A MYSTERIOUS TOUCH

Waikato Times, Volume XXXI, Issue 2567, 22 December 1888, Page 1 (Supplement)

A MYSTERIOUS TOUCH

A CHRISTMAS STORV. The study of myths, fairies, ghosts, and goblins is one of rare fascination, and usually acceptable at this season of the year. One enjoys a skilfully told ghost story, even while he laughs at the idea of a ghost. Who does not experience a thrill of interest upon reading Dieken's " Thirteenth Juror," " The Signalman," of Biilwer's " The Haunted and the Haunters ?" Human nature naturally inclines to the love of the. marvellous and supernatural, and the rehearsal of such tales has made certain writers famous.

I cannot say that my study of supernaturalism has led to any definite result. I have not made any remarkable discoveries, but have had some experiences that mystified me. Among them was one of apparently an inexplicable nature, which it is here my purpose to relate.

I remember once, some years ago, while seated in my study, bending over a desk, a hand was laid upon my shoulder. It was my wife's custom (my late hours bothered Laura) to rouse me at times in this manner, and when I turned in answer to the summons it was with the expectation of seeing her behind my chair. Turning slowly about, I answered, " Coming, Laura." To my amusement the room was empty ! I had heard no footfall, no voice, but had merely felt the touch of a hand upon my shoulder, gentle, it is true, light, as Laura's touch always is, but unmistakeable; I had not been in a cloze, it was not fancy ; I had been touched by a hand.

I confess that upon turning round and finding nothing I was startled. I sat a moment in deep thought, seeking to bring the occurrence within the range of comprehension. My brain was clear, every faculty active. Going to the door, I opened it and called up the hallway in a low voice— " Laura!" No answer. I called again, my voice echoing strangely. The hour was late. Laur.i was evidently asleep. I resumed my seat at the desk,

but could not continue writing. My thoughts were vague and scattered. The mysterious touch on the shoulder filled ine with strange emotions. What explanation was there for it ? No human hand had touched me; I laughed outright at the idea. Mystified, dissatisfied, I closed the desk, put out the light, and went up to my bedroom. Lighting a lamp that stood on the bureau, I looked a Laura. She lay in a sound sleep, her calm, sweet face partly averted. I gently roused her, had her sit up, assured myself that she was thoroughly awake, and then asked— "Laura, have you been long asleep 1" " Fully an hour," she replied, looking at me wonderiiigly. " Has anything happened, George?" " Are you sure there is nobody in the house but ourselves V I continued. " Who could there be, George 1 Tell me what has happened." Seeing my puzzled expression, she smiled, looked at me quizzically, and kissed me. I felt angry wiih myself for having waked her, yet glad to have her sweet companionship. " Laura," I began, conscious that I was about to make a very foolish statement, " 1 have just had an experience that I cannot explain. You know what my views are on the subject of the supernatural, and— She interrupted me with a laugh —a pleasant, girlish laugh that did me good. Taking my hand in both her own, she said— " Oh, George, I really thought it was something serious. Was it only a ghost 1" " Pray be serious, Laura. While I sat at my desk, a few moments ago, a hand touched me on the

shoulder, just as you have done a hundred times. More than that, Laura, it was your very touch."

" You fancied it, George." " I felt the touch, Laura, as surely as I feel the pressure of your hand at this moment. There was no deception ; it was not a delusion ; a hand touched me. Who was it? What was it?"

Laura glanced quickly over her shoulder, as nervous people are apt to do when alone in the house late at night.

" I wonder if the house is haunted ?" she queried, laughingly. I went to bed, but not to sleep. The incident, trivial as it may seem, mystified and worried me. It called for an explanation, which I could not give. There was no superstitious fear in it, my reason rebelled at any but a natural solution of the mystery, and I exhausted my ingenuity in endeavouring to reach such a solution. I reviewed the occurrence over and over again. It is impossible to picture here my unmistakable amazement when, touched upon the shoulder by a soft hand, I turned and found behind me —nothing ! The mystery became a part of my dreams. A few nights after this incident occurred I was again writing at my desk. A chill air was blowing through the wire screen at mv side. It had grown late, but not later than it was my custom to work. Without footfall, voice, or warning, the touch came again upon the same shoulder, and in the same manner. I felt it as plainly as I ever felt the touch of a human hand. Quick as a flash I turned, rising to my feet to prevent any possibility of hiding or escape. The room was empty ; the door remained closed as I had left it

Did you ever turn fiercely to strike an enemy at the back of you, and find nothing 1 I was not frightened, anger was the predominant feeling. I was conscious of being the victim of a shrewd deception. 1 felt that this mysterious presence, this nameless and immaterial something, was inimical to me. I was eager to materialise it, corner it, understand it. It would have delighted me to learn that I was the victim of a practical joke, that would have barred the supernatural.

" Laura !" I cried, going to the door.

In a few moments I heard the rustle of her dress on the stairway. " What is it, George V she asked, as she burst eagerly into the room. " Something had touched me on the shoulder again," I replied. "What can it be?" " I wish I knew," said Laura, drawing very near to me, and looking about the room with a mystified, frightened expression. "I'm sure I can't see anything." " Were you asleep when I called ? Did you hear anything."

"Not a sound. Sit down at your desk again, George, just as you sat when thn hand touched you. I have an idea."

I did so, bending over as if in the act of writing.

Laura approached me softly. T could hear her footfalls very faintly, and Jaid her hand just where the mysterious touch had come, and even more gently. " Laura !" cried I, springing up, " you diil it! What a fool you have made of mo !" " George," she exclaimed, her dark eyes filling with tears, " I did not do it. I know, nothing about it. How can you doubt me!" "Ido not doubt you, little wife," said I, reassuringly, " but I begin to doubt myself." I put out the light, and we both went upstairs together, both in

rather a sombre mood. If, after all, it was really a spirit hand that touched me, what did it mean ? Did it portend misfortune of some kind, death ? Unconsciously I began to grow morbid on tho subjoct. With the slightest basis on winch

to begin an investigation I should not have despaired. But what was there to investigate ? Without the aid of sight and hearing reason faltered; the simple act of feeling the touch availed me nothing. What conclusion could I arrive at but that the touch was supernatural ?

Twice upon the street I was conscious of the same strange touch, in broad daylight, when no deception was possible. Unable te fathom the mystery, I waited curiously, yet not without misgivings, to see what it portended, and things continued in this unexphiuablecondition until Christinas Eve.

On that eventful evening, while I was seated at my desk, Dr, Earle called ; an aged gentleman in whose conversation I take great pleasure. Seating him comfortably in ray easiest chair, I excused myself a moment while completing a letter begun before his arrival. I had called Laura, but she had not yet come down Without the slightest warning, as had always been the case, the same hand was placed upon my shoulder. No longer gentle, it

gripped me firmly, as if a strong man had grasped the flesh and squeezed it,

Pained, amazed, eager to see what this new phase of the mystery meant, I whirled about with arms extended. There was nothing behind me, Dr. Earle was quietly seated on the opposite side of the room, glancing over the daily paper.

" Doctor," said I, conscious that my face was red with shame, " I suppose you think me crazy 1" " Crazy ?" repeated the doctor, eyeing me curiously over his glasses. What could I say? What explanation could I make ? I determined to tell him the whole story, hoping to find some parallel for it in his long experience as a physician. Drawing my chair close to him, I recited every incident connectedly as I could. He was interested from the beginning. When I had finished he looked carefully about the room, silently regarded mn with an expression partly humourous, partly puzzled, and then observed. "Will you please take off your coat ?" I do so. " Roll up your sleeves," he continued. I do so, wondering at the meaning of so remarkable a procedure. Was it one of the old gentleman's droll conceits? He grasped my shoulder and squeezed it, drawing from me a cry of pain. " Night after night," he sagely remarked, frowning, " you have sat by the screen, cool, moist air has blown on your shoulders for several hours at a time. What other results could have been expected?" " Pray, doctor, what is the result 1" I enquired, eagerly.

" Rheumatism," was the sententious reply.

" And the soft, spirit-like touch 1" " Was merely the twitching of a muscle."