Bernhard-Georg Meitzel fought in the German Army during WWII, reaching the rank of SS-Obersturmführer.  British forces captured Meitzel after the Normandy invasion, leading him to spend some months in an internment camp.  After the war, while in Germany awaiting his “denazification” trial, Meitzel--who was fluent in English--wrote an eerie tale which appeared in the Winter 1949 issue of “Fate” magazine, describing the time that he was an indirect witness to a ghostly vengeance.

While Meitzel was in the camp, he made the acquaintance of another prisoner, whom he simply described as “the Colonel in the threadbare uniform of a General Staff Officer.”  The two men discussed books and did a bit of horse-trading over their rations of cigarettes and black bread.  (As Meitzel did not smoke, he gave the Colonel his cigarettes, getting some bread in return.)

On the third day, the Colonel told him a grim story.  In 1942, the Colonel was commanding officer of a reconnaissance battalion.  They were advancing toward Demjansk to relieve a German garrison under siege from Russian forces.  When they were in Kobylkina, two corporals took a civilian prisoner when they saw he had a gun.  The man had no identity card, no other military equipment, and did not appear to know Russian.

The Colonel saw that the man was--hardly unreasonably, given the circumstances--very frightened.  The Colonel tried questioning him in both Russian and German, but got only the replies, “Nix Russian.  Nix German.”  The Colonel did not know what to make of the man.  Was he a civilian agent?  Or had he merely picked up a gun left by the retreating Russians in the hopes of trading it for food?  Unfortunately, no one there could speak the man’s language, so getting any story out of him was impossible.

The Colonel pitied the man, but did not see what could be done with him.  His battalion could not take him with them.  As the man was conceivably a guerrilla fighter, they could not turn him loose, either.  And the Colonel had strict orders to continuously advance.  A decision about the stranger had to be made immediately.  The Colonel decided there was only one thing he could do.  He gave the man bread, a cigarette, and a glass of vodka.  He then made a surreptitious gesture to his adjutant.

The prisoner was taken out and shot, desperately shouting, “Nix Russian!  Nix German!” until the bullets quieted him forever.

The Colonel felt a sense of guilt over the man’s execution, but rationalized to himself that during war, one had no choice but to do some ruthless things.  Before long, he was able to dismiss the matter from his mind.

In 1943, the Colonel flew to Army HQ in Pleskau.  An armored car was on the tarmac, about to leave the airfield.  The driver told him, “I’m in a hurry, please get in.”  As the Colonel was about to follow the driver, he saw a man in ragged civilian clothes on the far side of the road, waving to him.  The Colonel couldn’t hear anything over the loud car engine, but he thought the man was shouting something.  The Colonel ignored the increasingly impatient driver and went towards the man.  As he drew nearer, he suddenly recognized the waving, shouting figure.  It was the man whom he had ordered killed at Kobylkina.  As the Colonel stared in increasing horror, the man entered a control-booth.  The Colonel followed him into the room, only to find it empty.

When he came back out, the Colonel asked a passing soldier if he had seen a civilian hanging around.  “No sir. No civilians are allowed on the airfield, sir.”

The shaken Colonel began walking back to the armored car.  An ambulance raced past him.  And the armored car was gone.  A few moments later, the ambulance returned.  He heard the ambulance driver shout to a medical officer, “Dead.  All of ‘em.”

The Colonel asked him if he was talking about the car that left the airfield just a few moments earlier.  He was.

The Colonel told Meitzel, “Since then, I’ve kept asking myself why did it happen?  Why was I saved by a man whose execution I had ordered?  Was he sent by my guardian angel?  Was he my guardian angel?  Why was my life spared at all?  To get another chance in life?  To try to prevent a recurrence of the madness of the last war?

“I don’t know the answer yet.  But after spending three years in this internment camp I am about to believe that I was only spared to meet a more dreadful fate.  Who knows when they are going to turn me over to the Russians or to the Jugoslavs?”

The Colonel stared into space for a moment, and went back to his book.

The following day, Meitzel did not see his friend around the camp.  He was told that the previous night, the Colonel left the camp under guard.  Nobody knew where he had been taken.

Meitzel never learned what became of the Colonel.  He guessed the man had been taken to a Soviet concentration camp to meet the “more dreadful fate” he had predicted for himself.

Early 19th century Welsh cottage, as depicted by Richard Redgrave

Some time back, I posted about a man’s supernatural revenge against his sister.  The tale seemed to me fairly unusual, so I was a bit surprised to find a similar story in Edmund Jones’ compilation of 18th century Welsh High Strangeness, “A Relation of Apparitions of Spirits in the County of Monmouth and the Principality of Wales.”

Families, eh?

In the house of Edward Roberts, in the Parish of Llangynllo, came to pass a stranger thing.--- As the servant-man was threshing, the threshel was taken out of his hand and thrown upon the hay-loft; he minded it not much: but being taken out of his hand three or four times gave him a concern, and he went to the house and told it. Edward Roberts being from home, his wife and the maid made light of it, and merrily said they would come with him to keep him from the Spirit, and went there; the one to knit, and the other to wind yarn. They were not long there before what they brought there were taken out of their hands, and tumbled about in their sight; on seeing this, they shut the barn door and came away more sober than they went there. They had not been long home before they perceived the dishes on the shelf move backwards, and some were thrown down: most of the earthen vessels were broke, especially in the night; for in the morning they could scarce tread without stepping upon wrecks of something which lay on the ground. This circumstance being made known, induced the neighbours to visit them. Some came from far to satisfy their curiosity; some from Knighton; and one came from thence to read, confident he would silence the evil Spirit; but had the book taken out of his hand and thrown up stairs. There were stones cast among them, and were often struck by them, but they were not much hurt: there was also iron thrown from the chimney at them, and they knew not from whence it came. The stir continued there about a quarter of a year. At last the house took fire, which they attempted to quench; but it was in vain. They saved most of the furniture, but the house was burnt to the ground; so that nothing but the walls, and the two chimneys, stood as a public spectacle to those who passed to and from Knighton Market.

The apparent cause of the disturbance was this,---Griffith Meridith and his wife, the father and mother of Edward Roberts’s wife were dead, and their son, who was heir to the house, enlisted himself a soldier, and left the country. Roberts and his wife, who were Tenants in the house that was burnt, removed into their father’s house; he being dead, and the house much decayed, they repaired it, and claimed it, as thinking it was their own, and that her brother would never return: but in that year the brother unexpectedly came home, thinking to see his father; he wondered to see the house altered, and making enquiry, went to his sister and claimed the house; which she refused, as having been at charge with it. At last he desired only a share of it, which she also refused; he then desired but two guineas for it, which she still refusing; he went away for Ireland, threatening his sister that she should repent for this ill dealing; and she had cause to repent. 

Now here was very plainly the work of some Spirit, enough to convince, or at least confound an Atheist of the being of Spirits; but whether it was her brother’s own Spirit after his death, or an evil Spirit which he employed to work this revenge upon an unnatural sister, cannot be determined, but the last is more likely.

Via Newspapers.com

This creepy little tale appeared in the “San Francisco Examiner,” May 25, 1967:

NEW YORK - (UPI) With a shudder, Bronx police closed the books on the eerie case of the murdered old handkerchief lady who "came back" at a seance and drove her young killer to suicide. And if the case heads like Edgar Allen Poe, Assistant District Attorney Burton Roberts says his office just does not have a more worldly version. According to Roberts, Ivan Barbosa, 24, told his mother, Mrs. Amelia Santos, he had tortured and killed the old handkerchief lady with a knife on March 2, 1966.

The old handkerchief lady was Mrs. Elsie Litt, an 88 year old widow who sold handkerchiefs from a shopping bag. She was friendly with children and well liked around the neighborhood. "I stabbed an old woman because she was screaming," Barbosa reportedly told his mother. Mrs. Santos also said she saw her son break up a small knife and wipe blood from his sleeve.

Police investigated the case, but could not gather enough evidence, Ivan, however, was charged in another matter, molesting a small child, and spent 10 months in the city workhouse. 

When he got out, he complained to his mother that the ghost of the old handkerchief woman was bothering him. He burned two candles in his room and claimed he could not sleep. In late November, Barbosa pleaded with his mother to seek the help of a spiritualist acquaintance to contact the ghost and intercede for him. 

At the seance, the medium, supposedly speaking for Mrs. Litt, cried out: "You killed me! You killed me! You're going to die the same way." 

Roberts said Barbosa jumped up from the table and yelled "I did it!" He ran from the house.

A month later police found him in a furnished room. He had put a bullet through his tortured brain.

Whether this was really the vengeful ghost of poor Mrs. Litt, or a scheme cooked up by his mother and the medium to force him to confess, I can’t say Barbosa didn’t deserve what he got.

Geoffrey Gorer (1905-1985) was an acclaimed and well-traveled English anthropologist. In his 1936 cultural stury "Bali and Angkor," Gorer matter-of-factly related his encounter with a German man whose messy love life left him with a bad case of The Weird.



It was a pleasantly warm night in 1935. Gorer was on a steamer traveling from Batavia to Singapore. He was standing on the deck, enjoying the sea breezes, when he noticed he was not alone. A few yards away, a fellow passenger named Muller was standing in solitary gloom, gazing blankly into the water.

Muller was an odd duck. He eschewed the company of his fellow travelers, preferring to stay in his cabin. Others on the ship only saw him at mealtimes, when he would bury his face in a newspaper and brush off all efforts to engage him in small talk.

Gorer noticed that Muller was silently crying, and was obviously deeply upset. When Gorer asked him what was wrong, the German sighed that he was very lonely. However, when Gorer invited him to come inside and share a drink with him, Muller responded with a bitter tirade against the ship's crew. He was sick of the sight of Asians, he growled. For five years now, he had been surrounded by "brown faces," and he was sick of it. He couldn't wait to return to Europe, just to be rid from them.

Some years back, Muller went on, he had helped his uncle run a hotel in Berlin. Unfortunately, the uncle experienced severe financial problems, which led to his suicide. After this tragedy, Muller managed to eke out a bare living by giving tours of Berlin's gaudy nightlife. During one of these tours, he became friends with a wealthy Indies rubber planter named Jan. His new acquaintance offered Muller a job on one of his plantations. Although Muller was certainly in need of a steady job, he declined, as he had no wish to leave Germany. However, as the German economy worsened, Muller felt it was emigrate or starve, so he sailed to Java. More bad luck awaited him: Jan, like so many others in those Depression years, had fallen on hard times and had no work to offer. Lacking the funds to return home, the stranded Muller managed to find work supervising the staff at a hotel near Batavia.

Muller was miserably isolated in his new life. His job forbade him from socializing with the guests and he was too snobbish to consider fraternizing with the staff, all of whom were the native Javanese he disdained. Eventually, his desperate loneliness led him to become involved with a Eurasian woman named Anna. Anna lived with her Javanese mother and uncle. Muller described the latter as "a thoroughly disreputable old fellow, who made a living by doctoring the sillier natives and giving them amulets and love philters...I thought he was an old rogue and let him see it."

Despite his persistent bigotry, Muller was content enough with his liaison until the day Anna announced that she was pregnant. She insisted that Muller marry her. He flatly refused. Sleeping with a "native" woman was one thing; taking her as a wife was another matter altogether. He agreed to acknowledge the child as his, and provide for its support, but that was as far as he would go. Anna, however, was desperate for her baby to be legitimate. They quarreled over the issue so bitterly and frequently that Muller broke off all contact with her. Anna retaliated by creating violent scenes at the hotel where he worked, which led Muller to call the police.

After that, Anna left him alone, but Muller found that her uncle was now following him everywhere he went. One day, as Muller was in a barbershop, the uncle dashed in and made off with a lock of his hair. Soon after that, he scooped up a patch of mud where Muller had stepped. This strange action was observed by one of the hotel's Javanese waiters. He warned Muller to leave town immediately, as the uncle was obviously planning to cast a spell on him. Muller scoffed at such superstition. He told Gorer, "Of course I couldn't do a thing like that; everybody would know about it, and my position would become impossible. And, anyhow, I didn't believe he could do anything except perhaps poison me; and I took good care not to eat anything which I hadn't seen others already eat."

For some time, Muller's life passed uneventfully until he received a letter from Anna. She apologized for her previous behavior, and informed him that she would soon give birth to their child. She begged him to come and see her. At first, Muller was inclined to ignore her pleas. On the other hand, she was the only person in Java he had ever been close to, and he had been fond of her once. On his next evening off, he went to Anna's house. He found a lavish feast waiting for him. Still wary about being poisoned, he made sure to only consume what his hosts had eaten first. The evening went pleasantly enough until Anna again brought up the subject of holy wedlock. When her pleas for marriage began to turn to angry threats, Muller began to leave. Anna literally threw herself at his feet, grabbing his legs and imploring him to say why he refused to marry her. She pointed out that he had liked her enough to make her his mistress for two years. She vowed that if he made her his wife, she would make him happy.

The exasperated Muller lost his temper. She wanted to know why he would not marry her? Very well. It was because she was a Malay, and he refused to be tied for life to a woman of her color. Anna replied angrily that he would never marry anyone of a different color. "You won't see anybody who looks a different color!" she snarled. Then she bit him. Muller tore free of her and left.

The next morning, Muller was minding the front desk of his hotel, when he was unpleasantly surprised to see Anna approach him. Muller yelled at her to get out or he would call the police again. He was amazed to see her indignantly respond in English...a language he knew Anna could not speak. Then Anna's uncle strode up and began scolding Muller for frightening his wife. Muller was thoroughly disconcerted to realize that he recognized these voices as those of a British couple who were staying at the hotel. He managed to stammer out a bewildered apology. Soon after that, his horror and confusion deepened when he walked into the hotel dining room. He told Gorer, "Every table was occupied by Annas and her uncles. Every white woman I saw looked like Anna, every white man like her uncle. It was horrible, and what was worse, I couldn't do my work properly any more; when all the clients looked the same I never knew which were speaking to me."

It soon became obvious to the hotel staff that something was very odd with Muller. The waiter who had earlier warned him about witchcraft urged Muller to visit a local dukun (healer.) At first, Muller refused. However, as his strange condition persisted, sheer desperation drove him to consult with the magician.

The dukun agreed that Muller had been well and truly bewitched. He said the simplest solution to Muller's predicament would be to marry Anna. That, he explained, would break the spell. Muller refused to even consider the idea. He figured it was bad enough that his former lady love was a Malay. Discovering that she was a sorceress was even worse. The dukun offered a Plan B: if Muller could bring him a lock of Anna's hair, some of her nail parings, and a drop of her blood, he could work a counter-spell.

"But we're in the twentieth century," Muller pointed out to Gorer. "I can't go about picking up other people's nail-clippings, even if she'd give me the chance, which wasn't likely; and apparently it wasn't any good if anyone else did it. So the magician said he couldn't help me." The dukun was, however, able to give him one bit of encouragement: "It won't travel over water."

This may have been an overly optimistic diagnosis. Muller informed Gorer that he took care to avoid glancing at anyone. When Gorer pointed out that Muller had been looking at him, the German explained that Gorer's back was against the light, thus obscuring his face. Gorer wrote, "I didn't reply, but lit a match so that the flare lit up both our faces. After that I went back to my cabin, for the expression on his face showed clearly enough how mine had appeared to him."

Gorer knew nothing about Muller's subsequent fate. We are left with the ironic mental image of a racist who could only see "brown faces" skulking around the "Aryans" of Nazi Germany.

Anna's revenge may have been even greater than she planned.

via British Newspaper Archive

Last week's Link Dump included the story of "The Watcher," an anonymous figure sending eerily threatening letters to the new owners of a New Jersey mansion. The "Sunderland Echo" for July 23, 1949, carried the story of a similar, but arguably even more menacing, English case of harassment.

What is the truth behind the strange occurrences at 51 Nile Street. Sunderland? Who are the two "well-spoken men" who are said to lurk on the roof tops? What is the explanation of the "blood-stained shroud" which is supposed to have appeared and just as mysteriously disappeared?

For a month mysterious happenings have been terrifying 65-year-old Mrs Harriet Clark, tenant of the house in Nile Street.

She said to-day that "men wearing sandshoes climb to the windows and enter the house in the early hours of the morning."

She also said that she has handed over to the police a note she found sticking to an upstairs window. It was made of letters from newspaper headlines, and read "I Will Get You All."

Sitting in the second floor living room at 51 to-day, Mrs. Clark and relations told me their strange story (writes a Sunderland Echo reporter). Broken glass from a window which was "mysteriously broken” in the middle of the night lay on the window sill.

"It all began about a month ago." she said. "At about 1:30 a.m., we heard the back door creaking," said Mrs. Clark. "One of the family ran out and found the back-room light on, and the key from the door lying on the floor. There was no one there. Since then five windows have been broken during the night. My daughter Eva, aged 25, became so frightened that she rarely comes home during the day now. She spends the night at her sister's home.

I sit up with relations until 6 o'clock each morning—too scared to go to bed since a face appeared at the window behind my bed-head."

Mrs. Clark showed me marks on the windows of her kitchen which appear to have been made by burning cigarettes. They are about the height of a man's mouth from the wide window ledge outside, 20ft. from the ground.

She told me that about 10:30 last Thursday a mysterious parcel was found in an outhouse.

When we brought it in and opened it we found what looked a shroud embroidered with lilies. It bore marks which appeared to bloodstains.

“Unfortunately we wrapped it up and put it back in the outhouse and it disappeared by the time the police arrived."

"If it was a shroud. I can only that it must have been made for someone with plenty of money—it was so fancy."

Mr. William MacDonald (36), son-in-law of Mrs. Clark, spends most of his spare time at the house now, "waiting to try and catch these men.”

After one of the incidents he ran out and saw a man in sand-shoes climbing out of a window of an empty house next door.

"I chased this man and another as far as Tatham Street at about two o’clock in the morning. There I caught up with them, and one who was well spoken, turned and said they had only been taking lead from a roof.

"Then they knocked me down," he added.

"The police have been working hard since we reported the letters to them, but these people seem to know when the police are about. They did not come last night for instance."

Other people living at 51 Nile Street corroborated the details, and said that the intruders sometimes come twice in one night.

As police keep check, Mrs. Clark watches out from her windows on to the warren of narrow streets in the neighbourhood, sleeping by daylight.

A follow-up story appeared in the same newspaper two days later:

Miss Eva Clark, the 25-year-old Sunderland girl who is afraid to go home to her "haunted” home at 51 Nile Street had a threatening letter this morning and its contents were not ghostly. It is now in the hands of the police.

Her mother, 63-year-old Mrs Harriet Clark, who complains that strange things have been happening in the house for a month--including the discovery of a "blood-stained'' shroud--told a Sunderland Echo reporter to-day that the letter was written in such bad English that it marked the writer as uneducated. "People are wondering about the mystery of No. 51,” it read. "But there is no mystery about it. We have been watching you for some time and we are out to get you."

The letter was addressed to Miss Eva Clark, bore a Sunderland post mark and was franked at 5:30 yesterday.

Miss Clark, who now sleeps at the home of relations because she is afraid to go home, has not written to tell her 23-year-old Coldstream Guardsman fiance of the happenings at home. He is L. Cpl. Elliott of Seaham Harbour, now serving in Burma. The couple plan to marry when he returns from abroad before Christmas.

During the week-end dozens of sightseers stood outside the house. Strangers stood in groups in the front and back streets talking about the mystery.

"Three strangers called and offered to stay up all night in the house to try and help us," Mrs. Clark says. "We did not accept the offer.

"On Saturday night the sounds of footsteps across my ceiling returned again," she said.

Very oddly, this is the last I have been able to find about this story. As far as I know, the Clark family and their mysterious tormentors dropped from public view. This would seem to suggest either that the miscreants finally gave up their sadistic games, or it was discovered that someone in the Clark household engineered a hoax attack.

But what reason would anyone have to persecute the family in such a risky manner? And what would anyone in the household get out of staging these creepy visitations?

Your guess is as good as mine.

"Grave Robber Fleeing a Corpse That Has Come to Life." Jacques Winslow, 1746

I have to say that I hesitated about posting this story (from the "Andersonville Intelligencer," April 22, 1880.) This tale of a grave-robber's comeuppance is so lavish with gruesome details, I feared it would single-handedly cause me to lose at least half of my six or seven readers. However, it's such a perfect example of 19th Century Newspaper Gothic that I couldn't resist going ahead with it.

Just be advised: If you have a sensitive stomach, close your browser window right now!

And just be thankful I spared you the story about the abandoned medical school.

South Bend, Ind., March 22. Several months ago the grave of Sarah Platts, a young lady who died of consumption, was found disturbed, and an examination showed that the head of the corpse was missing. What led to the discovery was the finding of a human jawbone by Fred Auer, a farmer, who lived near the county graveyard, some eight miles from the city, where the body was buried. The fact that only the head was taken threw suspicions on an amateur phrenologist named Gordon Truesdale. Truesdale occupied a small farm in the vicinity with his wife and family of four girls, the oldest not more than eight years old. He was a handsome, broad-shouldered fellow, with a fair education, but lazy and shiftless. His great hobby was phrenology, and he occasionally lectured on that subject in country school-houses. His ambition to possess a collection of skulls was well known in the neighborhood, and the desecration of the Platts girl's grave was laid at his door, although he was never openly charged with it.

About three weeks ago Truesdale went to a physician and asked if a person could become poisoned in handling a dead body. He received an affirmative reply and appeared to be much troubled. He complained to his wife that his nose was paining him terribly and he believed he was taking the erysipelas. He began doctoring himself with bread-and-milk poultices, but without success. His face began to swell rapidly, and in less than three days it and his head became twice their natural size and lost all semblance to human shape. A physician was called in against the wishes of Truesdale. He found the man suffering terribly. His lids were drawn by the tension of the skin and writhed themselves away from the teeth in unceasing pain. The cuticle across the bridge of the nose and over the forehead was so distended with the mattery substance underneath that it seemed as if it must burst every moment. The eyes were swollen almost to bursting from their sockets and were turned with pain until hardly anything but the whites could be seen. It was evident that a terrible poison was slowly but surely permeating the man's whole system.

The physician, after a careful examination of the unwilling patient, cut open his skin from about the center of his nose almost to the roots of his hair, and then made another across the forehead almost from temple to temple. From these incisions there oozed a mass of loathsome, detestable putrescence, so terrible in its stench that the attendants, save one, ran from the house. Other incisions were made in different parts of the scalp, from which the hair had been shaved, and from these this terribly offensive matter oozed constantly, until the swelling was reduced and the head and face assumed nearly their normal size. Attempts were then made to free the incisions of matter by injecting water into them. It was noticed that when water was forced into the cut in the forehead it poured out of the holes in the scalp. As one of the attendants said, "it seemed as if all the flesh between the skin arid bone had turned into corruption and ran out."

When Mr. Truesdale was told that he could not possibly recover, he called his wife into the room and confessed to her that he robbed the Platts girl's grave, and referred to a certain night when he left the house and refused to tell her where he went at the time when he committed the crime. He said that he dug down to the head of the coffin, broke it open and, taking his knife, cut around the neck of the corpse through the flesh to the bone. He then placed one of his feet on the breast of the corpse, and, taking the head in his hands, pulled and jerked and twisted it until it came off by mere force. He afterward disjointed the lower jaw and threw it where Fred Auer found it. He closed his confession by telling her where the skull would be found, under the straw in a certain manger in the stable. It was found there and given up to the Platts family.

The last three days of Truesdale's existence were terrible, not only to himself but to those who watched him. The poison from some corpse (for it is believed he had recently opened several graves,) which was communicated to his system by picking a raw spot on the inside of his nose, appeared to course through every vein in his body. Not only was his person offensive to the eye, but the odor and heat of his breath was so offensive that it was impossible for the attendants to wait on him properly. The breath was so poisonous that when one of the attendants held his hand six inches from the dying man's mouth it stung the flesh like hundreds of nettles. Those who waited on him were obliged
to wear gloves, as it was impossible to wash the odor from their hands. The day he died his flesh was so rotten that it seemed as if it would drop from the bones it touched, and his eyes actually decayed until they became sightless.

For two days before his death a coffin had been in readiness, and the orders of the physician were to place him in it as soon as the breath left his body and get him under the ground immediately. After his death none of the attendants had the temerity to touch the corpse, for fear of being poisoned, so they gathered the sheets on which the body lay at each end, and thus lifted it into the coffin. The lid was quickly screwed down, but before a wagon could be procured the body swelled and burst it off. It was then strapped on, but when the coffin was taken from the wagon at the graveyard, just at daylight, it again flew off, and the body appeared to swell visibly before the horrified attendants' eyes. The fetid, noisome stench from the putrid mass within was such that no one could attempt to replace the cover, and the coffin was covered from sight as hurriedly as possible.

The day after the funeral, or burial, rather, the wife of Truesdale was confined at a neighbor's house, this fifth child also being a girl. The Truesdale house will not be fit to occupy for several days, as all efforts to fumigate it thus far have failed. The doors and windows have been left open day and night, but the stench is still as bad as when he died. As one of the attendants said, "It still seems as if you could cut the air in that house with a knife."

Quite a warning to potential body-snatchers.

And phrenologists, for that matter.

"The Water Ghost," by Alfred Kubin

I always say, a ghost just isn't a ghost unless it's damn good and mad about something. This tale of a deadly love triangle and spectral vengeance in Yorkshire comes from a 1901 book, "The Great North Road," by Charles George Harper:

The "White House" was the scene of a murder in 1623. At that time the innkeeper was a certain Ralph Raynard, who "kept company" with a girl in service at Red House, Thornton Bridge. The lovers quarrelled, and in a pique the girl married a farmer named Fletcher, of Moor House, Raskelf. Unhappily, she did not love the man she had married, while she certainly did retain an affection for her old sweetheart, and he for her. Going between Raskelf and Easingwold on market-days on her horse, she would often stop at the "White House" and chat with Ralph Raynard; the ostler, Mark Dunn, minding the horse when she dismounted. Raynard’s sister kept house with him at the inn, and she saw that no good could come of these visits, but he would not listen to her warnings, and the visits continued. It was not long before Fletcher’s neighbours began to hint to him something of these little flirtatious of his wife with her old lover; and one evening he caught the ostler of the "White House " in his orchard, where he was waiting for an opportunity to deliver a message from Raynard to her. The man returned to the inn without having fulfilled his mission, and smarting from a thrashing he had received at the hands of the indignant farmer. Shortly after this, Fletcher had occasion to go a journey. Things had not been going well with him latterly, and his home was rendered unhappy by the evidence of his wife’s dislike of him. Little wonder, that he had dismal forebodings as he set out. Before leaving, he wrote on a sheet of paper :—

"If I should be missing, or suddenly wanted be,
Mark Ralph Raynard, mark Dunn, and mark my
wife for me,"

addressing it to his sister.

No sooner was he gone than Mrs. Fletcher mounted her horse and rode to Raskelf, where, with Raynard and Mark Dunn, a murderous plot was contrived for putting Fletcher out of the way. They were waiting for him when he returned at evening, and as he stood a moment on Dawnay Bridge, where the little river runs beneath the highway, two of them rushed upon him and threw him into the water. It would be difficult for a man to drown here, but the innkeeper and the ostler leapt in after him, and as he lay there held his head under water, while his wife seized his feet. When the unfortunate man was quite dead they thrust his body into a sack, and, carrying their burden with them to the inn, buried it in the garden, Raynard sowing some mustard-seed over the spot.

This took place on the 1st of May. On the 7th of July, Raynard went to Topcliffe Fair, and put up at the "Angel." Going into the stable, he was confronted by the apparition of the unhappy Fletcher, glowing with a strange light and predicting retribution. He rushed out among the booths, and tried to think he had been mistaken. Coming to a booth where they sold small trinkets, he thought he would buy a present for his sweetheart, and, taking up a chain of coral beads, asked the stallkeeper how it looked on the neck. To his dismay the apparition stood opposite, with a red chain round its neck, with its head hanging to one side, like that of an executed criminal, while a voice informed him that presently he and his accomplices should be wearing hempen necklaces.

When night had fallen he mounted his horse and rode for home. On the way, at a spot called the Carr, he saw something in the road. It was a figure emerging from a sack and shaking the water off it, like a Newfoundland dog. With a yell of terror the haunted man dug his heels into his horse and galloped madly away; but the figure, irradiated by a phosphorescent glimmer and dragging an equally luminous sack after it, was gliding in front of him all the while, at an equal pace, and so continued until the "White House" was reached, where it slid through the garden hedge and into the ground where Fletcher’s body had been laid. 

Raynard’s sister was waiting for him, with supper ready, and with a dish of freshly cut mustard. She did not see the spectre sitting opposite, pointing a minatory finger at that dreadful salad, but he did, and, terrified, confessed to the crime. Sisterly affection was not proof against this, and she laid information against the three accomplices before a neighbouring justice of the peace, Sir William Sheffield of Raskelf Park. They were committed to York Castle, tried, and hanged on July 28, 1623. The bodies were afterwards cut down and taken to the inn, being gibbeted near the scene of the crime, on a spot still called Gallows Hill, where the bones of the three malefactors were accidentally ploughed up a hundred years ago.

"I must not only punish but punish with impunity. A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its redresser. It is equally unredressed when the avenger fails to make himself felt as such to him who has done the wrong."
~ Edgar Allan Poe, "The Cask of Amontillado"

via British Newspaper Archive

This Poe-like tale of an abused elephant's long-delayed but fatal revenge appeared in the "Illustrated Police News" on January 23, 1897. It is one more piece of evidence for what I have felt to be true for as long as I can remember: Animals have hearts, minds, souls--and memories--that are at least equal to our own.

A man named Alan Alfred Baker, who was formerly connected with Mr. George Sanger's travelling circus, whilst on a visit to the stables on Sunday afternoon, was attacked and killed by one of the performing elephants. From the circumstances surrounding the affair, it would seem that the creature had a grudge of old standing against Baker, for the instant the poor fellow appeared the elephant lunged at him, and pinned his victim against a brick wall, inflicting wounds that were speedily fatal. Indeed, when the keeper and trainer Mr. John Tottenham, or "Killinbach," who was present at the moment, feeding the animals, intervened to drag the unfortunate man beyond the animal's reach, the elephant strained upon the shackles to again transfix his victim.

The stables referred to, where Mr. Sanger keeps a portion of his menagerie, are in a building in Bentley Street, off Kingsland Road, Dalston. Baker, who was a tall, handsome man, of about twenty-seven years of age, and a native of Hastings, was conveyed upon an ambulance to the Metropolitan Hospital, where he died shortly after being admitted. The case was pronounced hopeless from the first by the police-surgeon of the district, Dr. Jackman, who was called into the stables. The elephant had driven his right tusk into poor Baker's head, causing the brain to protrude. The man never regained consciousness, though it is stated he tried to speak when a friend named Mr. Catling saw him immediately after the occurrence.

For some weeks Mr. George Sanger's menagerie and circus has been attracting overflowing houses in a turning off Dalston Lane. near the railway station. Baker, who like most sawdust-ring showmen, had a nom de guerre, or nickname, was known among his friends as "Belgium." Others there are of the craft dignified by the less complimentary names of "Moucher," "Tea Leaves," "Short Pipe," &c. Baker practically learned his business at Sanger's, beginning as a stable-hand, and rising through the grades of performer to trainer. It is said he was at times brusque in manner to the animals under his care, and that he lacked the patience and perseverance in kindness so indispensable in dealing with dumb brutes. However that may be, he was discharged from Sanger's last March, when they were at Bedford. After filling a somewhat similar situation elsewhere, he applied for a re-engagement with Mr. Sanger, and on Sunday last was told that he could start at his old job on Monday, there being a temporary vacancy. Later in the day Baker proceeded to the stables to call on Tottenham, who was an old acquaintance and a fellow-lodger, to go with him and have tea. In this wintry weather, three elephants belonging to the menagerie and several camels are stalled in part of a stout brick building used as workshops, whilst the other animals needing quarters snugger than under canvas are bestowed in the neighbourhood in like manner. According to "Killinbach," otherwise Tottenham, he was carrying hay to the elephants and spreading it out for them--for "Charlie, "Mary," and "Jenny" when "Belgium" entered by the small wicket door, and sauntering up with his hands in his overcoat pocket, called to him, "Ain't you coming to tea?" Before Tottenham had time to reply, the elephant "Charlie," apparently recognising Baker by the sound of his voice, for it was nearly dusk in the stable, thrust forward violently at his old keeper. Baker must have been taken unawares, for, fettered as the animal was to a strong peg driven into the ground, he could only lean far enough forward by straining upon the few links of chain to get at the wall where his victim stood unconscious of danger. The walls are about 11ft apart in the building, and Baker was standing nearly opposite, whilst Tottenham was bending down close to the animal's feet. Seeing his comrade fall, Tottenham realised in a moment what had happened. He sprang and grabbed Baker away, at the same time roaring "Get back, Charlie." He placed the wounded trainer upon a truss of hay, but even then the elephant tried to reach him, and Tottenham seized a spade and drove the brute back to his place. The other two elephants kept quiet, Tottenham says, but "Charlie" trumpeted angrily. As for "Mary," who is nearer sixty than fifty years of age, and therefore no lamb, at the sight of the blood on Baker's face and body, she looked, and then turned her head away.

Everybody at Singer's gives ''Charlie" a good character. Never, they aver, was there a quieter or more tractable animal, except, perhaps, "Mary." He has never hurt anyone before. The animal was bought about thirty-one years ago, when a nine-year-old baby, being part of a batch of Indian elephants which at that period were sent over in large numbers. Tottenham believes the animal must have had an idea of paying back old scores, and Mr. Sanger, Mr. Olliver, the manager, and Mr. J. D. Humphreys, an old showman and trainer, all of whom have known ''Charlie" from his babyhood, hold to the same opinion. After his bloodthirsty outbreak of passion "Charlie" sulked, and refused to eat until late the following day. A representative of the Daily Telegraph saw the animal in the course of the day, patted him, and examined his tusks. Certainly the creature at that time seemed docile and tractable enough. "Charlie," although twenty-eight years old, is said to be not quite full-grown yet. He weighs over three tons, stands about 11ft in height, and yet has only short tusks, not much more than a foot in length. In a chat with Mr. Humphries, that gentleman said there were no trade secrets about training. He had taken in hand the education of all sorts of animals, domestic and wild horses, elephants, lions and tigers, and monkeys, which are troublesome. Now he was an advance agent, but he had a kindly feeling for all his dumb-brute pupils still, and sometimes went and called on old elephant friends. They always knew him, recognising his voice when he called. them, though they might not be in a position when at the moment they could not see him. Whatever an animal was, a quiet runner or a bolter, it would yield to treatment. The trainer had to know himself, and be firm, steadfast, patient, and kind. "Why," said Mr. Humphreys, "here's my secret as far as elephants and horses go. A little bit of carrot and more carrot, a pat and a pat and a 'bravo.' when they do their business correctly and show sense. Bless you, it's wonderful how they work to please you for these nice, well-washed carrots," and Mr. Humphreys produced an edible and tempting specimen of that humble root. "I trained 'Charlie' on them, and never had any trouble with him. Oh no, he is not in any state of must, and his temper all through has been as good as gold. Carrots and kindness is the way. But the trouble is, some keepers are rough and hasty, and try and drive them too hard. Now, I have noticed a dumb brute never forgets an injury, and keepers sometimes see too many friends lose their heads a bit, and, trying to show off, do things the poor creatures remember against them. 'Belgium' was away from us ten months, but there's lots of cases stranger than his. There was the elephant, 'Blind Bill,' that in Myers's Circus at the Alexandra Palace, fourteen years ago, killed his keeper, whom the brute had not seen for seven years previously. Then there was something of the sort happened with 'Big Jenny,' who died at Boulogne."

The deceased man was unmarried. Quite recently he was an inmate of St. Thomas's Hospital, where he was attended for an injury to the head, caused, as stated originally, from the kick of a horse. The deceased's parents are in poor circumstances. Mr. George Sanger has kindly notified that he will defray the necessary funeral expenses. Baker's father is a working coachsmith at Hastings, and is naturally terribly distressed at his son's death.

The inquiry into the circumstances attending the death of Alan Alfred Baker, aged twenty-seven years, an elephant trainer, late of Kingsland Road, was held by Dr. Wynn Westcott at the Hackney Coroner's Courts. The deceased, it will be remembered, was gored to death on Sunday evening last by an elephant named "Charlie," belonging to Sanger's Circus, now at Dalston.

John Killinbach, known as "Tottenham," an elephant trainer at the circus, stated that he had only held the position for the past ten months, having succeeded the deceased, who had had charge of "Charlie" and other elephants for some years. The animals were stabled in Bentley Road, Kingsland, and were there on the day of the occurrence. "Charlie" all the time he had been under the care of witness had been a very quiet and docile elephant. On Sunday. between five and six o'clock in the evening, witness was feeding the animals. He threw a quantity of hay to "Charlie," who was chained by two legs, when Baker entered the stable. He said to witness "Are you coming to tea? " and no sooner had he spoken than the animal rushed at him and jammed him against the wall with his tusks, one of which seemed to enter the head, near the ear.

The Coroner: How do you account for this sudden attack?

Witness: I am of opinion that the elephant recognised the voice of his old keeper, and having a grudge against him for some cruelty, gored him. Baker had not seen "Charlie" for ten months.

Have you ever heard that the elephant had attacked anyone else?--No, never; he was as quiet as a child.

"Lord " George Sanger, the proprietor of the circus, said that he had had the elephant for thirty-one years. He was of the Indian species, and was about nine years old when imported. The deceased had had charge of the elephants for about four years, and "Charlie" was one of the quietest animals ever shown. Witness agreed with the first witness as to the act being the result of antagonism.

The Coroner: Was the animal generally considered to be a good one, quiet and peaceable?--Witness: None better. Witness added that Baker got into the hands of the police at Bedford, and that was the reason he left the circus. Witness had promised to employ the deceased, but stipulated that he should have nothing to do with the elephants.

The Coroner: Do you think, then, that elephants remember how they are treated?

Witness: Most certainly, and I speak from forty-five years' experience. The animal was not properly treated by Baker, but I don't want to say any more of that. Elephants always remember kindness. I recollect once meeting an elephant I had not seen for about two years, and the animal was so pleased and affected that tears actually ran down its face. On one occasion my little nephew was playing round "Charlie's" legs, when the animal took him up with his trunk, shook him gently and then set him down. "Charlie" has been in five Lord Mayor shows, and was for years at the old Ampitheatre, Westminster Bridge Road, but has never before shown any bad temper.

In answer to the Coroner, the witness said that he could not remember an elephant being born in England, not even at the Zoo.

Without calling further evidence, the jury returned a verdict of death from misadventure.

The Coroner asked whether the jury wished to add any rider or recommendation to the verdict.

The Foreman: We do not think it is necessary.

In pace requiescat!