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- Ghost Stories
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behind her, it suddenly seemed to her that her
harpsichord was laughing at her, and she stopped
abruptly in the middle of a bar. She got up and
glanced behind her. A moment later she was lying
unconscious on the floor. It was not her husband
sitting there—but another—he whose name it is
best for children not to mention, who would frighten
them to death if they met him in the dark garret.
*
Ah, if your soul has been satiated with such stories
as these, is it possible to free yourself from their
power? To-night the wind is howling outside, and
a fecus palm and a rosebush are beating their stiff
leaves against the balcony pillars—the sky hangs
darkly over the far-reaching hills, and I, sitting
here, with my lamp lighted and my curtains drawn
aside, I, already growing old and therefore bound
to be sensible, still feel the same creepiness upon
my spine as when I heard the story; I am compelled
to raise my eyes from my work and glance
round repeatedly to see that no one has stolen into
the room and is hiding in that corner; I must glance
into the balcony to be sure that no black head raises
itself over the railing. This fear, fostered by the old
ghost stories, never leaves me, and, when the nights
are dark and I am alone, it grows so overwhelming
that I must cast aside my pen, creep into bed, and
draw the blankets over my head.
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Project Runeberg, Sun Dec 10 03:53:53 2023
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