A Ghost Story
by Mark Twain
I took a large room, far up Broadway, in a huge
old building whose upper stories had been wholly unoccupied for years, until I
came. The place had long been given up to dust and cobwebs, to solitude and
silence. I seemed groping among the tombs and invading the privacy of the dead,
that first night I climbed up to my quarters. For the first time in my life a
superstitious dread came over me; and as I turned a dark angle of the stairway
and an invisible cobweb swung its slazy woof in my face and clung there, I
shuddered as one who had encountered a phantom.
I was glad enough when I reached my room and locked out the mould and the
darkness. A cheery fire was burning in the grate, and I sat down before it with
a comforting sense of relief. For two hours I sat there, thinking of bygone
times; recalling old scenes, and summoning half-forgotten faces out of the mists
of the past; listening, in fancy, to voices that long ago grew silent for all
time, and to once familiar songs that nobody sings now. And as my reverie
softened down to a sadder and sadder pathos, the shrieking of the winds outside
softened to a wail, the angry beating of the rain against the panes diminished
to a tranquil patter, and one by one the noises in the street subsided, until
the hurrying foot-steps of the last belated straggler died away in the distance
and left no sound behind.
The fire had burned low. A sense of loneliness crept over me. I arose and
undressed, moving on tiptoe about the room, doing stealthily what I had to do,
as if I were environed by sleeping enemies whose slumbers it would be fatal to
break. I covered up in bed, and lay listening to the rain and wind and the faint
creaking of distant shutters, till they lulled me to sleep.
I slept profoundly, but how long I do not know. All at once I found myself awake,
and filled with a shuddering expectancy. All was still. All but my own heart --
I could hear it beat. Presently the bedclothes began to slip away slowly toward
the foot of the bed, as if some one were pulling them! I could not stir; I could
not speak. Still the blankets slipped deliberately away, till my breast was
uncovered. Then with a great effort I seized them and drew them over my head. I
waited, listened, waited. Once more that steady pull began, and once more I lay
torpid a century of dragging seconds till my breast was naked again. At last I
roused my energies and snatched the covers back to their place and held them
with a strong grip. I waited. By and by I felt a faint tug, and took a fresh
grip. The tug strengthened to a steady strain -- it grew stronger and stronger.
My hold parted, and for the third time the blankets slid away. I groaned. An
answering groan came from the foot of the bed! Beaded drops of sweat stood upon
my forehead. I was more dead than alive. Presently I heard a heavy footstep in
my room -- the step of an elephant, it seemed to me -- it was not like anything
human. But it was moving FROM me -- there was relief in that. I heard it
approach the door -- pass out without moving bolt or lock -- and wander away
among the dismal corridors, straining the floors and joists till they creaked
again as it passed -- and then silence reigned once more.
When my excitement had calmed, I said to myself, "This is a dream -- simply
a hideous dream." And so I lay thinking it over until I convinced myself
that it WAS a dream, and then a comforting laugh relaxed my lips and I was happy
again. I got up and struck a light; and when I found that the locks and bolts
were just as I had left them, another soothing laugh welled in my heart and
rippled from my lips. I took my pipe and lit it, and was just sitting down
before the fire, when -- down went the pipe out of my nerveless fingers, the
blood forsook my cheeks, and my placid breathing was cut short with a gasp! In
the ashes on the hearth, side by side with my own bare footprint, was another,
so vast that in comparison mine was but an infant's'! Then I had HAD a visitor,
and the elephant tread was explained.
I put out the light and returned to bed, palsied with fear. I lay a long time,
peering into the darkness, and listening. Then I heard a grating noise overhead,
like the dragging of a heavy body across the floor; then the throwing down of
the body, and the shaking of my windows in response to the concussion. In
distant parts of the building I heard the muffled slamming of doors. I heard, at
intervals, stealthy footsteps creeping in and out among the corridors, and up
and down the stairs. Sometimes these noises approached my door, hesitated, and
went away again. I heard the clanking of chains faintly, in remote passages, and
listened while the clanking grew nearer -- while it wearily climbed the
stairways, marking each move by the loose surplus of chain that fell with an
accented rattle upon each succeeding step as the goblin that bore it advanced. I
heard muttered sentences; half-uttered screams that seemed smothered violently;
and the swish of invisible garments, the rush of invisible wings. Then I became
conscious that my chamber was invaded -- that I was not alone. I heard sighs and
breathings about my bed, and mysterious whisperings. Three little spheres of
soft phosphorescent light appeared on the ceiling directly over my head, clung
and glowed there a moment, and then dropped -- two of them upon my face and one
upon the pillow. They spattered, liquidly, and felt warm. Intuition told me they
had turned to gouts of blood as they fell -- I needed no light to satisfy myself
of that. Then I saw pallid faces, dimly luminous, and white uplifted hands,
floating bodiless in the air -- floating a moment and then disappearing. The
whispering ceased, and the voices and the sounds, and a solemn stillness
followed. I waited and listened. I felt that I must have light or die. I was
weak with fear. I slowly raised myself toward a sitting posture, and my face
came in contact with a clammy hand! All strength went from me apparently, and I
fell back like a stricken invalid. Then I heard the rustle of a garment -- it
seemed to pass to the door and go out.
When everything was still once more, I crept out of bed, sick and feeble, and
lit the gas with a hand that trembled as if it were aged with a hundred years.
The light brought some little cheer to my spirits. I sat down and fell into a
dreamy contemplation of that great footprint in the ashes. By and by its
outlines began to waver and grow dim. I glanced up and the broad gas flame was
slowly wilting away. In the same moment I heard that elephantine tread again. I
noted its approach, nearer and nearer, along the musty halls, and dimmer and
dimmer the light waned. The tread reached my very door and paused -- the light
had dwindled to a sickly blue, and all things about me lay in a spectral
twilight. The door did not open, and yet I felt a faint gust of air fan my cheek,
and presently was conscious of a huge, cloudy presence before me. I watched it
with fascinated eyes. A pale glow stole over the Thing; gradually its cloudy
folds took shape -- an arm appeared, then legs, then a body, and last a great
sad face looked out of the vapor. Stripped of its filmy housings, naked,
muscular and comely, the majestic Cardiff Giant loomed above me!
All my misery vanished -- for a child might know that no harm could come with
that benignant countenance. My cheerful spirits returned at once, and in
sympathy with them the gas flamed up brightly again. Never a lonely outcast was
so glad to welcome company as I was to greet the friendly giant. I said:
"Why, is it nobody but you? Do you know, I have been scared to death for
the last two or three hours? I am most honestly glad to see you. I wish I had a
chair -- Here, here, don't try to sit down in that thing!
But it was too late. He was in it before I could stop him, and down he went -- I
never saw a chair shivered so in my life.
"Stop, stop, You'll ruin ev--"
Too late again. There was another crash, and another chair was resolved into its
"Confound it, haven't you got any judgment at all? Do you want to ruin all
the furniture on the place? Here, here, you petrified fool--"
But it was no use. Before I could arrest him he had sat down on the bed, and it
was a melancholy ruin.
"Now what sort of a way is that to do? First you come lumbering about the
place bringing a legion of vagabond goblins along with you to worry me to death,
and then when I overlook an indelicacy of costume which would not be tolerated
anywhere by cultivated people except in a respectable theater, and not even
there if the nudity were of YOUR sex, you repay me by wrecking all the furniture
you can find to sit down on. And why will you? You damage yourself as much as
you do me. You have broken off the end of your spinal column, and littered up
the floor with chips of your hams till the place looks like a marble yard. You
ought to be ashamed of yourself -- you are big enough to know better."
"Well, I will not break any more furniture. But what am I to do? I have not
had a chance to sit down for a century." And the tears came into his eyes.
"Poor devil," I said, "I should not have been so harsh with you.
And you are an orphan, too, no doubt. But sit down on the floor here -- nothing
else can stand your weight -- and besides, we cannot be sociable with you away
up there above me; I want you down where I can perch on this high counting-house
stool and gossip with you face to face."
So he sat down on the floor, and lit a pipe which I gave him, threw one of my
red blankets over his shoulders, inverted my sitz-bath on his head, helmet
fashion, and made himself picturesque and comfortable. Then he crossed his
ankles, while I renewed the fire, and exposed the flat, honey-combed bottoms of
his prodigious feet to the grateful warmth.
"What is the matter with the bottom of your feet and the back of your legs,
that they are gouged upso?"
"Infernal chillblains -- I caught them clear up to the back of my head,
roosting out there under Newell's farm. But I love the place; I love it as one
loves his old home. There is no peace for me like the peace I feel when I am
We talked along for half an hour, and then I noticed that he looked tired, and
spoke of it. "Tired?" he said. "Well, I should think so. And now
I will tell you all about it, since you have treated me so well. I am the spirit
of the Petrified Man that lies across the street there in the Museum. I am the
ghost of the Cardiff Giant. I can have no rest, no peace, till they have given
that poor body burial again. Now what was the most natural thing for me to do,
to make men satisfy this wish? Terrify them into it! -- haunt the place where
the body lay! So I haunted the museum night after night. I even got other
spirits to help me. But it did no good, for nobody ever came to the museum at
midnight. Then it occurred to me to come over the way and haunt this place a
little. I felt that if I ever got a hearing I must succeed, for I had the most
efficient company that perdition could furnish. Night after night we have
shivered around through these mildewed halls, dragging chains, groaning,
whispering, tramping up and down stairs, till, to tell you the truth, I am
almost worn out. But when I saw a light in your room to-night I roused my
energies again and went at it with a deal of the old freshness. But I am tired
out -- entirely fagged out. Give me, I beseech you, give me some hope!"
I lit off my perch in a burst of excitement, and exclaimed:
"This transcends everything -- everything that ever did occur! Why you poor
blundering old fossil, you have had all your trouble for nothing -- you have
been haunting a PLASTER CAST of yourself -- the real Cardiff Giant is in Albany!
[Footnote by Twain: A fact. The original fraud was ingeniously and fraudfully
duplicated, and exhibited in New York as the "only genuine" Cardiff
Giant (to the unspeakable disgust of the owners of the real colossus) at the
very same time that the latter was drawing crowds at a museum in Albany.]
Confound it, don't you know your own remains?"
I never saw such an eloquent look of shame, of pitiable humiliation, overspread
a countenance before.
The Petrified Man rose slowly to his feet, and said: "Honestly, IS that
"As true as I am sitting here."
He took the pipe from his mouth and laid it on the mantel, then stood irresolute
a moment (unconsciously, from old habit, thrusting his hands where his
pantaloons pockets should have been, and meditatively dropping his chin on his
breast), and finally said:
"Well -- I NEVER felt so absurd before. The Petrified Man has sold
everybody else, and now the mean fraud has ended by selling its own ghost! My
son, if there is any charity left in your heart for a poor friendless phantom
like me, don't let this get out. Think how YOU would feel if you had made such
an ass of yourself."
I heard his, stately tramp die away, step by step down the stairs and out into
the deserted street, and felt sorry that he was gone, poor fellow -- and sorrier
still that he had carried off my red blanket and my bath tub.