Episode 38: The Ghost's Summons by Ada Buisson

👻 Dive into the spine-tingling world of Victorian ghost stories with our latest episode on #ATisketTasketPodcast! 🕰️ Join host Gina as she uncovers the chilling tale of "The Ghost's Summons" and the mysterious death, delving into the supernatural mysteries of the past. Discover the eerie history of #HalloweenNurseryRhymes, the fascination with #VictorianGhostStories, and the enigmatic circumstances surrounding Ada Buisson's' life and death. Tune in for a hauntingly good time and get ready for more ghostly episodes to come! 🎙️ #Podcast #GhostStories #Supernatural #VictorianEra #SpookyTales

Transcript

Gina: 0:46

Hello and welcome to a A Tisket-Tasket at podcast. I'm your host, Gina. In this month on the podcast, I wanted to do Halloween nursery rhymes. I am leaving for the American folklore conference in just a few weeks, but there is still time to help me get out there. Check out the link in the description below to see how you can support this podcast. As I mentioned in last week's recordings, Halloween is generally a new holiday and the word not any nursery rhymes that I could find the talked about Halloween. I did find a number of rhymes to talk about childhood death, mortality. But as I sat down and research them, I honestly just could not find a lot about the history of them. Plus they were horrifically sad and depressing. And after many hours, I just decided that didn't fit the theme or tone of this podcast. That might be something I revisit. But. I liked the levity of Halloween and the celebration of life and death. And. I wanted to do something different. Late last week. However, I had an idea. You see, ghost stories were very popular among children and adults alike just like today. They just weren't told in October, like we do today instead they were a Christmas time tradition. And the Gothic and Victorian era, Christmas ghost stories were very popular way to pass the time. On those long winter nights. All things ghost in Erie, where sensational at the time, likely from the ancient Yule tide traditions, featuring the darkest nights of the year. We even hear references to this in popular Christmas carols that we sing today, such as it's the most wonderful time of the year where we're telling those stories. For the month of October, then I've decided I'll read a four of these stories and give you a bit of a brief history of them. This week, we'll be reading ADA abuse. The ghost summons published in the 1860s after her death. ADA abuse in 1839 to 1866. It wasn't an English writer, mostly known for her ghost stories. Not much is known about her, except that she and her sister were vocal, suffragettes. She wrote in publish frequently in the magazine. Belgravia. Which was edited and published by popular Victorian author, Mary Elizabeth Braedon. Sadly, Buson died at the very young age of 27. And then when I went to go look up of how she died or more about her history, I just couldn't find out. But nevertheless, I really enjoyed reading the ghost summons and I want to share it with you today. Sir. A patient. It was in the early days of my professional career. When patients were scarce in fees, scarcer, and no, I was in the act of sitting down to my chop. And had promised myself. A glass of steaming punch afterwards in honor of the Christmas season. I hurried. Instantly into my surgery. I entered briskly, but no soon did I catch sight of the figure standing, leaning against the counter. Then I started back with a strange feeling of whore. Which for the life of me, I could not comprehend. I never, shall I forget the ghastliness of the face? The white horror stamped upon every feature. The agony, which seemed to sink the very eyes beneath the contracted brows. It was awful to me to behold. Accustom as I was to census of terror. You seek advice. I began with some hesitation. No, I am not ill. You require them. Hush. He interrupted. Approaching more nearly and dropping his already low murmur to a mere whisper. I believe you are not rich. Would you be willing to earn a thousand pounds? A thousand pounds. His words seemed to burn my very ears. I should be thankful if I could do so. Honestly, I replied with dignity. What is the surface required of me? A peculiar look of intense whore past over the white face before me. But the blue black lips answered firmly. To attend a deathbed. A thousand pounds to attend a deathbed. Where am I to go then? Whose is it? Mine. The voice in which this was said sounded so hollow and distant. That involuntarily. I shrink back yours. What nonsense? You're not a dying man. You are pale, but you appear perfectly healthy. You hush. He interrupted. I know all this, you could not be more convinced of my physical health than I am myself yet. I know that before the clock tolls, the first hour after midnight, I shall be a dead man. But. He shuttered slightly, but stretching out his hand, commandingly motioned me to be silent. I am, but to informed of what I affirm, he said quietly. I received a mysterious summons from the dead. No mortal can avail me. I am, does doomed as the wretch on whom the judge has passed sentence. I do not come either to seek your advice or to argue the matter with you. But simply to buy your services. I offer you a thousand pounds to pass the night in my chamber. And witnessed the scene, which takes place the, some may appear to you extravagant. But I have no further need to count the cost of any gratification. And the spectacle you will have to witness is no common site of horror. The word strange as they were, were spoken calmly enough. But as the last sentence dropped slowly from the liver lips. And expression of such wild horror. Again, passed over the stranger's face that in spite of the immense fee. I hesitated to answer. You fear to trust to the promise of a dead man. See, hear and be convinced. He exclaimed eagerly. And the next instance on the counter between us Leah parchment document and following the indication of that white, muscular hand, I read the words into Mr. Frederick keyed a 14th high street Alton. I have a quest, the sum of 1000 pounds for certain services rendered to me. My answer was to walk across the room and take down my hat. And then lock the door of the surgery, connecting with the house. It was a dark icy cold night. And somehow the courage and determination, which the sight of my own name and connection with a thousand pounds had given me fled considerably. As I found myself hurried along through the silent darkness, by a man who's deathbed, I was about to attend. He was grimly silent. But as his hand touched mine in spite of the frost. It felt like a burning coal. Um, we went tramp tramp through the snow. On on till even I grew weary and it links. On my appalled ear struck the chimes of a church clock while it's close at hand, I distinguished the snowy helix of a church yard. Heavens was this awful scene of which I was to be witnessed to take place veritably amongst the dead. Uh, 11 grown the doomed man. Gracious God, but two hours more and that ghostly messenger will bring the summons. Come come for mercy sick. Let us hasten. There was, but a short road separating us now from a wall was surrounded a large mansion. And along this we hasten until we reached a small door. Passing through this in a few minutes, we were self Aaliyah sending the private staircase to a splendidly furnished apartment, which left no doubt of the wealth of its owner. All was intensely silent, however, through the house and about this room in particular, there was a stillness that as I gaze around, struck me as almost gasoline. My companion glanced at the clock on the mantle shelf. And sink into a large chair by the side of the fire with a shutter. Only an hour and a half longer. He muttered. Create heaven. I thought I had more fortitude. This horror of unmanned me. Then in a fiercer tone and clutching my arm, he added ha. You mocked me. You think me mad, but wait till you see, wait till you see. I put my hand on his wrist for, there was now a fever in his sunken eyes, which checked the superstitions chill, which had been gathering around me and made me hope that after all my first suspicion was correct, and that my patient was, but the victim of some fearful hallucination. Mach you, I answered soothingly far from it. I sympathize intensely with you. And when do much to aid you, you require sleep light down and leave me to watch. He groaned, but rose and began throwing off his clothes and watching my opportunity. I slipped a sleeping powder, which I had managed to put in my pocket before leaving the surgery into the tumbler of claret, the stood beside him. The more I saw, the more, I felt convinced that it was the nervous system of my patient, which required by attention. And it was the sincere satisfaction. I saw him drink the wine and then stretch himself on a luxurious bed. Huh. That I, as the clock struck 12. And instead of a grown, the deep breathing was sleeper sounded through the room. You won't receive any summons tonight. And i may make myself comfortable Noiselessly therefore I replenish the fire, poured myself a large glass of wine. And drawing the curtain so that the firelight should not disturb the sleeper. I put myself in a position to follow his example how long I slept. I know not, but suddenly I roused with the start. And as ghostly a thrill of horror as i ever remember to felt my life Something. What I knew, not seemed near something nameless, but honorably. Awful. I gazed round. The fire admitted a faint blue glow, just sufficient to enable me to see that the room was exactly the same. As when I fell asleep. But the long hand of the clock wondered, but five minutes of the mysterious hour, which was to be the death moment of the summoned man. Was there anything in it then? The truth in this strange story he had told. The silence. Wasn't intense. I could not even hear breasts from the bed. No, it was about to raise an approach. When again, that awful horror sees me. And at the same moment. My eyes fell upon the mirror, opposite the door, and I saw great heaven, the awful shape, that gasoline mockery of what had been humanity. Was it really a messenger from the buried quiet, dead. It stood there, invisible desk close, but the awful face was gasoline with corruption. And the sunken eyes gleamed forth, a green glasses glare, which seemed a veritable blast from the infernal fires below. To move or utter a sound in that hideous presence was impossible. And like a statue I sat and saw the hoard shape. Move slowly towards the bed. What was the awful seed enacted there? I know not, I heard nothing except a low stifled agonized grow. And I saw the shadow of that gasoline messenger bending over the bed. Whether it was some dreadful, but wordless sentence. It's breathless lips conveyed. As I stood there, I know not. But for an instance, the shadow of a claw, like can't. From which the third finger was missing. Appeared extended over the doomed man's head. And then as the clock struck, one clear silvery stroke. it fell. And a wild shriek ran through the room. Uh, death streak. I am not given to fainting, but I certainly confess that the next 10 minutes of my existence was a cold blank. And even what I did manage to stagger to my feet, I gazed round vainly endeavoring to understand the chili whore, which still possessed me. Thank God. The room was rid of that awful presence. I saw that. So. Gulping down some wine. I lightened a wax taper and staggered towards the bed. Uh, how I prayed that after all I might have been dreaming and that my own excited imagination had been conjured up some hideous memory of the dissecting room. But one glance was sufficient to answer that. No, the summons had indeed been given in answered. I flashed the light over the dead man's face. Swollen convulsed still with the death agony. But suddenly I shrank back. Even as I gazed the expression of the face, seem to change. The blackness faded into a deathly whiteness, the convulsed features relaxed. And even as the victim of that dread operation still lived a sad solemn smile stole over the pale lips. I was intensely horrified. But still I retained sufficient self-consciousness to be struck professionally by such a phenomenon. Surely there was something more than supernational agency and all this. Again, I scrutinized the dead face and even the throat and chest, but with the exception of a tiny pimple on one temple beneath a cluster of hair. Not a mark appeared. So look at that corpse one would have believed that this man had indeed died by the visitation of God peacefully while sleeping. How long I stood there. I know not the time enough to gather my scattered senses and to reflect that all things considered my own position would be very unpleasant. If I was found thus unexpectedly in the room of the mysteriously dead man. So as noiselessly, as I could. I made my way out of the house. No one met me in the private staircase, the little door opening into The road was easily unfastened and thankful indeed was i to feel again the fresh wintery air as i hurried along the road by the church yard There was a magnificent funeral soon in that church. And it was said that the young widow of the buried men was inconsolable. And then rumors got abroad of a horrible apparition, which had been seen on the night of the deaths. And it was whispered the young widow was terrified, insisted upon leaving her splendid mansion. I was too mystified with the whole affair to risk my reputation by saying what I knew. And I should have allowed my share and it to remain forever buried in oblivion. Had I not suddenly heard that the widow objecting to many of the legacies in the last Wolf, her husband. Intended to dispute it. One on the score of insanity. And then there gradually erodes the rumor of his belief and having received a mysterious summits. On this, I went to the lawyer and sent a message to the lady that as the last person who had attended her husband, I am undertook to prove his sanity. And I besought her to grant me an interview in which I would relate as strange and horrible story as ear as ever heard. The same evening, I received an invitation to go to the mansion. I was ushered immediately into a splendid room and they're standing before the fire was the most dazzlingly beautiful young creature I had ever seen. She was very small, but exquisitely made. Had it not been for the dignity of her carriage? I should've believed her a mere child. With a stately bow. She had advanced, but did not speak. I come on a strange and painful errand I began. And then I started for, I happened to glance full into her eyes and from them down to the small right hand, grasping the chair. The wedding ring was on that hands. I conclude you are the Mr. Keyed who requested permission to tell me some absurd ghost story. And who my late husband mentions here. And as she spoke, she stretched out her left hand towards something. But what I knew, not from my eyes were fixed on that hand. Poorer. White and delicate. It may be, but it was shaped like a claw in the third finger was missing. One sentence was enough after that. Madame. All I can tell you is that the ghost to someone, your husband was marked by a singular deformity. The third finger on the left hand was missing. I said sternly. And the next instance I had left that beautiful sinful presence. That will was never disputed. The next morning to I received a check for a thousand pounds. And the next news I heard of the widow was that she had herself seen that awful apparition and had left the mansion. Immediately. Thank you for listening to this week's episode of Task at podcast for the next three weeks, we will be reading other ghostly stories. And talking about the weirdness of nursery rhymes.

18:53

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