The Spook House

by Ambrose Bierce

　　

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On the road leading north from Manchester, in eastern Kentucky, toBooneville, twenty miles away, stood, in 1862, a wooden plantationhouse of a somewhat better quality than most of the dwellings inthat region. The house was destroyed by fire in the year following--probably by some stragglers from the retreating column of GeneralGeorge W. Morgan, when he was driven from Cumberland Gap to the Ohioriver by General Kirby Smith. At the time of its destruction, ithad for four or five years been vacant. The fields about it wereovergrown with brambles, the fences gone, even the few negroquarters, and out-houses generally, fallen partly into ruin byneglect and pillage; for the negroes and poor whites of the vicinityfound in the building and fences an abundant supply of fuel, ofwhich they availed themselves without hesitation, openly and bydaylight. By daylight alone; after nightfall no human being exceptpassing strangers ever went near the place.It was known as the "Spook House." That it was tenanted by evilspirits, visible, audible and active, no one in all that regiondoubted any more than he doubted what he was told of Sundays by thetraveling preacher. Its owner's opinion of the matter was unknown;he and his family had disappeared one night and no trace of them hadever been found. They left everything--household goods, clothing,provisions, the horses in the stable, the cows in the field, thenegroes in the quarters--all as it stood; nothing was missing--except a man, a woman, three girls, a boy and a babe! It was notaltogether surprising that a plantation where seven human beingscould be simultaneously effaced and nobody the wiser should be undersome suspicion.One night in June, 1859, two citizens of Frankfort, Col. J. C.McArdle, a lawyer, and Judge Myron Veigh, of the State Militia, weredriving from Booneville to Manchester. Their business was soimportant that they decided to push on, despite the darkness and themutterings of an approaching storm, which eventually broke upon themjust as they arrived opposite the "Spook House." The lightning wasso incessant that they easily found their way through the gatewayand into a shed, where they hitched and unharnessed their team.They then went to the house, through the rain, and knocked at allthe doors without getting any response. Attributing this to thecontinuous uproar of the thunder they pushed at one of the doors,which yielded. They entered without further ceremony and closed thedoor. That instant they were in darkness and silence. Not a gleamof the lightning's unceasing blaze penetrated the windows orcrevices; not a whisper of the awful tumult without reached themthere. It was as if they had suddenly been stricken blind and deaf,and McArdle afterward said that for a moment he believed himself tohave been killed by a stroke of lightning as he crossed thethreshold. The rest of this adventure can as well be related in hisown words, from the Frankfort Advocate of August 6, 1876:"When I had somewhat recovered from the dazing effect of thetransition from uproar to silence, my first impulse was to reopenthe door which I had closed, and from the knob of which I was notconscious of having removed my hand; I felt it distinctly, still inthe clasp of my fingers. My notion was to ascertain by steppingagain into the storm whether I had been deprived of sight andhearing. I turned the doorknob and pulled open the door. It ledinto another room!"This apartment was suffused with a faint greenish light, the sourceof which I could not determine, making everything distinctlyvisible, though nothing was sharply defined. Everything, I say, butin truth the only objects within the blank stone walls of that roomwere human corpses. In number they were perhaps eight or ten--itmay well be understood that I did not truly count them. They wereof different ages, or rather sizes, from infancy up, and of bothsexes. All were prostrate on the floor, excepting one, apparently ayoung woman, who sat up, her back supported by an angle of the wall.A babe was clasped in the arms of another and older woman. A half-grown lad lay face downward across the legs of a full-bearded man.One or two were nearly naked, and the hand of a young girl held thefragment of a gown which she had torn open at the breast. Thebodies were in various stages of decay, all greatly shrunken in faceand figure. Some were but little more than skeletons."While I stood stupefied with horror by this ghastly spectacle andstill holding open the door, by some unaccountable perversity myattention was diverted from the shocking scene and concerned itselfwith trifles and details. Perhaps my mind, with an instinct ofself-preservation, sought relief in matters which would relax itsdangerous tension. Among other things, I observed that the doorthat I was holding open was of heavy iron plates, riveted.Equidistant from one another and from the top and bottom, threestrong bolts protruded from the beveled edge. I turned the knob andthey were retracted flush with the edge; released it, and they shotout. It was a spring lock. On the inside there was no knob, norany kind of projection--a smooth surface of iron."While noting these things with an interest and attention which itnow astonishes me to recall I felt myself thrust aside, and JudgeVeigh, whom in the intensity and vicissitudes of my feelings I hadaltogether forgotten, pushed by me into the room. 'For God's sake,'I cried, 'do not go in there! Let us get out of this dreadfulplace!'"He gave no heed to my entreaties, but (as fearless a gentleman aslived in all the South) walked quickly to the center of the room,knelt beside one of the bodies for a closer examination and tenderlyraised its blackened and shriveled head in his hands. A strongdisagreeable odor came through the doorway, completely overpoweringme. My senses reeled; I felt myself falling, and in clutching atthe edge of the door for support pushed it shut with a sharp click!"I remember no more: six weeks later I recovered my reason in ahotel at Manchester, whither I had been taken by strangers the nextday. For all these weeks I had suffered from a nervous fever,attended with constant delirium. I had been found lying in the roadseveral miles away from the house; but how I had escaped from it toget there I never knew. On recovery, or as soon as my physicianspermitted me to talk, I inquired the fate of Judge Veigh, whom (toquiet me, as I now know) they represented as well and at home."No one believed a word of my story, and who can wonder? And whocan imagine my grief when, arriving at my home in Frankfort twomonths later, I learned that Judge Veigh had never been heard ofsince that night? I then regretted bitterly the pride which sincethe first few days after the recovery of my reason had forbidden meto repeat my discredited story and insist upon its truth."With all that afterward occurred--the examination of the house; thefailure to find any room corresponding to that which I havedescribed; the attempt to have me adjudged insane, and my triumphover my accusers--the readers of the Advocate are familiar. Afterall these years I am still confident that excavations which I haveneither the legal right to undertake nor the wealth to make woulddisclose the secret of the disappearance of my unhappy friend, andpossibly of the former occupants and owners of the deserted and nowdestroyed house. I do not despair of yet bringing about such asearch, and it is a source of deep grief to me that it has beendelayed by the undeserved hostility and unwise incredulity of thefamily and friends of the late Judge Veigh."Colonel McArdle died in Frankfort on the thirteenth day of December,in the year 1879.

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