M R James called them “Ghost Stories”; E F Benson preferred the term “Spook Stories”; H P Lovecraft’s stories were published in the magazine Weird Tales; Robert Aickman called his productions “Strange Stories”. Dave Allen’s 1970s anthology was called A Little Night Reading. Whatever we call them, we know what we are talking about.
The Dave Allen book was in our local library when I was young. I’ve often wished I was in the position to choose the stories for such an anthology myself. Here, then, in no particular order and in time for Halloween, is my selection of ten pretty good ones.
The Monkey’s Paw by W W Jacobs (1902). Three wishes that lead to tragedy. It’s impossible to read the last few words of this tale without that feeling of a shiver up the spine, no matter how many times you have read it before. Be careful what you wish for, in case you get it, indeed.
The Signalman by Charles Dickens (1866). No other form of transport has featured in as many ghost stories as the railway. This is a story of premonition and disaster that Dickens wrote after being involved in a major train crash himself. I’ve looked at it in more detail here.
A Warning to the Curious by M R James (1925). I could have picked any one of half a dozen stories by James, but this one wins out, I think, for the East Anglian coastal setting and the feeling that it is something to do with the recent war. The framing narration makes Seaburgh remote in time as well as place, then the second narrator introduces a note of melancholy, as he casually mentions his dead friend. Nowhere else is the characteristic James atmosphere so strong, that feeling of the light fading on a deserted beach on a late November afternoon.
The Music of Eric Zann by H P Lovecraft (1922). I am not altogether a fan of Lovecraft. I tend to think of him as a writer I enjoyed in my teenage years, then left behind. All those slug or wormlike monsters! Too easy to dismiss as things that do not exist. This one, though, is quite different. Paris by night and strange violin music coming from the garret at the top of the stairs. . . .what can one see from the window?
A Small Place off the Edgware Road by Graham Greene (1947). The place in question is a cinema. This is very creepy and all it is, really, is a chat between neighbours in cinema seats. It’s an all too believable tale of the incursion of the uncanny into the everyday world that I think may show the influence of Walter de la Mare.
Naboth’s Vineyard by E F Benson (1928). Just as with M R James, I could have picked any one of half a dozen by Benson. In fact, his range was a bit wider than James. Some are very English ghost stories, with clearly recognisable coastal settings, whereas others lean closer to the Lovecraft style. As I have written about Pirates elsewhere, for this selection I’ll go for another favourite. Here is a very satisfying tale of property appropriated and revenge from beyond the grave. It couldn’t happen to a nicer fellow. . . .
Bad Company by Walter de la Mare (1955). De la Mare’s ghost stories are not so well known today. He is a master of doubt and ambiguity, close to the psychological style of Henry James. Again, one is spoilt for choice, but this short tale has stuck in my mind. London by night this time, and a reminder of why it doesn’t pay to look too closely at your fellow passengers on the tube. A strange encounter in the underground, followed by a lonely walk through a cold and deserted city to an empty house.
Man Size in Marble by E Nesbit (1893). Like De la Mare, Edith Nesbit is best-known today as a writer for children. I found this in the same anthology of ghost stories for children as the De la Mare one above. All I can say is, it must have been for children with strong nerves. The idyllic early days of a marriage between two artists, a cottage deep in the countryside. What could go wrong? There is a local legend that once a year, the stone effigies in the nearby church are able to walk. . . on Halloween, of course.
Ringing the Changes by Robert Aickman (1964). We are in East Anglia again, that zone of the uncanny, and this is a sort of zombie story, with elements of what is now known as folk horror. What makes it so fascinating, I think, is the relation of the main story about zombies to the second layer of meaning bubbling away under the surface, about the marriage of an older man to a much younger woman.
‘They’ by Rudyard Kipling (1904). This may be a surprise to those whose image of Kipling comes from The Jungle Book and poems of the army and empire. Many of his stories have a supernatural element, and none more so than this one. When the narrator discovers an ancient house, hidden in the Sussex countryside, he catches fleeting glimpses of children at the windows and in the garden. A blind woman holds the key to the mystery. It is made all the more poignant when you realise it was written after the death of Kipling’s own small daughter, and that the house resembles Bateman’s, Kipling’s Sussex home.
I’m aware that I’ve skipped over the surface a bit here, but my intention is to whet your appetite. All these stories have hidden depths that will repay repeated readings. Perhaps the secret of a really good story of this type is that it can be given more than one interpretation. There are many others. Which ones would you choose?
The Good Reader 