To the Editor of the Belfast Morning News.
Sir, – Ghost stories are an old institution in every country under the sun. Many a deadly wound they have got from the redoubtable pen of the disbeliever and the philosopher. Still, as often as old ones are laid – not in the Dead Sea, but on the mouldering bookshelves of select libraries – new ones start up, fresh and vigorous as ever. Nearly every old man amongst us has some wonderful reminiscence appertaining to the supernatural with which he indulges his youthful acquaintance. And so it goes on, from generation to generation, notwithstanding all the sneers of philosophy and modern enlightenment.
Even I have my ghost story to tell, and why not? If proof is demanded of me, I have to offer a simple method, which any of your readers, feeling so disposed, may examine. It is not one resting on the evidence of this individual or that, but one the truthfulness of which any person feeling the necessary interest can, any night if he choose, test for himself.
Within one mile of Gilford, on the road leading from Lurgan, there is a house, in which no individual of ordinary courage – and that is saying a good deal for myself – can live with peace of mind and body, on account of the extraordinary noises nightly heard therein. These noises assume various characters during the course of a night, beginning with “the gentle tapping of a visitor at your chamber door,” and ending with a most furious battering and mauling of doors, windows, walls, apple trees, and stone ditches. In fact, about the “witching hour” every object about the premises comes in for a share of attention from the irrepressible visitor, whatever it may be.
The present writer occupies two rooms of this house, and has the dismal satisfaction of sharing with a no less courageous and respectable neighbour the pleasure of hearing, in all their varieties, these nocturnal rampagings.
There has been nothing seen as yet, save and except a bright light, ver much resembling a coach lamp, which, about two or three o’clock, takes “its solitary round” amongst the old fogged apple-trees in the orchard, and finally disappears on the exact spot where the “scras” were dug up for James Lavery’s grave. The only startling things in connexion with this James Lavery are – that he was the late owner of the houses and land in question – that he dropped down dead outside his own door – that a jury of his neighbours, who sat over his remains, came to the conclusion that nature only had a hand in his demise – that, finally, they conveyed his body to the grave, which they covered with an ample shroud of “scras,” dug from his own paddock. Such are the bare facts, and I forbear to draw conclusions.
The present landlord – a decidedly unimaginative man – thinking some waggish neighbour or maybe evil-disposed person wished to annoy himself or his tenants, disbelieved the supernatural turn which affairs had taken, and for many successive nights paraded about the premises, armed to the teeth, determining, no doubt, to settle accounts with the practical jokers. When the doors or walls were banged with unusual violence, he would rush out, gun in hand, but only to have his ears saluted with the rattle of tumbling stone-fences, falling trees, and a rasping in the grass, as if scores of mowers were cutting away for dear life.
After wearying himself at this bootless business, he gave it up as a bad case. Now, should any of your numerous readers feel curious enough to make a call here, I beg to inform them that I have his authority for assuring them that if they let him know beforehand he will kindly provide a good turf fire for the night, and also some bodily comforts suitable for the occasion. Perhaps there has not been such a chance offered to an inquiring public for years.
Hoping this case will meet with a full investigation, I frankly assure all who may take an interest in it that they will meet with the cordial co-operation of your obliged and obedient servant, Andrew Macune. Ballymacanalloy, Oct, 29th, 1868.
Belfasst Morning News, 4th November 1868.
“Is it a ghost?”
To the Editor of the Belfast Morning News.
Sir, – Under the above heading, a letter, signed “Andrew McCune,” lately appeared in your journal.
Having had occasion yesterday to pass the reputedly-haunted house, I called to inquire whether the inmates were still annoyed with the eccentricities of their nightly visitor; and I was somewhat surprised when Andrew McCune informed me that the report – which has created a considerable local sensation – is a pure invention. He knows nothing of the letter signed with his name, and as little of the ghost. But, whether through folly or malice this ghost story has been concocted and circulated, it has brought him more visitors for the last week than he could conveniently entertain; and it is questionable whether an occasional visit of a quiet, respectable ghost would not be more tolerable than the annoyance he has suffered.
Mr McCune’s neighbours may now repress their curiosity, for there is no ghost to be seen, except Mr McCune’s worthy spouse to be one. But her capacity of discussing a substantial dinner, which I witnessed, forbids the idea; though it is hard to say how the widow of the famous “Jack Lavery” might have fared had she lived in the days of witch-burning.
Will you please, Mr Editor, expose the hoax and forgery referred to, for the avoidance of further trouble to a respectable old couple. – Yours truly, J. HAMILTON. Gilford, 9th Nov., 1868.
Belfast Morning News, 16th November 1868.