The Spirit's Whisper Page #5

"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

								

object of my search lay now on a bundle of rags on the bare floor. He
opened his wild eyes as I approached.

"I have come to succor," I said, using unconsciously the word of the
voice; "what ails you?"

"Ails me?" gasped the man; "hunger, starvation, fever."

I was horrified. Hurrying to the top of the stairs, I shouted till I had
roused the attention of an old woman. I gave her money to bring me food
and brandy, promising her a recompense for her trouble.

"Have you no friends?" I asked the wretched man as I returned.

"None," he said feebly. Then as the fever rose in his eyes and even
flushed his pallid face, he said excitedly, "I had a master once--one I
perilled my soul for. He knows I am dying; but, spite of all my letters,
he will not come. He wants me dead, he wants me dead--and his wish is
coming to pass now."

"Cannot I find him--bring him here?" I asked.

The man stared at me, shook his head, and at last, as if collecting his
faculties with much exertion, muttered, "Yes; it is a last hope; perhaps
you may, and I can be revenged on him at least. Yes revenged. I have
threatened him already." And the fellow laughed a wild laugh.

"Control yourself," I urged, kneeling by his side; "give me his
name--his address."

"Captain George Cameron," he gasped, and then fell back.

"Captain George Cameron!" I cried. "Speak! what of him?"

But the man's senses seemed gone; he only muttered incoherently. The old
woman returned with the food and spirits. I had found one honest
creature in that foul region. I gave her money--provide her more if she
would bring a doctor. She departed on her new errand. I raised the man's
head, moistened his lips with the brandy, and then poured some of the
spirit down his throat. He gulped at it eagerly, and opened his eyes;
but he still raved incoherently, "I did not do it, it was he. He made me
buy the poison; he dared not risk the danger himself, the coward! I knew
what he meant to do with it, and yet I did not speak; I was her murderer
too. Poor Mrs. Cameron! poor Mrs. Cameron! do you forgive?--can you
forgive?" And the man screamed aloud and stretched out his arms as if to
fright away a phantom.

I had drunk in every word, and knew the meaning of those broken accents
well. Could I have found at last the means of bringing justice on the
murderer's head? But the man was raving in a delirium, and I was obliged
to hold him with all my strength. A step on the stairs. Could it be the
medical man I had sent for? That would be indeed a blessing. A man
entered--it was Cameron!

He came in jauntily, with the words, "How now, Saunders, you rascal!
What more do you want to get out of me?"

He started at the sight of a stranger.

I rose from my kneeling posture like an accusing spirit. I struggled for
calm; but passion beyond my control mastered me, and was I not a madman?
I seized him by the throat, with the words, "Murderer! poisoner! where
is Julia?" He shook me off violently.

"And who the devil are you, sir?" he cried.

"That murdered woman's cousin!" I rushed at him again.

"Lying hound!" he shouted, and grappled me. His strength was far beyond
mine. He had his hand on my throat; a crimson darkness was in my eyes; I
could not see, I could not hear; there was a torrent of sound pouring in
my ears. Suddenly his grasp relaxed. When I recovered my sight, I saw
the murderer struggling with the fever-stricken man, who had risen from
the floor, and seized him from behind. This unexpected diversion saved
my life; but the ex-groom was soon thrown back on the ground.

"Captain George Cameron," I cried, "kill me, but you will only heap
another murder on your head!"

He advanced on me with something glittering in his hand. Without a word
he came and stabbed at me; but at the same moment I darted at him a
heavy blow. What followed was too confused for clear remembrance. I
saw--no, I will say I fancied that I saw--the dim form of Julia Staunton
standing between me and her vile husband. Did he see the vision too? I
cannot say. He reeled back, and fell heavily to the floor. Maybe it was
only my blow that felled him. Then came confusion--a dream of a crowd of
people--policemen--muttered accusations. I had fainted from the wound in
my arm.

Captain George Cameron was arrested. Saunders recovered, and lived long
enough to be the principal witness on his trial. The murderer was found
guilty. Poor Julia's diary, too, which I had abstracted, told fearfully
against him. But he contrived to escape the gallows; he had managed to
conceal poison on his person, and he was found dead in his cell. Mary
Simms I never saw again. I once received a little scrawl, "I am at peace
now, Master John. God bless you!"

I have had no more hallucinations since that time; the voice has never
come again. I found out poor Julia's grave, and, as I stood and wept by
its side, the cold shudder came over me for the last time. Who shall
tell me whether I was once really mad, or whether I was not?
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