Montague Rhodes James was an English medievalist scholar and author, employed at both Eton and Cambridge (where he eventually became Vice-Chancellor). His ghost stories are widely considered to be among the best in the English language, and they have been very influential on subsequent horror. He drew upon his own studies and work as inspiration for his stories, which puts them mostly into the folk-horror sub genre.

“Ghost Stories of an Antiquary” is a collection of eight short stories, and one of the first things that struck me on reading them is how varied they are. The title may be ‘ghost stories’, but they are not necessarily dealing with ghosts. Other creepy supernatural goings on are covered, and the author was very imaginative in the different situations he describes.  I am going to review four of the eight stories in this collection.

Canon Alberic’s Scrap Book

The canon of the title seems to have had light fingers, and the narrator who comes across his so-called scrap book sees valuable pages he knows are missing from other manuscripts. The sacristan of the cathedral he had been visiting, who has invited him to see the scrapbook, has been nervous and agitated all day. The final page is a drawing of King Solomon confronting a demon, depicted as being covered in black hair with clawed hands and yellow eyes. The picture is compelling and frightening. Nonetheless the narrator decides to buy the book and is surprised that the sacristan will only accept 250 francs, which is way less than what it is worth. (There is no explanation for this figure, a common trait in James’ work where many things are not explained.) On looking at the drawing when he returns to the inn he is staying at, he feels a presence behind him and turns to see the demon of the picture standing before him. Only the crucifix the sacristan’s daughter insisted he take before leaving protects him from the creature, and even then he is laid up in bed for some time from the shock. He gives the book to Cambridge University, but after taking a photo of the drawing he burns the original.

This story is a good example of one of James’ many strengths, his ability to create unique and interesting scary figures. This is no boring ghost, and its description is not a ‘typical’ demon that might be expected of the period (hellfire, horns, tail etc).

At first you saw only a mass of coarse, matted black hair; presently it was seen that this covered a body of fearful thinness, almost a skeleton, but with the muscles standing out like wires. The hands were of a dusky pallor, covered, like the body, with long, coarse hairs, and hideously taloned. The eyes, touched in with a burning yellow, had intensely black pupils, and were fixed upon the throned King with a look of beast-like hate.

The author does not overdo his description, relying on the effect of the narrator to convey what is being observed:

What he then saw impressed him, as he has often told me, more than he could have conceived any drawing or picture capable of impressing him. And, though the drawing he saw is no longer in existence, there is a photograph of it (which I possess) which fully bears out that statement.

While burning the picture seemed to deal with the apparition, as with most of James’ work the reader does not get a full explanation or tidy ending. The author relates these stories as events, with often no explanation, rational or otherwise.

The Mezzotint

Mezzotint refers to a monochrome printmaking process widely used in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries in England (this description courtesy of Wikipedia.)

“The Mezzotint” references a print that a collector is offered by a dealer, with a price that, at first glance, appears to be excessive. The collector finds the print, a depiction of a country house in moonlight, to be of no great value. However, over the subsequent story the print appears to be more than it seems, as it changes. IT is never seen to be moving, but each time it is looked at events appear to be unfolding. First there is a figure appearing on the edge of the picture, then a figure on all fours crawling across the lawn, the house with no figure but one of the windows is open, and finally:

There was the house, as before, under the waning moon and the drifting clouds. The window that had been open was shut, and the figure was once more on the lawn: but not this time crawling cautiously on hands and knees. Now it was erect and stepping swiftly, with long strides, towards the front of the picture. The moon was behind it, and the black drapery hung down over its face so that only hints of that could be seen, and what was visible made the spectators profoundly thankful that they could see no more than a white dome-like forehead and a few straggling hairs. The head was bent down, and the arms were tightly clasped over an object which could be dimly seen and identified as a child, whether dead or living it was not possible to say. The legs of the appearance alone could be plainly discerned, and they were horribly thin.

James has again excelled in innovation, in the way he has introduced the apparition and his description of it. I also liked how the protagonist of this story attempts to check his own perceptions by having friends look at the picture as well. They eventually identify the house, and it seems the owner did lose his son under mysterious circumstances. It also appears that it was the same man who made the print, just before he died. Again, this is all the reader ever finds out, so what this creature was and why it abducted a baby is never revealed. James never writes as though the story has more to it – the only person who might have known what was going on was the man himself, and he died. James’ suggestion of events, of appearances, enhance the eeriness of the stories.

Number 13

We are familiar with hotels not having a thirteenth floor, but according to this story inns in the nineteenth century did not have a room 13. This is the basis for this story. The protagonist is staying at an inn in Denmark and states he has seen no room 13 in a number of Danish hotels. However at night he sees a room numbered 13 next to his own. When half asleep he sees his dimly lit room seems smaller than it was during the day. The protagonist, there to research the history of the reformation period in the area, finds out that the last archbishop owned a house that was tenanted by a man others felt practiced supernatural arts and had sold his soul. The current archivist admitted he could not work out which house it was that the bishop owned. Room 13 was there that night, with noises and at least one voice inside. The room shrinks at night, and when he goes to the window he sees the occupant of number 13 at his window, smoking a cigarette, with a red light flickering in the background.  But, the landlord tells him, there is no number 13 and never has been. He hears when he is in his room what he thinks to be the occupant of number 12 dancing next door. The shadows he can see cast on the wall opposite show waving arms and feet kicking into the air. The landlord comes to the protagonist’s room to visit, and while there they hear a horrible type of singing from the room next door.

It was a high, thin voice that they heard, and it seemed dry, as if from long disuse. Of words or tune there was no question. It went sailing up to a surprising height, and was carried down with a despairing moan as of a winter wind in a hollow chimney, or an organ whose wind fails suddenly. It was a really horrible sound, and Anderson felt that if he had been alone he must have fled for refuge and society to some neighbour bagman’s room.

The occupant of room 12 then knocks to ask that they stop the noise, only to realise that the noise is still continuing and it isn’t any of them. An attempt is made to break into the room (which opens briefly and an arm comes out, trying to grab the person standing in front of it.). The door disappears, leaving only the wall. After digging into the floor next to the wall in number 12, they find a box containing a document in a language no one can read. Again the author makes no conclusion, though the inference is that the man accused of selling his soul in the past in fact did so, and the phantom room 13 was where his soul had been trapped. Maybe.

Oh Whistle and I’ll come to you, my lad

I consider this to be M R James’ best story in terms of the writing. It shows to advantage all his best talents and the result is a very good, very scary story. The opening involves a conversation between the protagonist and some colleagues, professors at a university, regarding their plans for the break. The short conversation expertly sets up the scene without overlong exposition – we find out where the protagonist is going, where he is staying and why (golf), a colleague’s request that he look at some local ruins to which he agrees, another colleague inviting himself down for a few days, and finally, that the room has two beds (which seems very unimportant, but isn’t.) We also learn that the protagonist is very scornful of any talk of ghosts or supernatural occurrences. His visit to the ruins results in him finding an old whistle, and it is after he finds this that he sees a vague shape in the distance, of someone running as if to catch up to him. He doesn’t think much of this at the time, which again, is a technique of James – something occurs that the protagonist dismisses, but the reader starts to think ‘uh oh’, before the protagonist even blows the whistle, which he of course does. He notices a figure outside of the inn, blows the whistle, a gust of wind suddenly blows up that is so violent the window blows open, and he struggles to get it shut:

While you might count twenty Parkins was struggling with the small casement, and felt almost as if he were pushing back a sturdy burglar, so strong was the pressure. It slackened all at once, and the window banged to and latched itself.

Just a bit creepy! The story continues with mysterious dreams or visions, keeping the protagonist awake as he watches someone running in fear from a strange apparition in ‘fluttering draperies’. The Colonel he plays golf with mentions a story about whistling for the wind, and a little boy they run into near the hotel is terrified that an apparition was waving at him out of the window. The window in question is Parkins’ room. James continues to drip-feed the reader incident after incident, culminating in:

the reader will hardly, perhaps, imagine how dreadful it was to him to see a figure suddenly sit up in what he had known was an empty bed.

that what he chiefly remembers about it is a horrible, an intensely horrible, face of crumpled linen.

Again James gives us a highly unusual monster, an apparition apparently insubstantial enough that it needs to create form out of bedsheets. This is coupled with an item for summoning that today’s tv shows would likely refer to as a ‘cursed object’. It ticks every box for a well-crafted and suspenseful ghost story, and has had two adaptations for tv.

The short stories of M R James in this collection and others are superb examples of horror writing, dealing with ghosts, demons and strange supernatural entities. James did not provide full explanations (or any explanation) as in most of his stories there is no explanation to be had. He had no qualms with leaving the reader wondering about what has occurred and clearly did not feel the need to provide explanations and tied up endings. His stories relate an event as experienced by the various protagonists, and what information is provided is only what would be naturally available to them. I like this restraint and I believe it lends an extra spooky edge to the stories, not knowing exactly what was going on or why it was happening. I highly recommend this author.