Abigail and Jack

t happened nearly two hundred years ago. But in the

village they still tell the tale of Abigail and Jack. Abigail
was a fair, slim girl with pale blue eyes. Jack was a strong,
handsome and well-built young man. He was eighteen, but
Abigail was only fourteen.
They often met in secret in the churchyard, where they sat on
a bench talking and kissing. They wanted to marry, but Jack
worked on Abigails fathers farm. Abigails father wanted her
to marry a nobleman, not a farm labourer.
One day, while they were sitting in the churchyard, they heard
a gravedigger singing. He sang about death and how everyone
dies the rich man, the poor man, the beggar man, the thief.
He worked as he sang, using his shovel to dig a new grave. Jack
and Abigail listened to his song. He sang that everyone must
die. Only love can conquer death. His singing gave Abigail and
Jack hope. They made up their minds. Jack would ask her
father to allow them to marry.

But when Jack spoke to Abigails father, he flew into a rage.

He said he would never allow his daughter to marry a common
labourer. He told Jack that he was dismissed and that he must
leave the village. Then he sent for Abigail. He told her that
she must go and pack. He was sending her to a boarding school.

Jack left the village that night. He wandered the countryside

looking for work. But every farm he called at turned him away.
Abigails father had made sure that no one would employ him.
As the weeks passed, he grew ill. He made his way back to the
village, but within three days he was dead.
Meanwhile, at her boarding school, Abigail cried herself to
sleep each night. There was no word from Jack. Surely he
could not have forgotten her?
Then, one night in December, she awoke to find Jack standing
beside her bed. His finger was on his lips to tell her not to
speak. Thinking her father must have sent for her, she
dressed quickly and hurried outside.
There in the driveway was Abigails fathers horse and
carriage. Abigail climbed up beside Jack. She watched him as
he drove them towards her home. He was still and silent. She
felt his hands, which were as cold as ice. She gave him her
gloves. She touched his cheeks. They too felt like ice. She
gave him her scarf. He still looked cold. So she wrapped her
coat around him.
When they reached the farm, it was in darkness. Abigail was
surprised that neither her father nor the servants were up.
Surely, they couldnt have all gone to bed, when they knew she
was coming. She went and knocked on her fathers door. Her
father was surprised to see her. When she told him that Jack

had brought her home, his face grew angry. He told her not to
be so stupid. Jack was dead. Abigail fell to the floor in a
faint.
When she came around, her father lit lanterns and took her to
the graveyard. He wanted to show her Jacks grave and prove
to her that he was dead. But when they reached the grave,
Abigail had another shock. There on top of the grave were her
gloves, her scarf and her coat.
Abigail never recovered from Jacks death. Within six months,
she too was dead. Her last request was to be buried beside
Jack.
If you visit the churchyard, you can still see their graves.
From Jacks grave there grows a bright red rose. From
Abigails grave there grows a pure white rose. The two roses
have grown towards each other and are tangled together.
James Rigg

The Face at the Window

he scream echoed through

the house. Edward
Cranswell snatched up his
loaded pistol and ran down the
dark corridor. He knew exactly
what he had to do. The madman
had attacked his brother once
before. He was going to cut off
the lunatics escape. While
Edward ran to the garden, his
sister Amelia burst into their
brothers room. He was still
screaming. He pointed towards
the window. Pressed against the
glass was the most hideous face
she had ever seen. A thin brown
hand was fumbling with the
window catch. But for a second
Amelia was unable to move. The
mans eyes seemed to hold her
spellbound. They bored into her,
daring her to go closer. As Amelia
raised her pistol to fire, the man
snarled. Then, he turned and fled.
Michael was too frightened even
to speak. He collapsed on Amelias
shoulder and started to sob. He
remembered the dreadful night
when the man first broke into his
room. He saw again the face with the scar, the twisted mouth
and the long grey hair.

The Night Flyer of Talyllyn

Everyone has a favourite story of a place or building thats haunted.
Why do you think people love to hear, read or watch ghost stories?
What kinds of buildings are usually thought of as haunted? Are
there some places that you could never imagine as the settings for
ghost stories, such as supermarkets or swimming pools?
A popular short story by the nineteenth century novelist, Charles
Dickens, is The Signalman. It is a spine-chilling tale about a ghostly
railway line. Railways have often attracted mysterious rumours and
legends. Look at the following account said to be true about a mysterious locomotive
in South Wales.

*****************************************************************

he Welsh town of Tywyn, facing out across the beautiful sweep of

Cardigan Bay, is one of those lovely spots that, once visited, are
never forgotten. Beyond the town, running to the north-east, is
the famous old Talyllyn Railway.
This whole area of Wales is replete with legends and stories of strange
nocturnal happenings, so it is hardly surprising to learn that the Talylyn
Railway is haunted, too. Weird lights have been reported on the line long
after the last train has run, and the harsh whistle of an engine has been
heard on certain stretches, especially near the viaduct at Dolgoch.
Seen by day from the B4405 which runs beside the railway for half its
length, the Dolgoch viaduct is an impressive looking construction. By
night, however, it has a strangely eerie quality and to walk over it is to
sense the great antiquity of the Welsh fastness all around. Indeed,
locals say it takes stout-hearted men and women to be about in Dolgoch
after night falls.
But such bravery is precisely what a group of climbers from an outdoor
pursuits centre showed when they asked for permission to abseil down
Dolgoch Viaduct at midnight one autumn evening in 1982. According to
one report, as they were tying their ropes to the rails on the viaduct in
preparation for their descent, a dark, mysterious shape hurtled at them
out of the darkness.

No one among the group was quite sure what they saw, for it all happened
so quickly. Whether it was something real or intangible was impossible to
say; but the shape of the thing, and the fact they were on the railway,
made them think it must be a locomotive of some kind. Although the
group were somewhat shaken by their experience, they nonetheless
abseiled down the viaduct and later reported their strange experience in
Tywyn.
To the local people, the story merely added weight to the long-held belief
that the line was haunted, and a newspaper later carried an account which
began, Strange nocturnal happenings have confirmed the existence of a
ghost train on the Talyllyn Railway.
There was, though, another suggestion: that the ghost train might
actually have been a runaway trolley hi-jacked by pranksters to frighten
the abseilers but this did not explain the dramatic disappearance of the
thing over the edge of the viaduct, nor the fact that nothing
whatsoever was found anywhere on the line between the viaduct and
Tywyn.
Richard Peyton, The Book of Great Mysteries

A-Z of Ghosts and Hauntings

Farnham Wood

Several places in and around

Farnham Wood are said to be
haunted by a beautiful young
woman called Kate, dressed in
brown. If you go into the wood
and she calls you, do not turn
around. If Kate stares into your
eyes, she turns into a little girl
and you become old and ill.

Hawkford
The old road from Hawkford to
Hurlston is haunted by a man
driving a ghostly horse-drawn
carriage. The man has no head.
This is the ghost of Charlie
Gardiner, who has been spotted
many times on the old road.
In 1964 Charlie fell in love with
Elizabeth Broughton, a local beauty.
Her father, Squire Broughton, did not
like Charlie. He found out that Charlie
and his daughter were planning to run
away together. When Charlie arrived in
his carriage, Squire Broughton was
waiting for him with his axe. Ever since,
people have reported seeing the
headless driver and the ghostly carriage
fleeing from Hawkford Manor.

Helton
People in Helton say the town is haunted by a
strange black cat. It is twice the size of a normal
cat. Anyone who sees it is said to fall under the
spell of its hypnotic green eyes. It leads them out
into the marshes, where they fall into the peat bog
and drown. The cat is said to be the ghost of
Benjamin Waters old tom-cat. Benjamin was a
farmer who died when he flee into the peat bog in
1876. His cat escaped but was killed by the local
people, who thought it had brought Benjamin bad
luck. They say that it has come back to get its
revenge.

Houndsbury
An old man is sometimes seen at Houndsbury Park around
midnight. He wears a long black coat and leans heavily on a
thick walking stick. His hair is long and white. He beckons
people towards him with his stick. If you go to him, you
find yourself looking into the face of a grinning skull. He
then vanishes. But its best to keep away from him.
Everyone who has seen the grinning skull has died a few
weeks later in a strange accident.

Rosalie

Ghost stories have a similar effect on us to horror stories they chill us

with fear. What makes them different is that they contain a
supernatural element - a ghost or spectre or mysterious being which
doesnt belong on earthsomething we thought was dead. Nowadays the
differences between the genres can be unclear, but as a rule horror
stories even those with ghosts are gorier than ghost stories.

Robert Westall was well-known for his ghostly tales, as well as for
the many other stories he wrote for young readers. In this extract from
his short story, Rosalie, a class has been talking about the ghost of
Rosalie Scott who is supposed to haunt the school
Think of a ghost story, in a book, television programme, or film,
which has had a strong effect on you. What element in it sticks in your
mind most? Why do you remember it so well?
Do you think ghost stories are just a bit of fun, or could reading
too many actually do harm?
*****************************************************************

Rosalie

t was in maths, on the twenty-first of December, that Tracy

Merridew screamed. It was about half past three in the afternoon
and raining, nearly dark outside already. The lights were on in the
classroom, but they seemed very far away, high up near the ceiling; and
the dull planked floor under the tables was full of dusty shadows.
For goodness sake, shouted Miss Hood, will you be quiet, Tracy?
I am sick of this class. I know we break up tomorrow, but today we are
working!
But everyone was turning and staring at the dark space beneath
the cupboard where the textbooks and the library were kept. The girls
were huddling together and the boys were crouching tense, getting ready
to be brave. As a whisper went round the room.
The hand! The hand!
Then something scuttled with a dry noise, under the cupboard;
half-appeared, a dull grey, then vanished again.
8

Good God, said Miss Hood. A mouse. Or a rat!

As she often told them, she was a farmers daughter, with no time
for nonsense. Well soon deal with that! She picked up her heavy
blackboard pointer, which she had been known to poke people with, and
made straight for the cupboard. She banged on the side of the cupboard
with the pointer, making a terrific din. Hoping to scare the rat out.
Nothing stirred.
Very bravely, or very foolishly, she knelt down and peered
underneath, her rather large bottom in its loud check skirt humped up in
the air. Still peering, she poked the pointer into the darkness, and
rattled it about.
Then she gave such a scream as made Tracy Merridews seem a
squeak.
And collapsed in a dead faint.
And as she lay there a thing like a shrivelled hand, but also like a
great thin grey spider, seemed to crawl out from under the cupboard and
crawl on to her back; crawl up on to her woolly black jumper. Everyone in
the class saw it quite clearly, outlined against Miss Hoods black jumper.
So all the rest of their lives they would never forget it
Everyone started screaming.
Then the classroom door burst open, and Mrs Winterbottom was
shouting, What is all this nonsense? Miss HoodMiss Hood!
And by the time they had got Miss Hood into her chair and
splashed her with water, and tried to tell Mrs Winterbottom what had
happened, and turned back to the cupboard, the hand was quite gone.

Robert Westall

The Knock at the Manor Gate

Franz Kafka is a Czech writer who is famous for stories which show the
isolation and nightmares of human beings the perfect subject matter
for ghost stories.
Most readers agree that this story has suspense, but disagree about
whether it is a real ghost story. See what you think

t was summer, a hot day. With my sister I was passing the gate of a
great house on our way home. I cannot tell now whether she knocked
on the gate out of mischief or out of absence of mind, or merely
threatened it with her hand and did not knock at all. A hundred paces
farther along the road, which here turned to the left, began the village.
We did not know it very well, but no sooner had we passed the first house
when people appeared and made friendly or warning signs to us; they were
themselves apparently terrified, bowed down with terror. They pointed
towards the manor house that we had passed and reminded us of the
knock on the gate. The proprietor of the manor would charge us with it,
the interrogation would begin immediately. I remained
quite calm and also tried to calm my sisters fears.
Probably she had not struck the door at all, and if she had
it could never be proved. I tried to make this clear to the
people around us; they listened to me but refrained from
passing any opinion. Later they told me that not only my
sister, but I too, as her brother, would be charged. I
nodded and smiled. We all gazed back at the manor, as
one watches a distant smoke-cloud and waits for the flames to appear.
And right enough we presently saw horsemen riding in through the wideopen gate. Dust rose, concealing everything, only the tops of the tall
spears glittered. And hardly had the troop vanished into the manor
courtyard before they seemed to have turned their horses again, for
they were already on their way to us. I urged my sister to leave me, I
myself would set everything right. I told her that she should at least
change so as to appear in better clothes before these gentlemen. At last
she obeyed and set out on the long road to our home. Already the
horsemen were beside us, and even before dismounting they enquired

10

after my sister. She wasnt here at the moment, was the apprehensive
reply, but she would come later. The answer was received with
indifference; the important thing seemed their having found me. The
chief members of the party appeared to be a young lively fellow, who was
a judge, and his silent assistant, who was called Assmann. I was
commanded to enter the village inn. Shaking my head and hitching up my
trousers I slowly began my statement, while the sharp eyes of the party
scrutinised me. I still half believed that a word would be enough to free
me, a city man, and with honour too, from this peasant folk. But when I
had stepped over the threshold of the inn the judge, who had hastened in
front and was already awaiting me, said: Im really sorry for this man.
And it was beyond all possibility of doubt that by this he did not mean my
present state, but something that was to happen to me. The room looked
more like a prison cell than an inn parlour. Great stone flags on the floor,
dark, quite bare walls, into one of which an iron rung was fixed, in the
middle something that looked half a pallet, half an operating table.
Could I endure any other air than prison air now? That is the great
question, or rather it would be if I still had any prospect of release.
Franz Kafka

11

The Way through the Woods

They shut the road through the woods
Seventy years ago
Weather and rain have undone it again,
And now you would never know
There was once a road through the woods
Before they planted the trees
It is underneath the coppice and heath
And the thin anemones
Only the keeper sees
That, where the ring-dove broods,
And the badgers roll at ease,
There was once a road through the woods
Yet, if you enter the woods
Of a summer evening late,
When the night-air cools on the trout-ringed pools
Where the otter whistles his mate,
(They fear not men in the woods,
Because they see so few)
You will hear the beat of a horses feet
And the swish of a skirt in the dew,
Steadily cantering through
The misty solitudes,
As though they perfectly knew
The old lost road through the woods
But there is no road through the woods.

Word Bank
coppice woods
anemones woodland
flowers
cantering riding at a
steady pace
solitudes lonely places
12

The Walking Dead

he eyes were the worst. It was not my imagination.

They were in truth like the eyes of a dead man, not
blind, but staring, unfocused, unseeing. The whole face,
for that matter, was bad enough. It was vacant, as if there
was nothing behind it. It seemed not only expressionless, but
incapable of expression. I had seen so much previously in Haiti
that was outside ordinary normal experience that for the flash
of a second I had a sickening, almost panicky lapse in which I
thought, or rather felt, Great God, maybe this stuff is really
true
This was how William Seabrook described his encounter with
one of the most horrifying creatures ever to step from the
realms of the supernatural. For Seabrook was face-to-face
with a zombie a walking corpse. And in
that moment he was prepared to believe all
he had heard about zombies since he first
arrived on the island of Haiti.
The zombies fate is even worse than that
of the vampire or the werewolf. The
vampire returns to his loved ones. He may
be recognised and lain to rest. The
werewolf may be wounded and regain human

13

form. But the zombie can move, eat, hear, even speak, but he
has no memory of his past or knowledge of his present
condition. He may pass by his own home or gaze into the eyes
of his loved ones without a glimmer of recognition.
Neither ghost nor person, the zombie is said to be
trapped, possibly forever, in that misty zone that divides life
from death. For while the vampire is the living dead, the
zombie is merely the walking dead a body without soul or mind
raised from the grave and given a semblance of life through
sorcery. He is the creature of the sorcerer, who uses him as a
slave or hires him out usually to work on the land.

Ed. Colin Wilson & Christopher Evans

The Book of Great Mysteries

14

The Body Snatcher

Horror stories usually deal with subject matter that terrifies and yet
fascinates us. Few writers created more disturbing tales of horror than Robert
Louis Stevenson who, late in the nineteenth century, chilled Victorian readers
with his tale of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde the polite doctor who by night turns into
a menacing monster. Here Stevenson describes another Victorian fascination
the practice of digging up and selling dead bodies for medical experimentation.
As medical science developed, trainee surgeons needed human corpses to practise
on. Money was to be made by raiding the graveyards at night and selling human
remains to certain medical schools.
After a night of drinking with a stranger called Gray, two medical students
become involved in grave-robbing, and set out for the body of a farmers wife
What is your worst fear or phobia?
Why do you think grave-robbing was so terrifying to readers in the last
century?

omewhat as two vultures may swoop upon a dying lamb, Fettes and
Macfarlane were to be let loose upon a grave in that green and
quiet resting place. The wife of a farmer, a woman who had lived
for sixty years, and been known for nothing but good butter and godly
conversation, was to be rooted from her grave at midnight and carried,
dead and naked, to that far away city that she had always honoured with
her Sunday best; the place beside her family was to be empty till the
crack of doom; her innocent and almost vulnerable members to be
exposed to that last curiosity of the anatomist.
Late one afternoon the pair set forth, well wrapped in cloaks and
furnished with a formidable bottle. It rained without remission a cold,
dense, lashing rain. Now and again there blew a puff of wind, but these
sheets of falling water kept it down.
It was by this time growing somewhat late. The gig, according to
order, was brought round to the door with both lamps brightly shining,
and the young men had to pay their bill and take the road. They
announced that they were bound for Peebles, and drove in that direction
till they were clear of the last houses of the town; then, extinguishing
the lamps, returned upon their course, and followed a by-road towards
Glencorse. There was no sound but that of their own passage, and the
15

incessant, strident pouring of the rain. It was

pitch dark; here and there a white gate or a white
stone in the wall guided them for a short space
across the night; but for the most part it was at a
foot pace, and almost groping, that they picked
their way through that resonant blackness to
their solemn and isolated destination. In the
sunken woods that traverse the neighbourhood of
the burying ground the last glimmer failed them,
and it became necessary to kindle a match and reillumine one of the lanterns of the gig. Thus, under the dripping trees,
and environed by huge and moving shadows, they reached the scene of
their unhallowed labours.
They were both experienced in such affairs, and powerful with the
spade; and they had scarce been twenty minutes at their task before
they were rewarded by a dull rattle on the coffin lid. At the same
moment Macfarlane, having hurt his hand upon a stone, flung it carelessly
above his head. The grave, in which they now stood almost to the
shoulders, was close to the edge of the plateau of the graveyard; and the
gig lamp had been propped, the better to illuminate their labours, against
a tree, and on the immediate verge of the steep bank descending to the
stream. Chance had taken a sure aim with the stone. Then came a clang
of broken glass; night fell upon them; sounds alternately dull and ringing
announced the bounding of the lantern down the bank, and its occasional
collision with the trees. A stone or two, which it had dislodged in its
descent rattled behind it into the profundities of the glen; and then
silence, like night, resumed its sway; and they might bend their hearing to
its utmost pitch, but naught was to be heard except the rain, now
marching to the wind, now steadily falling over miles of open country.
They were so nearly at an end of their abhorred task that they
judged it wisest to complete it in the dark. The coffin was exhumed and
broken open; the body inserted in the dripping sack and carried between
them to the gig; one mounted to keep it in its place, and the other, taking
the horse by the mouth, groped along by the wall and bush until they
reached the wider road by the Fishers Tryst. Here was a faint disused
radiancy, which they hailed like daylight; by that they pushed the horse
to a good pace and began to rattle along merrily in the
direction of the town.
They had both been wetted to the skin during their
operations, and now, as the gig jumped among the deep
ruts, the thing that stood propped between them fell

16

now upon one and now upon the other. At every repetition of the horrid
contact each instinctively repelled it with greater haste; and the process,
natural as it was, began to tell upon the nerves of the companions.
Macfarlane made some ill-favoured jest about the farmers wife, but it
came hollowly from his lips, and was
allowed to drop in silence. Still their
unnatural burthen jumped from side to
side; and now the head would be laid, as
if in confidence, upon their shoulders,
and now the drenching sackcloth would
flap icily about their faces. A creeping
chill began to possess the soul of
Fettes. He peered at the bundle, and it seemed somehow larger than at
first. All over the countryside, and from every degree of distance, the
farm dogs accompanied their passage with tragic ululations; and it grew
and grew upon his mind that some unnatural miracle had been achieved,
that some nameless change had befallen the dead body, and that it was in
fear of their unholy burthen that the dogs were howling.
For Gods sake, said he, making a great effort to arrive at speech,
for Gods sake, lets have a light!
Seemingly Macfarlane was affected in the same direction; for
though he made no reply, he stopped the horse, passed the reins to his
companion, got down, and proceeded to kindle the remaining lamp. They
had by that time got no farther than the crossroad down to Auchendinny.
The rain still poured as though the deluge were returning, and it was no
easy matter to make a light in such a world of wet and darkness. When at
last the flickering blue flame had been transferred to the wick and began
to expand and clarify, and shed a wide circle of misty brightness round
the gig, it became possible for the two young men to see each other and
the thing they had along with them. The rain had moulded the rough
sacking to the outlines of the body underneath; the head was distinct
from the trunk, the shoulders plainly modelled; something at once
spectral and human riveted their eyes upon the ghastly comrade of their
drive.
For some time Macfarlane stood motionless, holding up the lamp. A
nameless dread was swathed, like a wet sheet, above the body, and
tightened the white skin upon the face of Fettes; a fear that was
meaningless, a horror of what could not be, kept mounting to his brain.
Another beat of the watch, and he had spoken. But his comrade
forestalled him.
That is not a woman, said Macfarlane, in a hushed voice.

17

It was a woman when we put her in, whispered Fettes.

Hold that lamp, said the other. I must see her face.
And as Fettes took the lamp his companion untied the fastenings of
the sack and drew down the cover from the head. The light fell very
clear upon the dark, well-moulded features and smooth-shaven cheeks of
a too familiar countenance, often beheld in dreams of both of these
young men. A wild yell rang up into the night; each leaped from his own
side into the roadway; the lamp fell, broke, and was extinguished; and the
horse, terrified by this unusual commotion, bounded and went off towards
Edinburgh at a gallop, bearing along with it, sole occupant of the gig, the
body of the dead and long-dissected Gray.
Robert Louis Stevenson

Word Bank
Disused radiancy unfamiliar glow of
light
Environed surrounded by
Exhumed uncovered from the earth
Formidable powerful
Gig small horse-drawn carriage
Incessant endless
Naught nothing
Plateau flat land
Profundities of the glen depths of
the valley
Resonant echoing
Spectral ghost-like
Tragic sad
Traverse cross
Ululations cries
Unhallowed unholy, evil
Venerable - respectable

18

A Case of Murder
They should not have left him there alone,
Alone that is except for the cat.
He was only nine, not old enough
To be left alone in a basement flat,
Alone, that is, except for the cat.
A dog would have been a different thing,
A big gruff dog with slashing jaws,
But a cat with round eyes mad as gold,
Plump as a cushion with tucked-in paws
Better have left him with a fair-sized rat!
But what they did was leave him with a cat.
He hated that cat; he watched it sit,
A buzzing machine of soft black stuff,
He sat and watched and he hated it,
Snug in its fur, hot blood in a muff,
And its mad gold stare and the way it sat
Crooning dark warmth: he loathed all that.
So he took Daddys stick and he hit the cat.
Then quick as a sudden crack in glass
It hissed, black flash, to a hiding place
In the dust and dark beneath the couch.
And he followed the grin on his new-made face,
A wide-eyed, frightened snarl of a grin,
And he took the stick and he thrust it in.
Hard and quick in the furry dark,
The black fur squealed and he felt his skin
Prickle with sparks of dry delight.
Then the cat again came into sight,
Shot for the door that wasnt quite shut,
But the boy, quick too, slammed fast the door:
The cat, half-through, was cracked like a nut
And the soft black thud was dumped on the floor.
Then the boy was suddenly terrified
And he bit his knuckles and cried and cried;
But he had to do something with the dead thing there.
His eyes squeezed beads of salty prayer
But the wound of fear gaped wide and raw ;
He dared not touch the thing with his hands
So he fetched a spade and shovelled it
And dumped the load of heavy fur
In the spidery cupboard under the stair
Where its been for years, and though it died
Its grown in that cupboard and its hot low purr
Grows slowly louder year by year:
Therell not be a corner for the boy to hide
When the cupboard swells and all sides split
And the huge black cat pads out of it.

19

Nule
Horror fiction tells the stories of our worst nightmares. Being trapped in a
funhouse, trying to escape, being attacked, and everyday creatures (rats,
spiders, ants) turning nastythese are the special ingredients of the
horror story. If theyre so unpleasant, why do we read them? Probably
because we love to be frightenedso long as we know its only a story.

Remember trying to get to sleep but something in your house

wouldnt let you a picture on your bedroom wall, the creaking sound of
floorboards, the shape of a dressing gown on the back of your door?
Libby and Martin are staying in an old house, full of old-fashioned
rooms and features. They notice that the foot of the staircase has a
newel-post a polished wooden post with a rounded ball on top, like a
head. Because it looks so much like a person, they call it Nule and dress it
with a hat, paper face, long coat and boots. But at night it seems to
become too real
Think of a time when youve been terrified by something at night
which by day would have seemed ordinary and not at all frightening
*****************************************************************
Nule
At night the house creaked.
Thiefly footsteps, said Libby.
Its the furniture warping, said Mum.
Libby thought she said that the furniture was walking, and she could
well believe it. The dressing-table had feet with claws; why shouldnt it
walk in the dark, tugging fretfully this way and that because the clawed
feet pointed in opposite directions? The bath had feet too. Libby
imagined it galloping out of the bathroom and
tobogganing downstairs on its stomach, like a great
white walrus plunging into the sea. If someone held the
door open, it would whizz up the path and crash into the
front gate. If someone held the gate open, it would
shoot across the road and hit the district nurses car,
which she parked under the street light, opposite.

20

Libby thought of the headlines in the local paper NURSE RUN

OVER BY BATH and giggled, until she heard the creaks again. Then she
hid under the bedclothes.
In his bedroom Martin heard the creaks too, but he had a different
reason for worrying. In the attic where the dry rot lurked, there was a
big oak wardrobe full of old dead ladies clothes. It was directly over his
head. Supposing it came through?
Next day he moved his bed.
The vacuum cleaner had lost its casters and had to be helped, by
Libby pushing from behind. It skidded up the hall and knocked Nules
football boots askew.
The Hoover doesnt like Nule either, said Libby. Although she
wouldnt talk to Nule anymore she liked talking about it, as though that
somehow made Nule safer.
Whats that? said Mum.
It knocked Nules feet off
Well, put them back, said Mum, but Libby preferred not to. When
Martin came in he set them side by side, but later they were kicked out
of place again. If people began to complain that Nule was in the way, Nule
would have to go. He got round this by putting the right boot where the
left had been and the left boot on the bottom stair. When he left it, the
veil on the hat was hanging down behind, but as he went upstairs after tea
he noticed that it was now draped over Nules right shoulder, as if Nule
had turned its head to see where its feet were going.
That night the creaks were louder than ever, like a burglar on hefty
tiptoe. Libby had mentioned thieves only that evening, and Mum had said,
What have we got worth stealing?
Martin felt fairly safe because he had worked out that if the
wardrobe fell tonight, it would land on his chest of drawers and not on
him, but what might it not bring down with it? Then he realised that the
creaks were coming not from above but from below.
He held his breath. Downstairs didnt creak.
His alarm clock gleamed greenly in the dark and told him that it had
gone two oclock. Mum and Dad were asleep
ages ago. Libby would sooner burst than
leave her bed in the dark. Perhaps it was a
burglar. Feeling noble and reckless he put on
the bedside lamp, slid out of bed, trod
silently across the carpet. He turned on the
main light and opened the door. The glow

21

shone out of the doorway and saw him as far as the

landing light switch at the top of the stairs, but he
never had time to switch it on. From the top of the
stairs he could look down into the hall where the
street light opposite shone coldly through the
frosted panes of the front door.
It shone on the hall-stand where the coats
hung, on the blanket chest and the brass jug that
stood on it, through the white coins of the honesty
plants in the brass jug, and on the broody telephone that never rang at
night. It did not shine on Nule. Nule was not there.
Nule was half-way up the stairs, one hand on the banisters and one
hand holding up the housecoat, clear of its boots. The veil on the hat
drifted like smoke across the frosted glass of the front door. Nule
creaked and came up another step.
Martin turned and fled back to the bedroom, and dived under the
bedclothes, just like Libby who was three years younger and believed in
ghosts.
Were you reading in bed last night? said Mum, prodding him awake
next morning. Martin came out from under the pillow, very slowly.
No, Mum.
You went to sleep with the light on. Both lights, she said, leaning
across to switch off the one by the bed.
Im sorry.

Jan Mark
*****************************************************************

22

VAMPIRES

ithout wishing to pour cold water (or garlic juice!) on the

idea of the vampire, there are a number of simple
reasons which explain the legend. Dennis Wheatley,
author of such thrillers as The Devil Rides Out, has a convincing
theory that in times of extreme poverty beggars would make their
homes in graveyards, emerging from tombs in the cover of darkness
to scavenge for food. If they were seen in the moonlight, stealing
out of coffins, it is not very surprising that rumours would be
spread quickly by word of mouth from person to person, then from
village to village, until the seeds of the legend would be sown over
an entire district.
There is another obvious theory which explains a great deal
that vampires were really unfortunate people who had been buried
alive. Premature burial has taken place on occasions right up to the
present day, for the simple reason that a state of death is
extremely difficult to certify. In 1885 the British Medical Journal
stated, It is true that hardly any one sign of death, short of
putrefaction, can be relied on as infallible." This is just as true
today for without sophisticated clinical tests, you can only really
be certain that death has occurred when the body begins to decay.
In fact, you can still occasionally read of the terrible shock that
befalls an unlucky mortuary attendant when he finds that one of his
corpses is still alive.
A number of Victorians were terrified of being buried alive.
Wilkie Collins, who wrote two of the first and most famous thrillers
The Moonstone and The Woman in White left instructions for
various tests to be made before he was buried, so that there should
be no doubt that he was dead. A Russian, Count Karnicki, invented a
coffin with a glass ball resting on top of the body. If the corpse
moved, the ball released a spring and the lid would fly open while a
flag waved above and a bell rang for assistance. This contraption
sounds pretty silly, but Collins and Karnicki had a point when you
consider that at least one person was buried alive every week in
America at the beginning of this century!
One such victim was a young woman who lived near Indianapolis.
When she collapsed, six doctors signed the death certificate after

23

making the usual tests, but her young brother refused to believe
them. He tried to prevent her body being removed for the funeral
several days later, and in the struggle a bandage came loose around
her jaw and it could be seen that her lips were moving.
What do you want, what do you want? cried the boy.
Water, she whispered faintly. She revived and lived to an old
age.
Another American woman, the respected matron of a large
orphanage, was declared dead and her body placed in a shroud
before she was rescued and revived by friends. Needless to say,
extra precautions were taken the next time she was presumed to be
dead, but again her body was shrouded. Luckily, the undertaker
happened to pierce her body with a pin, and noticed that a small
drop of blood oozed from the puncture, to the joy of her friends
who helped her recover. These women were fortunate just
imagine the numbers of people who were not rescued in time. It is a
grisly thought.
Daniel Farson, The Beaver Book of Horror

24

VICTOR
No, no, no!

VICTOR
Stand, please stand, come on

Slowly he turns and walks away, his experiment, all

his work, a failure.

The Creature, his vision hazy, manages to get to his

feet.

We move slowly in on the porthole by the Creatures

hand. It taps on the glass. Inside the sarcophagus
the Creatures eyes open and register panic.
VICTOR, hearing the noise, turns. Is he imagining
it?

VICTOR
(monologue during the following action)
Breathe, come on breathe.
Stand, you can stand, come on, come on, thats it.
Whats wrong? Whats wrong with you?
Thats it, thats it.

The sarcophagus begins to convulse.

You can do it, come on.

VICTOR
Its alive, its alive

Stand, yes. Now walk. No, no.

With VICTOR still on his knees, they then slowly
slide across the tank, the Creature managing to
stand some of the time.

He races towards the sarcophagus, which is now

shaking madly, and reaches out to the main lock. But
before he can get to the lead bolts, they snap from
the power inside the sarcophagus.

VICTOR
Let me help you, Ill help you to stand the chains,
the chains, over here.

Suddenly the lid flies off, sending VICTOR

backwards into the spill tank as a wave of fluid lands
on him.

VICTOR leads him over to some chains hanging from

a bar, and, in an attempt to help him to stand, he
fits the Creatures arms into some ropes.

The lid of the sarcophagus flies through the lab,

sending shelves and equipment flying, finally ending
up near the door, having knocked the shelf holding
VICTORS coat onto the ground.

VICTOR
This must work, youre alive. What is wrong?
Whats wrong with you? Be careful of the rope
look out!

VICTOR stares aghast at the sarcophagus. Slowly

he gets to his feet and walks towards the now
motionless vat. He walks up to the side of it, looking
in, anticipating his creation is alive. But everything
is still, no sign of life.

As VICTOR steps back, he loses his balance and,

falling backwards, grabs a rope. A counterweight
snaps, overloading the pulley, and the wooden bar of
chains begins to rise up, carrying the Creature with
it, moaning and twitching.

He looks down towards the feet and suddenly the

Creature flies up in front of him, grabbing for him.
As he does this, the sarcophagus starts to topple
off its rail and tips over onto its side, sending
VICTOR and the creature flying across the spill tank
amongst the fluid and eels.

A piece of wood comes down past him and hits him

over the head. The bar of chains continues to rise
and the Creature continues to struggle.
VICTOR stands, dripping fluid and goo, chest
heaving, staring up at the Creature. The full horror
sinks in.

Slowly VICTOR looks up as the Creature crawls

through the fluid.
VICTOR
I knew it could work. I knew it!

Now the Creatures death throes are complete.

Silence. Softly:

He moves over to his creation and tries to lift him to

his feet. The Creature seems as helpless as the
newly born.

VICTOR
Its dead, its dead. Ive killed it! (pause)
What have I done? I gave it life and then I killed it.

25

Bram Stokers Dracula

MINA and DRACULA

She aims pointblank at HARKER.

DRACULA turns to her.

His face horribly
transformed.

On HARKER over MINA

She fires! We pull back
to see a wolf leaping from
the ramparts at him,
crashing to the ground
dead.

DRACULA
(tender, loving)
Mina?
She holds his dying gaze.
He turns and drags
himself toward the chapel.
MINA backs slowly after
him, her gun on the men.

Back to MINA and DRACULA

MINA backs after DRACULA
into the castle, never taking her
eyes or her gun off the men.

MINA
When my time comes will you
do the same to me? Will you?

Chapel door sunset

Medium wide shot

On men over MINA

HARKER waits at the chapel

door nervously. HOLMWOOD is
pacing, pounding his fists
futilely against it. VAN
HELSING holds his hand up,
indicating that they should be
still.

HOLMWOOD looking at
her, the rifle pointing at
him. HARKER, loving her,
begins to understand.
HOLMWOOD tries to rush to
her. HARKER holds him back,
understanding MINAs resolve.

SEWARD cradles QUINCEY

He dies

HARKER
No, let them go. Let her go. Our
work is finished herehers is just
begun.

On VAN HELSING
He drops his gun and faces the
chapel. He bows his head,
praying intensely.

Closeup VAN HELSING nods

knowingly. HARKER has learned
from his nightmare.

VAN HELSING
Rest him. Let him sleep in peace
We have become Gods mad men.

Closeup MINA

26

Castle chapel sunset

DRACULA raises his eyes to

ELIZABETH.

Wide shot

Camera starts slowly booming down.

DRACULA and MINA on the

altar steps. Deep in the caverns
of his eyes, fierce life still
burns. We track in on them.

She rises up and kisses him. Camera

moves closer. His youth is restored.
She comforts him. He puts her hand
on the knife in his heart. MINAs
hands on the knife. She quakes,
knowing what she must do. She
closes her eyes, prays for strength,
and falls on him with all her weight,
driving the knife clear through his
heart.

DRACULA
Where is my God? He forsakes me.
MINA grips the handle of the
knife and tries to pull it out.
His fingers, nearly bone, creep
up the shaft, stopping her.

Close shot the knife

DRACULA
It is finished.

The steel point penetrating the

ground.

Filled with love, she stares down

into his eyes. She cradles him,
kissing him, smoothing his
matted, graying hair. Suddenly
she speaks intimately in
Roumanian he responds.
MINA
No my love
He shudders, blood welling up
from the wound in his heart.
DRACULA
Give me peace.
View on the steps high overhead
angle.
Old candles light themselves. The
shadow of the crucifix moves across
the floor as MINA, glowing, moves
into the place and manner as when
ELIZABETH lay there.

27

NOSFERATU
NINA had promised her husband never to open The
Book of the Vampires, but she found herself unable to
resist the temptation.
In the living room of the HARKERS, NINA reads from The Book of
the Vampires.
One can recognize the mark of the vampire by the trace of his
fangs on the victims throat. Only a woman can break his frightful
spell a woman pure in heart who will offer her blood freely to
NOSFERATU and will keep the vampire by her side until after the
cock has crowed.
Enter HARKER
NINA
(pointing out the window to the mansion across the street)
Look! Every night, in front of me!
The townspeople lived in mortal terror. Who was sick or dying?
Who will be stricken tomorrow?
At the HARKERS house NINA lies sick in bed.
HARKER
Dont be frightened. I will get the professor.
Exit HARKER
NINA looks out the window at the line of coffins being carried
along the street. She reads from The Book of the Vampires.
Only a woman can break his frightful spell a woman pure in heart
who will offer her blood freely to NOSFERTU and will keep the
vampire by her side until after the cock has crowed.

28

MEANWHILE Outside the sanatorium. Two old women talk to each

other.
OLD WOMAN
They saw him escape. He strangled his keeper.
RENFIELD runs down an alley, pursued by a crowd. He climbs onto a
roof. The crowd throws rocks at him. He climbs down and runs
outside of town. The crowd pursues.
THAT NIGHT. In the HARKERS Bedroom. NINA is awakened by
the NOSFERATU outside her window. She opens the window.
HARKER awakens and NINA faints in his arms.
HARKER
The professor! Call the professor!
Exit HARKER.
Enter the NOSFERATU.
THE NEXT MORNING
In the HARKERS Bedroom. The cock crows. The NOSFERATU
looks up from drinking at NINAs neck.
MEANWHILE In RENFIELDs Cell at the Sanatorium.
RENFIELD
Master! Master! Beware!
Outside the HARKERS House. HARKER and VAN HELSING arrive.
In the HARKERS Bedroom. Sunlight sweeps across the buildings
across the street from NINAs window.
NOSFERATU attempts to escape but is touched by the sunlight.

29

He vanishes in a puff of smoke.

In RENFIELDs Cell at the Sanatorium.
RENFIELD
The Master is dead.
In the HARKERS Bedroom NINA awakens.
Enter HARKER
NINA
Jonathon!
HARKER takes NINA in his arms as she dies.
And at that moment, as if by a miracle, the sick no longer died, and
the stifling shadow of the vampire vanished with the morning sun.

THE END

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