the mother's house, and arranged for them all to meet at that same pub in town that they'd been to ten years previously.

When they met him, David looked much the same as he had before, yet his features were more gaunt and haggard, as if he had not slept well in months. Despite that, he was cheery and pleasant with the brothers. Their reunion was joyous.

Over a few pints, Roger looked at his brother, who nodded, and then said. "You know, we really do owe you an apology, over the matter of that trick we played on you. It was cruel, we know, but we were all so young then."

"Which trick?" asked David.

William replied, "The one with the ghost. You were right, the house isn't haunted and to our knowledge, no one ever died there. We made the whole thing up to scare you, what with all your talk of how brave Americans were."

Roger filled in the details. "Old houses have all sorts of unused passageways. We used one to get into the room behind you while you were staring at the door. Our sister was in on it, too. William was the voice. She was the ghost."

David considered. "I fired at the thing three times. How do you explain that?"

Roger shrugged. "Blanks. We exchanged them during dinner. We knew you'd be armed. We weren't going to take a chance of anyone getting hurt."

David sat back and smiled. Then he lept forwards. A knife was in his hand. He grabbed William and severed his throat with a single slash. He would have killed Roger, too, had the other men in the bar not grabbed him. He was raving like a madman, and seemed to have the strength of ten men.

A day later a shaken and horrified Roger was in his home. Another letter had arrived, this one from David's father, in America. The letter read.

"Dear Sir: I know that my son is on his way to visit you. Despite your friendship, I told him not to go, but he would not listen. My poor son has been ill, very ill for many years. However, such was his love of your company that I could not restrain him. I beg you..." - and *beg* was underlined - "...not to mention the matter of the ghost. It is the one subject that my poor, sick boy cannot abide."

Roger slowly let the letter fall from his hands.
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Shanachie