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Short Story

A SCHOOL STORY
by M. R. James
www.englishsanjan.blogfa.com
Two men in a smoking-room were talking of their private-school days. "At our
school," said A., "we had a ghost's footmark on the staircase. "
 
  " What was it like?"
 
  "Oh, very unconvincing. Just the shape of a shoe, with a square toe, if I
remember right. The staircase was a stone one. I never heard any story about
the thing. That seems odd, when you come to think of it. Why didn't somebody
invent one, I wonder?"
 
  "You never can tell with little boys. They have a mythology of their own.
There's a subject for you, by the way - "The Folklore of Private Schools."
 
  "Yes; the crop is rather scanty, though. I imagine, if you were to
investigate the cycle of ghost stories, for instance, which the boys at
private schools tell each other, they would all turn out to be
highly-compressed versions of stories out of books."
 
  "Nowadays the Strand and Pearson's, and so on, would be extensively drawn
upon."
 
  "No doubt: they weren't born or thought of in my time. Let's see. I
wonder if I can remember the staple ones that I was told. First, there was
the house with a room in which a series of people insisted on passing a
night; and each of them in the morning was found kneeling in a corner, and
had just time to say, 'I've seen it,' and died."
 
  "Wasn't that the house in Berkeley Square?"
 
  "I dare say it was. Then there was the man who heard a noise in the
passage at night, opened his door, and saw someone crawling towards him on
all fours with his eye hanging out on his cheek. There was besides, let me
think - Yes! the room where a man was found dead in bed with a horseshoe
mark on his forehead, and the floor under the bed was covered with marks of
horseshoes also; I don't know why. Also there was the lady who, on locking
her bedroom door in a strange house, heard a thin voice among the
bed-curtains say, 'Now we're shut in for the night.' None of those had any
explanation or sequel. I wonder if they go on still, those stories."
 
  "Oh, likely enough - with additions from the magazines, as I said. You
never heard, did you, of a real ghost at a private school? I thought not,
nobody has that ever I came across."
 
  "From the way in which you said that, I gather that you have."
 
  "I really don't know, but this is what was in my mind. It happened at my
private school thirty odd years ago, and I haven't any explanation of it.
 
  "The school I mean was near London. It was established in a large and
fairly old house - a great white building with very fine grounds about it;
there were large cedars in the garden, as there are in so many of the older
gardens in the Thames valley, and ancient elms in the three or four fields
which we used for our games. I think probably it was quite an attractive
place, but boys seldom allow that their schools possess any tolerable
features.
 
  "I came to the school in a September, soon after the year 1870; and among
the boys who arrived on the same day was one whom I took to: a Highland boy,
whom I will call McLeod. I needn't spend time in describing him: the main
thing is that I got to know him very well. He was not an exceptional boy in
any way - not particularly good at books or games - but he suited me.
 
  "The school was a large one: there must have been from 120 to 130 boys
there as a rule, and so a considerable staff of masters was required, and
there were rather frequent changes among them.
 
  "One term - perhaps it was my third or fourth - a new master made his
appearance. His name was Sampson. He was a tallish, stoutish, pale,
black-bearded man. I think we liked him: he had travelled a good deal, and
had stories which amused us on our school walks, so that there was some
competition among us to get within earshot of him. I remember too - dear me,
I have hardly thought of it since then - that he had a charm on his
watch-chain that attracted my attention one day, and he let me examine it.
It was, I now suppose, a gold Byzantine coin; there was an effigy of some
absurd emperor on one side; the other side had been worn practically smooth,
and he had had cut on it - rather barbarously - his own initials, G.W.S.,
and a date, 24 July, 1865. Yes, I can see it now: he told me he had picked
it up in Constantinople: it was about the size of a florin, perhaps rather
smaller.
 
  "Well, the first odd thing that happened was this. Sampson was doing
Latin grammar with us. One of his favourite methods - perhaps it is rather a
good one - was to make us construct sentences out of our own heads to
illustrate the rules he was trying to make us learn. Of course that is a
thing which gives a silly boy a chance of being impertinent: there are lots
of school stories in which that happens - or any-how there might be. But
Sampson was too good a disciplinarian for us to think of trying that on with
him. Now, on this occasion he was telling us how to express remembering in
Latin: and he ordered us each to make a sentence bringing in the verb
memini, 'I remember.' Well, most of us made up some ordinary sentence such
as 'I remember my father,' or 'He remembers his book,' or something equally
uninteresting: and I dare say a good many put down memino librum meum, and
so forth: but the boy I mentioned - McLeod - was evidently thinking of
something more elaborate than that. The rest of us wanted to have our
sentences passed, and get on to something else, so some kicked him under the
desk, and I, who was next to him, poked him and whispered to him to look
sharp. But he didn't seem to attend. I looked at his paper and saw he had
put down nothing at all. So I jogged him again harder than before and
upbraided him sharply for keeping us all waiting. That did have some effect.
He started and seemed to wake up, and then very quickly he scribbled about a
couple of lines on his paper, and showed it up with the rest. As it was the
last, or nearly the last, to come in, and as Sampson had a good deal to say
to the boys who had written meminiscimus patri meo and the rest of it, it
turned out that the clock struck twelve before he had got to McLeod, and
McLeod had to wait afterwards to have his sentence corrected. There was
nothing much going on outside when I got out, so I waited for him to come.
He came very slowly when he did arrive, and I guessed there had been some
sort of trouble. 'Well,' I said, 'what did you get?' 'Oh, I don't know,'
said McLeod, 'nothing much: but I think Sampson's rather sick with me.'
'Why, did you show him up some rot?' 'No fear,' he said. 'It was all right
as far as I could see: it was like this: Memento - that's right enough for
remember, and it takes a genitive, - memento putei inter quatuor taxos.'
'What silly rot!' I said. 'What made you shove that down? What does it
mean?' 'That's the funny part,' said McLeod. 'I'm not quite sure what it
does mean. All I know is, it just came into my head and I corked it down. I
know what I think it means, because just before I wrote it down I had a sort
of picture of it in my head: I believe it means "Remember the well among the
four" - what are those dark sort of trees that have red berries on them?'
'Mountain ashes, I s'pose you mean.' 'I never heard of them,' said McLeod;
'no, I'll tell you - yews.' 'Well, and what did Sampson say?' 'Why, he was
jolly odd about it. When he read it he got up and went to the mantel-piece
and stopped quite a long time without saying anything, with his back to me.
And then he said, without turning round, and rather quiet, "What do you
suppose that means?" I told him what I thought; only I couldn't remember the
name of the silly tree: and then he wanted to know why I put it down, and I
had to say something or other. And after that he left off talking about it,
and asked me how long I'd been here, and where my people lived, and things
like that: and then I came away: but he wasn't looking a bit well.'
 
  "I don't remember any more that was said by either of us about this. Next
day McLeod took to his bed with a chill or something of the kind, and it was
a week or more before he was in school again. And as much as a month went by
without anything happening that was noticeable. Whether or not Mr. Sampson
was really startled, as McLeod had thought, he didn't show it. I am pretty
sure, of course, now, that there was something very curious in his past
history, but I'm not going to pretend that we boys were sharp enough to
guess any such thing.
 
  "There was one other incident of the same kind as the last which I told
you. Several times since that day we had had to make up examples in school
to illustrate different rules, but there had never been any row except when
we did them wrong. At last there came a day when we were going through those
dismal things which people call Conditional Sentences, and we were told to
make a conditional sentence, expressing a future consequence. We did it,
right or wrong, and showed up our bits of paper, and Sampson began looking
through them. All at once he got up, made some odd sort of noise in his
throat, and rushed out by a door that was just by his desk. We sat there for
a minute or two, and then - I suppose it was incorrect - but we went up, I
and one or two others, to look at the papers on his desk. Of course I
thought someone must have put down some nonsense or other, and Sampson had
gone off to report him. All the same, I noticed that he hadn't taken any of
the papers with him when he ran out. Well, the top paper on the desk was
written in red ink - which no one used - and it wasn't in anyone's hand who
was in the class. They all looked at it - McLeod and all - and took their
dying oaths that it wasn't theirs. Then I thought of counting the bits of
paper. And of this I made quite certain: that there were seventeen bits of
paper on the desk, and sixteen boys in the form. Well, I bagged the extra
paper, and kept it, and I believe I have it now. And now you will want to
know what was written on it. It was simple enough, and harmless enough, I
should have said.
 
  "'Si tu non veneris ad me, ego veniam ad te,' which means, I suppose, 'If
you don't come to me, I'll come to you.'"
 
  "Could you show me the paper?" interrupted the listener.
 
  "Yes, I could: but there's another odd thing about it. That same
afternoon I took it out of my locker - I know for certain it was the same
bit, for I made a finger-mark on it and no single trace of writing of any
kind was there on it. I kept it, as I said, and since that time I have tried
various experiments to see whether sympathetic ink had been used, but
absolutely without result.
 
  "So much for that. After about half an hour Sampson looked in again: said
he had felt very unwell, and told us we might go. He came rather gingerly to
his desk, and gave just one look at the uppermost paper: and I suppose he
thought he must have been dreaming: anyhow, he asked no questions.
 
  "That day was a half-holiday, and next day Sampson was in school again,
much as usual. That night the third and last incident in my story happened.
 
  "We - McLeod and I - slept in a dormitory at right angles to the main
building. Sampson slept in the main building on the first floor. There was a
very bright full moon. At an hour which I can't tell exactly, but some time
between one and two, I was woken up by somebody shaking me. It was McLeod,
and a nice state of mind he seemed to be in. 'Come,' he said, - 'come
there's a burglar getting in through Sampson's window.' As soon as I could
speak, I said, 'Well, why not call out and wake everybody up? 'No, no,' he
said, 'I'm not sure who it is: don't make a row: come and look.' Naturally I
came and looked, and naturally there was no one there. I was cross enough,
and should have called McLeod plenty of names: only - I couldn't tell why -
it seemed to me that there was something wrong - something that made me very
glad I wasn't alone to face it. We were still at the window looking out, and
as soon as I could, I asked him what he had heard or seen. 'I didn't hear
anything at all,' he said, 'but about five minutes before I woke you, I
found myself looking out of this window here, and there was a man sitting or
kneeling on Sampson's window-sill, and looking in, and I thought he was
beckoning.' 'What sort of man?' McLeod wriggled. 'I don't know,' he said,
'but I can tell you one thing - he was beastly thin: and he looked as if he
was wet all over: and,' he said, looking round and whispering as if he
hardly liked to hear himself, 'I'm not at all sure that he was alive.'
 
  "We went on talking in whispers some time longer, and eventually crept
back to bed. No one else in the room woke or stirred the whole time. I
believe we did sleep a bit afterwards, but we were very cheap next day.
 
  "And next day Mr. Sampson was gone: not to be found: and I believe no
trace of him has ever come to light since. In thinking it over, one of the
oddest things about it all has seemed to me to be the fact that neither
McLeod nor I ever mentioned what we had seen to any third person whatever.
Of course no questions were asked on the subject, and if they had been, I am
inclined to believe that we could not have made any answer: we seemed unable
to speak about it.
 
  "That is my story," said the narrator. "The only approach to a ghost
story connected with a school that I know, but still, I think, an approach
to such a thing."
 
                               *   *   *  *  *
 
  The sequel to this may perhaps be reckoned highly conventional; but a
sequel there is, and so it must be produced. There had been more than one
listener to the story, and, in the latter part of that same year, or of the
next, one such listener was staying at a country house in Ireland.
 
  One evening his host was turning over a drawer full of odds and ends in
the smoking-room. Suddenly he put his hand upon a little box. "Now," he
said, "you know about old things; tell me what that is." My friend opened
the little box, and found in it a thin gold chain with an object attached to
it. He glanced at the object and then took off his spectacles to examine it
more narrowly. "What's the history of this?" he asked. "Odd enough," was the
answer. "You know the yew thicket in the shrubbery: well, a year or two back
we were cleaning out the old well that used to be in the clearing here, and
what do you suppose we found?"
 
  "Is it possible that you found a body?" said the visitor, with an odd
feeling of nervousness.
 
  "We did that: but what's more, in every sense of the word, we found two."
 
  "Good Heavens! Two? Was there anything to show how they got there? Was
this thing found with them?"
 
  "It was. Amongst the rags of the clothes that were on one of the bodies.
A bad business, whatever the story of it may have been. One body had the
arms tight round the other. They must have been there thirty years or more -
long enough before we came to this place. You may judge we filled the well
up fast enough. Do you make anything of what's cut on that gold coin you
have there?"
 
  "I think I can," said my friend, holding it to the light (but he read it
without much difficulty); "it seems to be G.W.S., 24 July, 1865."
 

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