Heidi

12 The House is Haunted!

Strange things began to happen in that house in Frankfurt. Miss Rottenmeier had taken to wandering silently about it, deep in thought; and if she had to go from one room to another or along the passages after dark, she often looked over her shoulder or peered into corners, as if afraid that someone might creep out of the shadow, and pluck at her skirt. If she had to go upstairs to the richly furnished guest‐rooms or down to the great drawing‐room, in which footsteps echoed at the best of times and where old councillors in stiff white collars stared out from the portraits on the walls, she always made Tinette go with her — in case there should be anything to carry up or down. Strange to say, Tinette behaved in much the same way. If she had to go to those rooms, she got Sebastian to go with her, on the same pretext of helping to carry something. And Sebastian seemed also to feel the same way. If he was sent into any of the unused rooms, he called John the coachman and asked him to go too — in case he could not manage the job alone. And everyone did as they were asked and went along too, without any fuss, though their help was never really needed. It looked as if they all thought that they might want assistance themselves some time. Down in the kitchen things were no better. The old cook, who had been there a long time, stood by her saucepans, shaking her head and muttering, ‘That I should live to see such goings on.’

The reason for all this uneasiness was that for some time past the servants had been finding the front door wide open every morning when they came down, but there was never anything to show who had opened it. For the first day or two the house had been thoroughly searched to see whether anything had been stolen, for it was thought a burglar might have hidden himself during the day and made off with his booty during the night. However, nothing was missing. Then they double‐locked the front door and bolted it every night, but still they found it wide open in the morning, no matter how early the servants came down.

At last, Miss Rottenmeier persuaded John and Sebastian to spend a night downstairs in the room next to the drawing‐room, to see if they could discover the cause of the mystery. They were provided with weapons belonging to Mr Sesemann, and a bottle of wine to fortify them for whatever might happen.

When evening came they settled down and immediately opened the wine which soon made them talkative. then they grew sleepy and lolled back in their armchairs and fell into a doze. The clock striking twelve brought Sebastian to his senses and he said something to John but John was fast asleep and only settled himself more comfortably into his chair at each effort to rouse him. Sebastian, however, was wide awake now, and listening for unusual sounds. But none came, either from the house or from the street. In fact, the silence was so deep that he grew uneasy. He saw it was no use trying to wake John by calling to him so he shook him, but another hour passed before John was really awake and remembered what he was there for. He got to his feet then, with a fine show of courage, and said:

‘We’d better go and see what’s going on. Don’t be afraid. Just follow me.’

He pushed open the door, which had been left ajar, and went out into the passage. Almost at once the candle in his hand was blown out by a gust of wind from the front door which was standing wide open. He rushed back into the room at that, almost knocking Sebastian over, and slammed the door and locked it. Then he struck a match and lit the candle again. Sebastian did not know what had happened. John was portly enough to block his view completely and he had seen nothing. He had not even felt the draught. But John was white as a sheet and trembling like an aspen leaf.

‘What’s the matter? What was outside?’ Sebastian asked anxiously.

‘The front door was wide open,’ John told him, ‘and there was a white figure on the stairs which suddenly vanished.’

A cold shiver ran down Sebastian’s spine. They sat down close together and did not stir thereafter until it was broad daylight and they could hear people going by in the street. Then they went and shut the front door and then reported to Miss Rottenmeier. They found her already up and dressed, for she had been awake most of the night wondering what they would discover. As soon as she had heard their story, she sat down and wrote very emphatically to Mr Sesemann, telling him she was so paralysed with fright she could hardly hold a pen, and must beg him to come home at once as no one in the house could sleep easily in their beds for fear of what might happen next.

The answer, by return of post, said that it was not possible for Mr Sesemann to leave his business and return home so precipitately. He was surprised to hear of a ‘ghost’ about the house, and hoped it was only some temporary disturbance. However, if the trouble continued, he suggested that Miss Rottenmeier should write and ask his mother to return to Frankfurt. She would certainly know how to deal with any ‘ghosts’ effectively, so that they did not show themselves again. Miss Rottenmeier was annoyed that he did not take the matter more seriously. She wrote immediately to Mrs Sesemann, but got no satisfaction from this quarter either. The old lady replied somewhat tartly that she had no intention of travelling all the way to Frankfurt again because Rottenmeier imagined she had seen a ghost. There had never been a ‘ghost’ in the house, and in the old lady’s opinion, the present one would prove to be very much alive. If Rottenmeier could not deal with the matter herself, the letter went on, she should send for the police.

Miss Rottenmeier was not inclined to endure much more, and she had a shrewd idea how to make the Sesemanns take notice of her complaint. So far she had not told the children anything, as she was afraid they would be too frightened ever to be left alone — and that would have been most tiresome. Now, however, she went straight to the study and told them in a hoarse whisper about the nightly visitations. Clara at once demanded that she should not be left alone, never, not for a single second.

‘Papa must come home. You must sleep in my room,’ she cried. ‘Heidi mustn’t be left alone either, in case the ghost does anything to her. We’d better all stay together in one room and keep the light on all night, and Tinette will have to sleep in the next room and John and Sebastian had better be out in the corridor so that they can frighten the ghost away if it comes upstairs.’ Clara was thoroughly worked up by that time, and Miss Rottenmeier had great difficulty in calming her.

‘I’ll write at once to your papa,’ she promised, ‘and put my bed in your room so that you’re never alone. But we can’t all sleep in one room. If Adelheid is frightened Tinette shall put up a bed in her room.’ But Heidi was much more afraid of Tinette than of ghosts, of which indeed she had never heard, so she said she was not frightened and would sleep alone in her own room. Miss Rottenmeier then went to her desk and wrote dutifully to Mr Sesemann to let him know that the mysterious happenings in the house still continued, and were threatening to have a very bad effect on Clara in her delicate state of health. ‘Fright might even send her into fits,’ she wrote, ‘or bring on an attack of St Vitus’ dance.’

Her plot was successful. Two days later Mr Sesemann stood at his front door, ringing the bell so vigorously that everyone jumped, thinking the ghost had started playing tricks by daylight. Sebastian peeped through one of the upstairs windows to see what was happening, and at that moment the bell rang again so loudly that there could be no real doubt that a human hand had pulled it. He realized that it was his master and rushed downstairs, almost falling head over heels in his haste. Mr Sesemann hardly noticed him, but went at once to Clara’s room. She welcomed him joyfully and he was greatly relieved to find her so cheerful and, to all appearances, much as usual. Clara assured him she was really no worse, and was so pleased to see him that she felt quite grateful to the ghost for bringing him home.

‘And how has the “ghost” been behaving, Miss Rotten‐meier?’ he asked that lady with a smile.

‘Oh, it’s a serious matter,’ she replied stiffly. ‘I don’t think even you will be laughing about it tomorrow. It seems to me that something terrible must have happened here some time in the past, though it has not come out until now.’

‘I must ask you not to cast reflections on my entirely respectable forebears!’ said Mr Sesemann. ‘Now please send Sebastian to me in the dining‐room. I want to talk to him alone.’ He had noticed that Sebastian and Miss Rottenmeier were not exactly on the best of terms and that gave him an idea.

‘Come here,’ he said, as Sebastian entered, ‘and tell me the truth. Did you play the ghost to frighten Miss Rottenmeier?’

‘Oh, sir, please don’t think that. I’m just as frightened as she is,’ replied Sebastian, and it was plain that he was speaking the truth.

‘Well, if that’s the case, I shall have to show you and the worthy John what ghosts look like by daylight. A great strong chap like you ought to be ashamed of running away from such a thing. Now I want you to take a message to Dr Classen. Give him my regards and ask him to come and see me without fail at nine o’clock tonight. Say I’ve come back from Paris on purpose to consult him, and that the matter is so serious that he’d better come prepared to spend the night. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, sir. I’ll see to it at once.’

Mr Sesemann then went back to tell his daughter that he hoped to lay the ghost by the next day.

Punctually at nine o’clock, when both children were in bed and Miss Rottenmeier had retired for the night, the doctor arrived. Although his hair was grey, he had a fresh complexion and his eyes were bright and kind. He looked rather worried when he came in, but as soon as he saw his friend, he burst out laughing.

‘I must say you look pretty well for a man wanting someone to sit up all night with you!’ he said, patting him on the shoulder.

‘Not so fast, my friend,’ replied Mr Sesemann. ‘Your attention is likely to be needed all right, and by someone who won’t look as well as I do when we’ve caught him.’

‘So there really is a patient in the house,’ returned the doctor, ‘and one who has to be caught, eh?’

‘Much worse than that! We’ve a ghost! The house is haunted.’

The doctor laughed outright.

‘You’re not very sympathetic,’ objected Mr Sesemann. ‘It’s a good thing Miss Rottenmeier can’t hear you at the moment. She’s firmly convinced one of my ancestors is prowling around, doing penance for his sins.’

‘How did she come to meet him?’ asked the doctor, still chuckling.

Mr Sesemann told him all he knew, and added, ‘To be on the safe side I’ve put two loaded pistols in the room, where you and I are going to keep watch. I’ve a feeling it may be a very stupid practical joke which some friend of the servants is playing in order to alarm the household during my absence. In that case a shot fired into the air to frighten him will do no harm. If, on the other hand, burglars are preparing the ground for themselves by making everyone so afraid of the “ghost” that they won’t dare to leave their rooms, it may equally be advisable to have a good weapon handy.’

While he was talking, Mr Sesemann led the way to the same room where John and Sebastian had spent the night. On the table were the two guns and a bottle of wine, for if they had to sit up all night, a little refreshment would certainly be welcome. The room was lit by two candelabra, each holding three candles. Mr Sesemann had no intention of waiting for a ghost in the dark, but the door was shut so that no light should penetrate into the corridor to give warning to the ghost. The men settled themselves comfortably in their armchairs, for a good chat and a drink. Time passed quickly and they were quite surprised when the clock struck midnight.

‘The ghost’s got wind of us and isn’t coming,’ said the doctor.

‘We must wait a while yet,’ replied Mr Sesemann. ‘It isn’t supposed to appear till about one o’clock.’

So they chatted on, for another hour. In the street outside everything was quiet, when suddenly the doctor raised a warning finger. ‘Did you hear anything, Sesemann?’ he asked.

They listened and heard distinctly the sound of a bolt being pushed back, and a key turned, then the door opened. Mr Sesemann reached for his revolver.

‘You’re not afraid, are you?’ asked the doctor quietly.

‘It’s better to be careful,’ the other whispered back.

They each took a light in one hand and a revolver in the other and went out into the corridor. There they saw a pale streak of moonlight coming through the open door, and shining on a white figure which stood motionless on the threshold.

‘Who’s there?’ shouted the doctor so loudly that his voice echoed down the corridor. They both moved towards the front door. The figure turned and gave a little cry. It was Heidi who stood there, barefooted, in her white nightgown, staring in bewilderment at the weapons and the lights. She began to tremble and her lips quivered. The men looked at each other in astonishment.

‘Why I believe it’s your little water‐carrier!’ said the doctor.

‘What are you doing here, child?’ asked Mr Sesemann. ‘Why have you come downstairs?’

Heidi stood before him, white as her nightgown, and answered faintly, ‘I don’t know.’

‘I think this is a case for me,’ said the doctor. ‘Let me take the child back to her room, while you go and sit down again.’ He put his revolver on the ground, took Heidi gently by the hand, and led her upstairs. She was still shivering and he tried to soothe her by speaking in his friendly way to her. ‘Don’t be afraid. Nothing terrible is going to happen. You’re all right.’

When they reached her room, he set the light down on the table and lifted Heidi back into bed. He covered her up carefully, then sat down in a chair beside her and waited until she was more herself. Then he took her hand and said gently, ‘That’s better. Now tell me where you were going.’

‘Nowhere,’ whispered Heidi. ‘I didn’t know I’d gone downstairs. I just was there.’

Her small hand was cold in the doctor’s warm one.

‘I see,’ he said. ‘Can you remember whether you’d had a dream? One perhaps that seemed very real?’

‘Oh yes.’ Heidi’s eyes met his. ‘I dream every night that I’m back with Grandfather and can hear the wind whistling through the fir trees. I know in my dream the stars must be shining brightly outside, and I get up quickly and open the door of the hut — and it’s so beautiful. But when I wake up I’m always still here in Frankfurt.’ A lump came in her throat and she tried to swallow it.

‘Have you a pain anywhere?’ asked the doctor. ‘In your head or your back?’

‘No, but I feel as though there’s a great stone in my throat.’

‘As though you’d taken a large bite of something and can’t swallow it?’

Heidi shook her head. ‘No, as if I wanted to cry.’

‘And do you sometimes have a good cry?’

Her lips quivered again. ‘No. I’m not allowed to. Miss Rottenmeier has forbidden it.’

‘So you swallow it down, I suppose. You like being in Frankfurt, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ she said, but it sounded much more as though she meant to say No.

‘Where did you live with your grandfather?’

‘On the mountain.’

‘That wasn’t much fun, was it? Didn’t you find it rather dull there?’

‘Oh no, it’s wonderful.’ Heidi got no further. The memory of home, added to the shock of all she had been through, overcame the ban which had checked her tears, and they suddenly rained down her cheeks and she sobbed bitterly.

The doctor got up and laid her head gently on the pillow. ‘Have a good cry, it won’t do you any harm,’ he said. ‘Then go to sleep, and in the morning everything will be all right.’ He left the room and went to find Mr Sesemann, who was anxiously awaiting him.

‘Well, in the first place your little foster‐child is a sleepwalker,’ he began. ‘Without knowing anything about it, she has been opening the front door every night and frightening the servants out of their wits. In the second place she’s terribly homesick, and appears to have lost a great deal of weight, for she’s really not much more than skin and bone. Something must be done at once. She’s very, upset and her nerves are in a bad state. There’s only one cure for that sort of trouble — to send her back to her native mountains, and immediately. She should leave for home tomorrow — that’s my prescription.’

Mr Sesemann got to his feet and paced up and down the room, much disturbed. ‘Sleepwalking, homesick, and losing weight — fancy her suffering all this in my house without anyone noticing! She was so rosy and strong when she arrived. Do you think I’m going to send her back to her grandfather looking thin and ill? No, you really mustn’t ask me to do that. Cure her first. Order whatever you like to make her well, then I’ll send her home, if she wants to go.’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ protested the doctor. ‘This is not an illness that can be cured with pills and powders. The child’s not robust, but if you send her back to the mountains at once she’ll soon be herself again. If not… you might find you have to send her back ill, incurable, or even not at all.’

Mr Sesemann was greatly upset. ‘If that’s how things are, doctor, of course I’ll do as you say,’ he promised.

When at last the doctor took his leave, it was the light of dawn which flooded through the front door.