Although every word of this story is true, I do not expect people to believe it. I tell it to you as it happened. You be the judge.
It happened just a few years ago. Laura and I were on our honeymoon. We left our seaside resort to see a church in a little village to the south. The area was beautiful and quiet. As luck would have it, we found a cottage for sale near the church.
The cottage was a long, low building with rooms sticking out in
unexpected places. It had been built around the remains of an old house that had once stood there. It was about two miles from the village. We decided to buy it.
I was a painter in those days, and Laura wrote poems and stories. We hired an old peasant woman named Mrs. Dorman to keep house. She was a great comfort to us with stories of smugglers and highway men, and better yet, of eerie sights one could see on lonely starlit nights. We had three months of happiness.
Then one October evening, Mrs. Dorman suddenly announced that she had to leave at the end of the week. Something was troubling her.
“She was acting so strangely,” said Laura. “Could we have insulted her somehow?”
“I’ll talk with her later,” I replied. “Let’s walk up to the church. That always makes you feel better.”
We loved to visit the large and lonely church, especially on bright nights. The path leading to it wound through the woods, over the crest of a hill, and through two meadows before reaching the graveyard wall.
Inside, the arches rose into darkness. Moonlight filtered in through the rich stained-glass windows. On either side of the alter was a stone slab. On each slab lay a gray marble figure of a knight in full armor. Their hands were held in prayer. These life-sized statues were the most peculiar objects in the church. The pale stone figures seemed to glow against the black oak of the rest of the church.
The names of the knights were forgotten, but the peasants said they had been fierce and wicked men. Their deeds were so foul that the house they lived in had been struck by lightening as a punishment from heaven. That house, by the way, had stood on the site of the cottage where Laura and I were living.
Looking at the hard faces of these stone figures, it was easy to believe the stories of evil. But for all their wickedness, their ancestors were rich enough to persuade the church to display the statues. Laura and I looked at the sleeping figures, rested awhile, and then went home.
Back at the cottage, I pressed Mrs. Dorman for the real reason she wanted to leave us. “Have you any fault to find with us, Mrs. Dorman?” I asked.
“None at all, sir. You’ve been most kind, I’m sure.”
“But why must you go this week? So suddenly?” I persisted.
“Well, sir,” she said in a low and hesitating voice, “you may have seen in the church them two shapes beside the alter.”
“You mean the statues of the knights in armor,” I said cheerfully.
“I mean them two bodies, drawed out man-size in marble.” She paused to breathe a heavy sigh, then continued: “They do say that on Halloween, them two bodies sit up on their slabs, gets off, and then walks down the aisle. And as the church clock strikes eleven, they walks out of the church door, over the graves, and along the path. If it’s a wet night, there’s marks of their feet in the morning.”
“And where do they go?” I asked, fascinated by this colorful legend.
“They comes back here to their home, sir. And if anyone meets them...”
“Well, what then?” I asked. But no, I couldn’t get another word out of her -- except for a warning.
“Whatever you do, sir, lock the door early on Halloween.”
I didn’t tell Laura about the legend. I feared it might upset her even though it was nonsense. I would talk about it the day it was over. On Thursday, October 30th, Mrs. Dorman left. She promised to return to work the following week.
Friday - Halloween - came. Laura and I spent a pleasant day cleaning and doing work. But as the sun began to set, Laura’s gay mood changed.
“You are sad, my darling,” I said.
“Not sad, exactly.” she replied. “I’m uneasy. I shiver, but I’m not cold. I feel as if something evil will happen.”
We sat in silence by the fire for a while. Laura grew a little more cheerful, but she looked pale and tired.
I craved my pipe before bed, but I didn’t want to disturb Laura with the smoke. I told her I would take it outside.
“Don’t stay out too long,” she said.
“I won’t, my deary,” I replied, kissing her on the forehead.
I strolled out the front door, leaving it unlatched. The night was absolutely silent. Across the meadows I could see the church tower standing out black and gray against the sky. The bell chimed eleven. I didn’t feel ready for bed yet. I would go to the church. As I walked past the house, I could see Laura asleep in her chair by the fire.
I walked slowly along the edge of the woods. I distinctly heard a step in the dry leaves. But when I stopped, the sound stopped, too. It must have been an echo, I thought.
Approaching the church, I noticed that the door was open. Since Laura and I were the only ones who visited the church except on Sundays, I blamed myself for leaving it unlatched the other night. I went in. I was halfway down the aisle before I remembered, with a sudden chill, that this was the very day and hour when the marble statues were supposed to walk. I was ashamed of myself for feeling a moment of fear at the thought of the legend. I was glad I had come, because I could tell Mrs. Dorman how silly the legend was.
With my hands in my pockets, I passed up the dimly lit aisle. Just then the moon came out, throwing light into the church. I stopped short. My heart gave a leap that nearly choked me, and then sank sickeningly.
The marble knights were gone!
I passed my hands over the slabs to be sure I wasn’t seeing things. The slabs were smooth and flat. The figures WERE gone. And then a horror seized me. Laura! I ran out of the church, biting my lips to keep from shrieking aloud. Just as I approached our cottage, a dark figure seemed to spring out of the ground. Mad with panic, I shouted, “Get out of my way, can’t you!”
As I pushed by the figure, my arms were caught just above the elbows. It was Dr. Kelly, our nearest neighbor.
“Let go of me, you fool,” I gasped. “The marble figures have gone from the church!”
“You’ve been listening to too many old wives’ tales,” the doctor
laughed.
“I’ve seen the bare slabs. I’ve got to get to my wife,” I pleaded.
“Rubbish,” said the doctor. “Come and show me the slabs. Don’t be a coward.”
The doctor’s calm manner brought me back to my senses. We returned to the church and walked up the aisle. I shut my eyes, knowing the statues would not be there. I heard Dr. Kelly strike a match. “Here they are,” he said cheerfully.
And there they were! I drew a deep breath and shook the doctor’s hand.
“It must have been some trick of the light,” I said sheepishly.
“No doubt,” he replied.
He was leaning over and looking at the right-hand figure, who was the most eviil-looking of the two. “Look,” said the doctor. “This one’s hand is broken.”
And so it was. I was certain hat it had been perfect the last time Laura and I had been there. I was so relieved to see the statue that I didn’t concern myself about the broken hand.
It was late. I invited Dr. Kelly to the cottage. As we approached, bright light streamed through the open front door. Had Laura gone out?
We glanced around the living room. At first we didn’t see her. Her chair was empty and her book and handkerchief were on the floor. Her body lay half on a table and half on the window seat. Her head hung down over the table, the brown hair falling to the carpet. Her lips were drawn back, and her eyes were wide, wide open. What had they last seen?
“It’s all right, Laura! I’ve got you safe!” I cried. She fell into my arms in a heap. Her hands were tightly clenched.
In one of them she held something. When I was quite sure she was dead, I let the doctor open her hand to see what she held.
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