MY CEMETERY ADVENTURE.

I AM not what is usually termed a nervous man. In the course of my life I have had a good many shocks, pleasant and unpleasant, and have survived them all. The heavy spirit footsteps which I often hear late at night in my office building no longer thrill me, and I have attended many awe inspiring séances without the slightest qualms. But nothing will ever persuade me to walk through a cemetery at night.

I tried it once in order to win and failed lamentably. I was the victim of practical jokers, and lost both my wager and my nerve. Although the incidents I am about to relate occurred nearly thirty years ago, I have never quite lost the fear of graveyards which my terrifying experience first inspired.

I was a young man at the time, and had just become interested in Spiritualism. I was neither a believer nor an unbeliever, but was investigating the subject in order to discover the truth of psychic phenomena.

I was certainly not frightened of ghosts or spooks or any of the other kindred beings which are usually associated with the spirit world.

A few of my brother magicians--sceptics all of them--pulled my leg incessantly with regard to my spiritualistic investigations. I took their banter in good part, but secretly ached for the opportunity to show them I had no fear of the "black bogies," as they called them.

The opportunity was not long in coming. A man called Bradley, who has since died, asked me point blank if I was frightened of ghosts.

"Of course not," I replied.

"Well, we'll bet you a fiver you won't walk across the Mount Cemetery and back at two o'clock in the morning."

"I'll take you on," I retorted. "But who's going to get the keys?"

"You leave that to us. We shall be at the main gates at two o'clock to-morrow morning."

Those who know the Mount Cemetery, Liverpool, will testify that it is one of the largest graveyards in the district. I realised that it would be a longish walk to undertake at such an hour in the morning, and knew the Cemetery would hardly wear the same peaceful aspect that it has in daylight. Nevertheless, I can honestly say that I was not in the least frightened by my hasty resolution, and congratulated myself on being able to earn such an easy fiver.

I arrived punctually at the appointed place, but found my four magical friends there before me. By some means or other they had obtained the keys, and were clustered together, talking in low undertones.

"Hullo, Goldston," said one as he saw me approaching. "Are you fit for the walk?"

"Rather?" I replied, quite at my ease. "The money's as good as mine."

"Glad you think so. We'll wait here until you come back. Best of luck to you." He unlocked the gate, and motioned me to enter.

It was not until I had passed from speaking distance of my friends that I began to feel the first twinges of nervousness. The deathly stillness of everything around me, and the pale moonlight glinting on the cold, stone monuments sent queer little shivers down my back. Occasionally the cool night breeze would catch up a few leaves and pieces of paper, and send them scurrying over the gravel with a weird scratching sound. I began to perspire.

I lengthened my pace, determined to cover the distance in the shortest possible time. I had covered about a quarter of a mile when the rustling of a few leaves behind me caused me to turn my head, as though to satisfy myself that "Old Nick" was not really on my trail. What I saw turned me cold with fear.

Vapour was rising from a nearby gravestone, a kind of white luminous vapour that glistened with an unearthly light. It was like polished steam, yet I could see right through it. Yes, it was coming from another grave as well. And another. It was coming from all of them! Oh, heavens! what was it? It must be the ghosts coming to haunt me for my intrusion!

I stood like a statue, too frightened to move. Nothing happened. No spirit voices greeted me, no bony hands stretched out their spidery fingers to clutch my clothes. Everything was quiet. Even the breeze was stilled. Although I dared not yet move, my numbed senses began to function again.

"What is it?" I whispered. "The spirits can't be lighting fires in the coffins." I pondered, and realisation came. "You fathead!" I said aloud.

I had heard before of the strange phosphorous vapour which has been observed to rise from graves at night-time. This was my first introduction to it. Even to this day I do not know the true scientific explanation of the phenomenon, but have been told it is an outcome of the chemical construction of human bones. In any case, I knew now what it looked like, although I told myself that the experience had probably taken ten years off my life.

"Nothing to be frightened of," I murmured, and set off once more for the gates on the far side of the cemetery. I had scarcely walked another hundred yards when I had the greatest shock of my life.

"Don't go that way, sir!" said a woman's voice.

"In God's name, who is it?" I screamed.

"Please, oh, please, don't go that way!" repeated the voice.

I stood not upon the order of my going, but flew as fast as my legs would carry me. All thoughts of my fiver had gone, and I raced back along the track by which I had approached. I had not gone far, however, when my courage returned. Perhaps, after all, my nerves were playing tricks with me. I pulled up short, and listened intently.

"Please, sir. Please, oh please!" Again I heard it, close at hand. The voice was chasing me!

That decided me. I ran faster and faster. I realised, with a certain amount of relief, that the unknown spirit was losing ground on me. But there was no doubt that it was trying to catch me. I heard the thin, plaintive cry following in my wake, and gradually getting fainter as I gained speed.

I reached the cemetery gates in a state of collapse.

"Hello, Will," said Bradley, who was peering through the bars. "What's wrong?"

"For Heaven's sake let me out?" I spluttered. "There's a ghost just behind."

"A ghost? You must be dreaming."

"Let me out. I tell you the awful thing's chasing me. It's coming now."

"The ghost" came. It proved to be one of Bradley's lady friends! The girl was hard up, and for a pound note had readily consented to lie in wait behind a tombstone for the unsuspecting victim.

"I hope I didn't frighten you too much," she said to me, afterwards. I sheepishly complimented her on her courage. But the charming smile she gave me never recompensed me for the enormous shock to my nervous system. I haven't got over it yet.

That is why I will not walk through a cemetery at night.