THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS CASTLE

Waikato Times, Volume 125, Issue 20923, 30 September 1939, Page 21 (Supplement)

THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS CASTLE

(Continued from last week) The hall looked a picture, with garlands in profusion, balloons, a huge Christmas-tree packed with presents and upon which a hundred tiny electric light bulbs gleamed—the current being supplied from a portable storage battery hired from the town. The chiming of the grandfather clock brought to them the first realisation that it was getting late. “Better switch off the electric light, or else we shall run the battery down before the party,” Joan said, suiting the action to her words and pulling out the plug. “Oh!” cried Doreen, as the hall was plunged into darkness—for they had not had the oil lamps lighted. “Put the plug in again, Joan—l hate the dark. Let’s tell Benson to comb and put the lights out after we’ve gone. We—” She got no further. Her voice was interrupted by an eerie, muffled wail that seemed to come from just behind them. Involuntarily they turned in the darkness—for not even the fires were sending out much light now, having died down. Joan experienced a feeling that her scalp was prickling whilst she felt as if cold water were running up and down her spine. Never had she heard such strange, unaccountable sounds. The wailing was followed by a series of agitated whisperings, as if the air were full of people talking beneath their breath. The noises seemed to hem them in, growing louder and louder. Frantically Joan tried to find the plug from the Christmas tree—but she failed, in her excitement. And it was whilst she was groping for it and wishing she had her torch with her, that an amazing thing happened. There was a rustling sound from above; then Joan and Doreen found themselves in the midst of falling festoons of paper decoration which they had so painstakingly fixed in position that evening. Then, abrubtly, all was quiet again, save for Doreen’s frightened gasps as her breath came hissingly. At that moment Joan found the elusive plug and thrust it into the socket. All the lamps on the Christmas tree flashed on, lighting up the hall with a soft, diffused glow. A low cry of dismay broke from Joan. The decorations they had drawn to a central point above the grandfather *clock were all down, lying about them on the floor. “Look!” gasped Joan tensely. “The clock!” The door of the clock was open—and the pendulum had stopped! Speechless with amazement, the two girls stood watching the clock as if some hystic spell had woven about them invisible bonds. Fascinated, Joan felt as if she could not move—only stare in wonder for what might have been ten seconds. “The door’s closing again, Doreen! ” Joan’s voice sounded to her like that of a stranger’s. She felt Doreen’s hand clutching at hers. And little wonder. For the door was slowly closing as if actuated by an unseen hand. Click! The latch engaged with an audible sound—a sound that was followed almost immediately by another, and unmistakable sound. Tick, took, tick, tock! The grandfather clock was going once again! CHAPTER 111 The Party Tick, tock—tick, tock! It seemed difficult for the prac-tical-minded Joan to believe that a matter of seconds ago she had been gazing into the opened case, with its pendulum motionless. Yet she had to believe it—for she knew that she had not been dreaming- , . The fallen decorations proved it was no dream —and so did Doreen’s frightened voice the next moment. “Oh, Joan, what ever does it all / mean?” > Joan pulled herself together and laughed. . “It’s someone having a joke, dear,” she replied instantly, realis-

ing that on no account must she allow Doreen to get the idea into her head that this had all been part of some supernatural organism. “But 1 must say it is a pretty horrid sort of joke. Just look at the way our work has been undone.” But Doreen was not satisfied. “How could that door close without someone doing it and us seeing them?” she cried, a little incoherently. “Joan, I’m frightened— l’m scared. It’s awful—that terrible noises in the air. You—you must have heard it.” Joan had heard it all right—but she was not going to let Doreen’s fright get the better of her, if she could prevent it. “I think someone must have opened a window somewhere, Doreen, and the draught disturbing the streamers and festoons caused that noise. This dragged them from the central fastening and—down they came.” In her heart she knew that this was not the true explanation. The noises she had heard had not been caused by a draught. Neither had a draught opened the clock door, stopped the pendulum, and them reversed the order of action. She knew she would have to look more deeply for the true explanation of all that had happened. But the first thing was to calm Doreen and persuaded her to go to bed. “We’ll find out all about them in the moring.” she suggested. (Tc bo continued.)