“Shadows around us.”
To the Editor of the “People”. Sir, – Pardon me for taking the liberty of writing you, but as you have for some weeks past being amusing your readers with some very interesting notes, viz., “Shadows Around Us,” after reading today’s, entitled “The Poltergeist of Leignitz Castle,” I feel I would like to relate to you my personal experience of “Shadows Around Us.” Some three years ago, when staying in London, I got a situation to manage a branch shop for a friend of mine in Edinburgh, and for that reason I duly left London 10 a.m., arriving at duxk in Edinburgh. Being a stranger I strolled about for some time, and then found out my friend’s abode, which was in the Canongate. There was a kind of little anteroom next to the shop, and the kitchen, and another room which opened from the kitchen was their bed-room, all on the ground floor level, and in connection with the shop.
They had a servant girl, who used to sleep in the said little ante-room, but I being a stranger from London, and as my governor wished to give me a little insight into the business, in his own shop before starting me in the branch, they very kindly made arrangements for the servant to sleep in the kitchen, and I, pro tem., took possession of the little ante-room. In the wall of this room was a pane of glass, so that any one could look into the shop. I remember well the first night sitting down to supper in the kitchen hearing most strange noises out in the shop, but being new to the place I concluded there must be some reason for it, people overhead, outside, or what not, and so troubled no more about it, although I would often notice Mr J. leave his chair and go and see things were all serene.
There was another thing which seemed rather strange to me. Every morning about 3.0 a.m. in the next house, but right against the wall where my head lay when in bed, I could distinctly hear some one poking and raking away at the fireplace, as if about to light the fire; the noise that they made was terrific, and never failed to wake me up. I mentioned this to Mrs J., and she remarked that “we have heard that noise ourselves ever since we have been here (which I mention was getting on for twelve months), and it frightened us so at first, but now we take no notice of it and said it must be the people next door, but they said “No.” We inquired and found they live away from the shop, and don’t get to business till seven o’clock. Then I remarked, “Is there positively nobody in the place till seven o’clock?” “No.” “Then how does that poking at the fireplace go on?” “I don’t know,” they answered, “it’s a mystery.” People say all the houses in Canongate are haunted, and I really think they are most of them.”
I did not feel comfortable, but knowing I should only be there for a week or two I troubled little more about it, although every morning at the same time there was the same poking and raking at the grate. One night we had all retired, and I was fast asleep, when all of a sudden (I fancy I hear it now, certainly I never shall forget it) there was a fearful noise in the shop. I awoke, listened, and it was for all the world like some one standing on a pair of steps and throwing down on to the floor the boxes from off the shelf. Bang! bang! bang! it went. I could not make it out. I was in darkness, and as I lay in bed I could see through the window there was no light in the shop. I sat up in bed, and was about to get up and light the gas, when I heard footsteps outside my door leading to the shop, and voices which I soon recognised as Mr and Mrs J., who, it turned out, had heard the noises themselves in their bedroom, and had come out into the shop to see what it was, but finding everything as it should be they returned to bed. I heard them return along the passage, and thinking it must have been the cat had got shut in the shop, I laid down again and went to sleep, but only for a time, for it soon started again, and when I could stand it no longer, and was about to get up for good – this would be just daylight, there came a tremendous crash as if they were taking the boxes off the shelf by armfulls and dashing them on to the floor.
I never heard such a row in my life. I jumped out of bed, but on going in the shop I found everything all right, and nothing touched. I got up for good then, and heard no more that night, although the next night it came again, although not so bad. I was very glad when I left and took apartments for myself. – Yours, etc., A Constant Reader of “The People.”
The People, 7th September 1890.