own--one
that occurred to me many years ago, when I was living in Worthing, in
the old part of the town, not far from where the Public Library now
stands. Directly after we had taken the house, my husband was ordered to
India. However, he did not expect to be away for long, so, as I was not
in very good health just then, I did not go with him, but remained with
my little boy, Philip, in Worthing. Besides Philip and myself, my
household only consisted of a nursery-governess, cook, housemaid, and
kitchen-maid. The hauntings began before we had been in our new quarters
many days. We all heard strange noises, scratchings, and whinings, and
the servants complained that often, when they were at meals, something
they could not see, but which they could swear was a dog, came sniffing
round them, jumping up and placing its invisible paws on their lap.
Often, too, when they were in bed the same thing entered their room,
they said, and jumped on the top of them. They were all very much
frightened, and declared that if the hauntings continued they would not
be able to stay in the house. Of course, I endeavoured to laugh away
their fears, but the latter were far too deeply rooted, and I myself,
apart from the noises I had heard, could not help feeling that there was
some strangely unpleasant influence in the house. The climax was brought
about by Philip. One afternoon, hearing him cry very loudly in the
nursery, I ran upstairs to see what was the matter. On the landing
outside the nursery I narrowly avoided a collision with the governess,
who came tearing out of the room, her eyes half out of her head with
terror, and her cheeks white as a sheet. She said nothing--and indeed
her silence was far more impressive than words--but, rushing past me,
flung herself downstairs, half a dozen steps at a time, and ran into the
garden. In an agony of fear--for I dreaded to think what had happened--I
burst into the nursery, and found Philip standing on the bed,
frantically beating the air with his hands. 'Take it away--oh, take it
away!' he cried; 'it is a horrid dog; it has no head!' Then, seeing me,
he sprang down and, racing up to me, leaped into my open arms. As he did
so, something darted past and disappeared through the open doorway. It
was a huge greyhound without a head! I left the house the next day--I
was fortunately able to sublet it--and went to Bournemouth. But, do you
know, Mr O'Donnell, that dog followed us! Wherever we went it went