The Ghost of Guir House

"Upon each canvas he depicted the awful countenance which fact and

fancy had imprinted upon his brain. Guir painted not only what he

saw, but what he imagined he saw--dreadful faces, loaded with torture

and despair. When completed, he hung them upon the walls of the room,

and then with his own hands bricked up the entrance from within,

having first carefully replaced and bolted the door. When Guir had

thus entombed himself, he lay down again upon the floor, and then,

still a madman, opened a vein in his wrist. The letting of blood may

have sobered him or restored his mental equilibrium; for suddenly,

with a wild change in his feelings, he bounded to his feet and

repented. Again he was in darkness, and could not guess how much time

had elapsed since his fatal act. Staggering to the closed doorway, he

endeavored to tear away the bricks he had so recently placed there,

but the mortar was hardening fast, and he was unable to find his

trowel. Groping frantically along the floor, he searched in vain for

some tool to open the vault in which he was buried, and then, with

the anguish of despair, dropped again upon the ground to await his

fate. Thus Guir died, in an agony of remorse, and with the intensest

desire to live."

Ah Ben stopped suddenly, and fixed his eyes upon Henley, as if trying

to read his thoughts.

"There is one thing in that story that strikes me as very peculiar,"

observed Paul, returning his host's look with interest.

"And what is that?" answered the old man, his eyes still fixed on

Henley's face.

"The fact that you are able to repeat with such circumstantial detail

the feelings and actions of a man who died under such peculiar

conditions, and quite alone."

"It might indeed appear strange to you, Mr. Henley, but my

familiarity with the case enables me to speak with knowledge and

accuracy."

"And would you mind telling me how that is possible?" inquired Paul.

"Because I am the man Guir himself; and I have lived on through such

ages of agony that I have no longer the will or desire to appear

other than as the ancient wreck before you."

Paul started.

"Do you mean to tell me then that I am talking to a ghost?" he cried

in dismay.

"As you please, Mr. Henley; but ghosts are not so different from

ordinary people--that is, when they have become materialized. I have

just now shown you the real condition of this old house, or rather

the way in which the majority of men see it. I do not hesitate,

therefore, to show you the ghost that haunts it; nor do I object to

explaining the dreadful cause of the haunting, or a little of the

philosophy of hauntings in general."