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Updated: June 28, 2025
It is best that he should not dwell upon the former condition. Your young friend, Gargoyle, sees no more spooks. He is rapidly developing into a very remarkable and unconceited horticulturist! The first few days at Mockwood were spent at the little gardener's cottage, from which the other youngsters had flown.
In case this occurred, the "spooks" above would close the light, making the room perfectly dark, and the manager would do his utmost to turn the table on end, or side, with the legs out in the room.
What he had seen and known about spooks was briefly this: In company with a neighbor he was passing the night with an old recluse who lived somewhere in these woods. Their host was an Englishman, who had the reputation of having murdered his wife some years before in another part of the country, and, deserted by his grown-up children, was eking out his days in poverty amid these solitudes.
He decided to leave unasked the obvious question. "I know," he said simply. "Are you dining anywhere?" "I thought of staying on here," was the indifferent reply. "We won't do anything of the sort," Wilmore insisted. "There's scarcely a soul in to-night, and the place is too humpy for a man who's been seeing spooks. Get back to your rooms and change. I'll wait here." "What about you?"
But Theydon was a healthy and athletic young Englishman, and Forbes was of the rare order which combines a frame of exceptional physique with a mind accustomed to think imperially; two such men might be trusted to display real grit if surrounded by a horde of veritable spooks.
The yarn of "The Thumbless Hand" is here cast in a dialogue, but the whole of the strange experience described is given in the words of the narrator. It should be added that, though my friend was present at some amateur seances, in a remote isle of the sea, he is not a spiritualist, never was one, and has no theory to account for what occurred, and no belief in "spooks" of any description.
The old Renwood cottage on the hill. Been deserted for years. Renwood brought his wife up here in the mountains long ago and murdered her. She comes back occasionally, they say; mysterious noises and lights and all that. Well?" "Well, I'm very much interested in spooks. In spite of the feud I rode over here for a peep at the house. Dear me, it's a desolate looking place.
He tried to invent or remember some short and easy way with ghosts, but he couldn't. He wished that somebody had invented a specific for spooks something that would make the ghosts come out of the house and die in the yard." "What did he do?" interrupted Dear Jones. "The learned counsel will please speak to the point."
I scrambled up the hill to the only shelter that could be found, a small country store owned by a Captain Conk who kept entertainment for the traveller. Rough fellows and old crones came in to talk about the spooks that had been seen in the neighboring hills. It was veritable "Sleepy Hollow" talk. The physician of the place, they said, had been "skert clean off a bridge the other night."
En de goose he say, 'Hit'll soon be day, En I got no feders fer ter give away! Oh, ketch him, Tiger, ketch him! "Ketch him, oh, ketch him, Run ter de roos' en fetch him! He ain't gwine tell On de dinner bell Ketch him, Tiger, ketch him!" "Scoot 'long to bed now, you yonkers, or ye'll look like spooks to-mo-oh! Hit's day a'ready," cried the singer directly he had whooped out his last note.
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