The Spirit's Whisper

"The Spirit's Whisper" is a short story by Joseph Thomas Sheridan Le Fanu, renowned for his contributions to Gothic literature. In this tale, the narrative explores themes of the supernatural, haunting, and the delicate boundary between the living and the dead. Set against a richly atmospheric backdrop, the story delves into the encounters of characters with ghostly apparitions and the emotional turmoil that accompanies their experiences. Le Fanu's signature style blends suspense and melancholy, creating a chilling yet captivating exploration of human fear, desire, and the mysteries of the afterlife.

• Horror

								
Yes, I have been haunted!--haunted so fearfully that for some little
time I thought myself insane. I was no raving maniac; I mixed in society
as heretofore, although perhaps a trifle more grave and taciturn than
usual; I pursued my daily avocations; I employed myself even on literary
work. To all appearance I was one of the sanest of the sane; and yet all
the while I considered myself the victim of such strange delusions that,
in my own mind, I fancied my senses--and one sense in particular--so far
erratic and beyond my own control that I was, in real truth, a madman.
How far I was then insane it must be for others, who hear my story, to
decide. My hallucinations have long since left me, and, at all events, I
am now as sane as I suppose most men are.

My first attack came on one afternoon when, being in a listless and an
idle mood, I had risen from my work and was amusing myself with
speculating at my window on the different personages who were passing
before me. At that time I occupied apartments in the Brompton Road.
Perhaps, there is no thoroughfare in London where the ordinary
passengers are of so varied a description or high life and low life
mingle in so perpetual a medley. South-Kensington carriages there jostle
costermongers' carts; the clerk in the public office, returning to his
suburban dwelling, brushes the laborer coming from his work on the
never-ending modern constructions in the new district; and the ladies of
some of the surrounding squares flaunt the most gigantic of chignons,
and the most exuberant of motley dresses, before the envying eyes of the
ragged girls with their vegetable-baskets.

There was, as usual, plenty of material for observation and conjecture
in the passengers, and their characters or destinations, from my window
on that day. Yet I was not in the right cue for the thorough enjoyment
of my favorite amusement. I was in a rather melancholy mood. Somehow or
other, I don't know why, my memory had reverted to a pretty woman whom I
had not seen for many years. She had been my first love, and I had loved
her with a boyish passion as genuine as it was intense. I thought my
heart would have broken, and I certainly talked seriously of dying, when
she formed an attachment to an ill-conditioned, handsome young
adventurer, and, on her family objecting to such an alliance, eloped
with him. I had never seen the fellow, against whom, however, I
cherished a hatred almost as intense as my passion for the infatuated
girl who had flown from her home for his sake. We had heard of her being
on the Continent with her husband, and learned that the man's shifty
life had eventually taken him to the East. For some years nothing more
had been heard of the poor girl. It was a melancholy history, and its
memory ill-disposed me for amusement.

A sigh was probably just escaping my lips with the half-articulated
words, "Poor Julia!" when my eyes fell on a man passing before my
window. There was nothing particularly striking about him. He was tall,
with fine features, and a long, fair beard, contrasting somewhat with
his bronzed complexion. I had seen many of our officers on their return
from the Crimea look much the same. Still, the man's aspect gave me a
shuddering feeling, I didn't know why. At the same moment, a whispering,
low voice uttered aloud in my ear the words, "It is he!" I turned,
startled; there was no one near me, no one in the room. There was no
fancy in the sound; I had heard the words with painful distinctness. I
ran to the door, opened it--not a sound on the staircase, not a sound in
the whole house--nothing but the hum from the street. I came back and
sat down. It was no use reasoning with myself; I had the ineffaceable
conviction that I had heard the voice. Then first the idea crossed my
mind that I might be the victim of hallucinations. Yes, it must have
been so, for now I recalled to mind that the voice had been that of my
poor lost Julia; and at the moment I heard it I had been dreaming of
her. I questioned my own state of health. I was well; at least I had
been so, I felt fully assured, up to that moment. Now a feeling of
chilliness and numbness and faintness had crept over me, a cold sweat
was on my forehead. I tried to shake off this feeling by bringing back
my thoughts to some other subject. But, involuntarily as it were, I
again uttered the words, "Poor Julia!" aloud. At the same time a deep
and heavy sigh, almost a groan, was distinctly audible close by me. I
sprang up; I was alone--quite alone. It was, once more, an
hallucination.

By degrees the first painful impression wore away. Some days had passed,
and I had begun to forget my singular delusion. When my thoughts aid
revert to it, the recollection was dismissed as that of a ridiculous
fancy. One afternoon I was in the Strand, coming from Charing Cross,
when I was once more overcome by that peculiar feeling of cold and
numbness which I had before experienced. The day was warm and bright and
genial, and yet I positively shivered. I had scarce time to interrogate
my own strange sensations when a man went by me rapidly. How was it that
I recognized him at once as the individual who had only passed my window
so casually on that morning of the hallucination? I don't know, and yet
I was aware that this man was the tall, fair passer-by of the Brompton
Road. At the same moment the voice I had previously heard whispered
distinctly in my ear the words, "Follow him!" I stood stupefied. The
usual throngs of indifferent persons were hurrying past me in that
crowded thoroughfare, but I felt convinced that not one of these had
spoken to me. I remained transfixed for a moment. I was bent on a matter
of business in the contrary direction to the individual I had remarked,
and so, although with unsteady step, I endeavored to proceed on my way.
Again that voice said, still more emphatically, in my ear, "Follow him!"
I stopped involuntarily. And a third time, "Follow him!" I told myself
that the sound was a delusion, a cheat of my senses, and yet I could not
resist the spell. I turned to follow. Quickening my pace, I soon came up
with the tall, fair man, and, unremarked by him, I followed him. Whither
was this foolish pursuit to lead me? It was useless to ask myself the
question--I was impelled to follow.

I was not destined to go very far, however. Before long the object of my
absurd chase entered a well-known insurance-office. I stopped at the
door of the establishment. I had no business within, why should I
continue to follow? Had I not already been making a sad fool of myself
by my ridiculous conduct? These were my thoughts as I stood heated by my
quick walk. Yes, heated; and yet, once more, came the sudden chill. Once
more that same low but now awful voice spoke in my ear: "Go in!" it
said. I endeavored to resist the spell, and yet I felt that resistance
was in vain. Fortunately, as it seemed to me, the thought crossed my
mind that an old acquaintance was a clerk in that same insurance-office.

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