The Ghost and the Bone-Setter Page #2

"The Ghost and the Bone-Setter" is a supernatural tale by Joseph Thomas Sheridan Le Fanu that weaves elements of mystery, folklore, and the macabre. Set in the eerie landscapes of rural Ireland, the story follows a bone-setter—someone who has the ability to heal broken bones using traditional methods—who encounters a restless spirit. As the narrative unfolds, it explores themes of the supernatural, the intersection of life and death, and the cultural beliefs surrounding ghosts and healing practices. Le Fanu's rich, atmospheric prose invites readers into a haunting world where the boundaries between the living and the dead blur.

• Fiction

								

cowld out iv his heart. It was the ould steward, Lawrence Connor, that
opened the door--and he an' my father wor always very great. So when he
seen who it was, an' my father tould him how it was his turn to watch in
the castle, he offered to sit up along with him; and you may be sure my
father wasn't sorry for that same. So says Larry,

"'We'll have a bit iv fire in the parlour,' says he.

"'An' why not in the hall?' says my father, for he knew that the squire's
picthur was hung in the parlour.

"'No fire can be lit in the hall,' says Lawrence, 'for there's an ould
jackdaw's nest in the chimney.'

"'Oh thin,' says my father, 'let us stop in the kitchen, for it's very
umproper for the likes iv me to be sittin' in the parlour,' says he.

"'Oh, Terry, that can't be,' says Lawrence; 'if we keep up the ould
custom at all, we may as well keep it up properly,' says he.

"'Divil sweep the ould custom,' says my father--to himself, do ye mind,
for he didn't like to let Lawrence see that he was more afeard himself.

"'Oh, very well,' says he. 'I'm agreeable, Lawrence,' says he; and so
down they both went to the kitchen, until the fire id be lit in the
parlour--an' that same wasn't long doin'.

"Well, your honour, they soon wint up again, an' sat down mighty
comfortable by the parlour fire, and they beginn'd to talk, an' to smoke,
an' to dhrink a small taste iv the pottieen; and, moreover, they had a
good rousing fire of bogwood and turf, to warm their shins over.

"Well, sir, as I was sayin' they kep convarsin' and smokin' together
most agreeable, until Lawrence beginn'd to get sleepy, as was but
nathural for him, for he was an ould sarvint man, and was used to a
great dale iv sleep.

"'Sure it's impossible,' says my father, 'it's gettin' sleepy you are?'

"'Oh, divil a taste,' says Larry, 'I'm only shuttin' my eyes,' says he,
'to keep out the parfume of the tibacky smoke, that's makin' them
wather,' says he. 'So don't you mind other people's business,' says he
stiff enough (for he had a mighty high stomach av his own, rest his
sowl), 'and go on,' says he, 'with your story, for I'm listenin',' says
he, shuttin' down his eyes.

"Well, when my father seen spakin' was no use, he went on with his
story.--By the same token, it was the story of Jim Soolivan and his ould
goat he was tellin'--an' a pleasant story it is--an' there was so much
divarsion in it, that it was enough to waken a dormouse, let alone to
pervint a Christian goin' asleep. But, faix, the way my father tould it,
I believe there never was the likes heerd sinst nor before for he bawled
out every word av it, as if the life was fairly leavin' him thrying to
keep ould Larry awake; but, faix, it was no use, for the hoorsness came
an him, an' before he kem to the end of his story, Larry O'Connor
beginned to snore like a bagpipes.

"'Oh, blur an' agres,' says my father, 'isn't this a hard case,' says
he, 'that ould villain, lettin' on to be my friend, and to go asleep
this way, an' us both in the very room with a sperit,' says he. 'The
crass o' Christ about us,' says he; and with that he was goin' to shake
Lawrence to waken him, but he just remimbered if he roused him, that
he'd surely go off to his bed, an lave him completely alone, an' that id
be by far worse.

"'Oh thin,' says my father, 'I'll not disturb the poor boy. It id be
neither friendly nor good-nathured,' says he, 'to tormint him while he is
asleep,' says he; 'only I wish I was the same way myself,' says he.

"An' with that he beginned to walk up an' down, an' sayin' his prayers,
until he worked himself into a sweat, savin' your presence. But it was
all no good; so he dhrunk about a pint of sperits, to compose his mind.

"'Oh,' says he, 'I wish to the Lord I was as asy in my mind as Larry
there. Maybe,' says he, 'if I thried I could go asleep'; an' with that he
pulled a big arm-chair close beside Lawrence, an' settled himself in it
as well as he could.

"But there was one quare thing I forgot to tell you. He couldn't help, in
spite av himself, lookin' now an' thin at the picthur, an' he immediately
observed that the eyes av it was follyin' him about, an' starin' at him,
an' winkin' at him, wherever he wint. 'Oh,' says he, when he seen that,
'it's a poor chance I have,' says he; 'an' bad luck was with me the day I
kem into this unforthunate place,' says he; 'but any way there's no use
in bein' freckened now,' says he; 'for if I am to die, I may as well
parspire undaunted,' says he.

"Well, your honour, he thried to keep himself quite an' asy, an' he
thought two or three times he might have wint asleep, but for the way the
storm was groanin' and creekin' through the great heavy branches outside,
an' whistlin' through the ould chimnies iv the castle. Well, afther one
great roarin' blast iv the wind, you'd think the walls iv the castle was
just goin' to fall, quite an' clane, with the shakin' iv it. All av a
suddint the storm stopt, as silent an' as quite as if it was a July
evenin'. Well, your honour, it wasn't stopped blowin' for three minnites,
before he thought he hard a sort iv a noise over the chimney-piece; an'
with that my father just opened his eyes the smallest taste in life, an'
sure enough he seen the ould squire gettin' out iv the picthur, for all
the world as if he was throwin' aff his ridin' coat, until he stept out
clane an' complate, out av the chimly-piece, an' thrun himself down an
the floor. Well, the slieveen ould chap--an' my father thought it was the
dirtiest turn iv all--before he beginned to do anything out iv the way,
he stopped, for a while, to listen wor they both asleep; an' as soon as
he thought all was quite, he put out his hand, and tuck hould iv the
whiskey bottle, an' dhrank at laste a pint iv it. Well, your honour, when
he tuck his turn out iv it, he settled it back mighty cute intirely, in
the very same spot it was in before. An' he beginn'd to walk up an' down
the room, lookin' as sober an' as solid as if he never done the likes at
all. An' whinever he went apast my father, he thought he felt a great
scent of brimstone, an' it was that that freckened him entirely; for he
knew it was brimstone that was burned in hell, savin' your presence. At
any rate, he often heer'd it from Father Murphy, an' he had a right to
know what belonged to it--he's dead since, God rest him. Well, your
honour, my father was asy enough until the sperit kem past him; so close,
God be marciful to us all, that the smell iv the sulphur tuck the breath
clane out iv him; an' with that he tuck such a fit iv coughin', that it
al-a-most shuck him out iv the chair he was sittin' in.

"'Ho, ho!' says the squire, stoppin' short about two steps aff, and
turnin' round facin' my father, 'is it you that's in it?--an' how's all
with you, Terry Neil?'

"'At your honour's sarvice,' says my father (as well as the fright id let
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