The Spirit's Whisper Page #2

"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

								

I had not seen the fellow for a great length of time, and I never had
been very intimate with him. But here was a pretext; and so I went in
and inquired for Clement Stanley. My acquaintance came forward. He was
very busy, he said. I invented, on the spur of the moment, some excuse
of the most frivolous and absurd nature, as far as I can recollect, for
my intrusion.

"By the way," I said, as I turned to take my leave, although my question
was "by the way" of nothing at all, "who was that tall, fair man who
just now entered the office?"

"Oh, that fellow?" was the indifferent reply; "a Captain Campbell, or
Canton, or some such name; I forget what. He is gone in before the
board--insured his wife's life--and she is dead; comes for a settlement,
I suppose."

There was nothing more to be gained, and so I left the office. As soon
as I came without into the scorching sunlight, again the same feeling of
cold, again the same voice--"Wait!" Was I going mad? More and more the
conviction forced itself upon me that I was decidedly a monomaniac
already. I felt my pulse. It was agitated and yet not feverish. I was
determined not to give way to this absurd hallucination; and yet, so far
was I out of my senses, that my will was no longer my own. Resolved as I
was to go, I listened to the dictates of that voice and waited. What was
it to me that this Campbell or Canton had insured his wife's life, that
she was dead, and that he wanted a settlement of his claim? Obviously
nothing; and I yet waited.

So strong was the spell on me that I had no longer any count of time. I
had no consciousness whether the period was long or short that I stood
there near the door, heedless of all the throng that passed, gazing on
vacancy. The fiercest of policemen might have told me to "move on," and
I should not have stirred, spite of all the terrors of the "station."
The individual came forth. He paid no heed to me. Why should he? What
was I to him? This time I needed no warning voice to bid me follow. I
was a madman, and I could not resist the impulses of my madness. It was
thus, at least I reasoned with myself. I followed into Regent Street.
The object of my insensate observation lingered, and looked around as if
in expectation. Presently a fine-looking woman, somewhat extravagantly
dressed, and obviously not a lady, advanced toward him on the pavement.
At the sight of her he quickened his step, and joined her rapidly. I
shuddered again, but this time a sort of dread was mingled with that
strange shivering. I knew what was coming, and it came. Again that voice
in my ear. "Look and remember!" it said. I passed the man and woman as
they stopped at their first meeting!

"Is all right, George?" said the female.

"All right, my girl," was the reply.

I looked. An evil smile, as if of wicked triumph, was on the man's face,
I thought. And on the woman's? I looked at her, and I remembered. I
could not be mistaken. Spite of her change in manner, dress, and
appearance, it was Mary Simms. This woman some years before, when she
was still very young, had been a sort of humble companion to my mother.
A simple-minded, honest girl, we thought her. Sometimes I had fancied
that she had paid me, in a sly way, a marked attention. I had been
foolish enough to be flattered by her stealthy glances and her sighs.
But I had treated these little demonstrations of partiality as due only
to a silly girlish fancy. Mary Simms, however, had come to grief in our
household. She had been detected in the abstraction of sundry jewels and
petty ornaments. The morning after discovery she had left the house, and
we had heard of her no more. As these recollections passed rapidly
through my mind I looked behind me. The couple had turned back. I turned
to follow again; and spite of carriages and cabs, and shouts and oaths
of drivers, I took the middle of the street in order to pass the man and
woman at a little distance unobserved. No; I was not mistaken. The woman
was Mary Simms, though without any trace of all her former
simple-minded airs; Mary Simms, no longer in her humble attire, but
flaunting in all the finery of overdone fashion. She wore an air of
reckless joyousness in her face; and yet, spite of that, I pitied her.
It was clear she had fallen on the evil ways of bettered
fortune--bettered, alas! for the worse.

I had an excuse now, in my own mind, for my continued pursuit, without
deeming myself an utter madman--the excuse of curiosity to know the
destiny of one with whom I had been formerly familiar, and in whom I had
taken an interest. Presently the game I was hunting down stopped at the
door of the Grand Café. After a little discussion they entered. It was a
public place of entertainment; there was no reason why I should not
enter also. I found my way to the first floor. They were already seated
at a table, Mary holding the carte in her hand. They were about to
dine. Why should not I dine there too? There was but one little
objection,--I had an engagement to dinner. But the strange impulse which
overpowered me, and seemed leading me on step by step, spite of myself,
quickly overruled all the dictates of propriety toward my intended
hosts. Could I not send a prettily devised apology? I glided past the
couple, with my head averted, seeking a table, and I was unobserved by
my old acquaintance. I was too agitated to eat, but I made a semblance,
and little heeded the air of surprise and almost disgust on the
bewildered face of the waiter as he bore away the barely touched dishes.
I was in a very fever of impatience and doubt what next to do. They
still sat on, in evident enjoyment of their meal and their constant
draughts of sparkling wine. My impatience was becoming almost unbearable
when the man at last rose. The woman seemed to have uttered some
expostulation, for he turned at the door and said somewhat harshly
aloud, "Nonsense; only one game and I shall be back. The waiter will
give you a paper--a magazine--something to while away the time." And he
left the room for the billiard-table, as I surmised.

Now was my opportunity. After a little hesitation, I rose, and planted
myself abruptly on the vacant seat before the woman.

"Mary," I said.

She started, with a little exclamation of alarm, and dropped the paper
she had held. She knew me at once.

"Master John!" she exclaimed, using the familiar term still given me
when I was long past boyhood; and then, after a lengthened gaze, she
turned away her head. I was embarrassed at first how to address her.

"Mary," I said at last, "I am grieved to see you thus."

"Why should you be grieved for me?" she retorted, looking at me sharply,
and speaking in a tone of impatient anger. "I am happy as I am."

"I don't believe you," I replied.

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