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Title: There was a Man Dwelt by a Churchyard
Author: James, Montague Rhodes (1862-1936)
Date of first publication: 6 December 1924
   [Snapdragon (Eton College)]
Edition used as base for this ebook:
   "The Collected Ghost Stories of M. R. James"
   (New York: Longmans, Green;
   London: Edward Arnold, 1931)
   [first edition]
Date first posted: 21 April 2013
Date last updated: 21 April 2013
Project Gutenberg Canada ebook #1066

This ebook was produced by:
Delphine Lettau, Mary Meehan, Mark Akrigg
& the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdpcanada.net






                  THERE WAS A MAN DWELT BY A CHURCHYARD

                           By M. R. JAMES




This, you know, is the beginning of the story about sprites and goblins
which Mamilius, the best child in Shakespeare, was telling to his mother
the queen, and the court ladies, when the king came in with his guards
and hurried her off to prison. There is no more of the story; Mamilius
died soon after without having a chance of finishing it. Now what was it
going to have been? Shakespeare knew, no doubt, and I will be bold to
say that I do. It was not going to be a new story: it was to be one
which you have most likely heard, and even told. Everybody may set it in
what frame he likes best. This is mine:

There was a man dwelt by a churchyard. His house had a lower story of
stone and an upper one of timber. The front windows looked out on the
street and the back ones on the churchyard. It had once belonged to the
parish priest, but (this was in Queen Elizabeth's days) the priest was a
married man and wanted more room; besides, his wife disliked seeing the
churchyard at night out of her bedroom window. She said she saw--but
never mind what she said; anyhow, she gave her husband no peace till he
agreed to move into a larger house in the village street, and the old
one was taken by John Poole, who was a widower, and lived there alone.
He was an elderly man who kept very much to himself, and people said he
was something of a miser.

It was very likely true: he was morbid in other ways, certainly. In
those days it was common to bury people at night and by torchlight: and
it was noticed that whenever a funeral was toward, John Poole was always
at his window, either on the ground floor or upstairs, according as he
could get the better view from one or the other.

There came a night when an old woman was to be buried. She was fairly
well to do, but she was not liked in the place. The usual thing was said
of her, that she was no Christian, and that on such nights as Midsummer
Eve and All Hallows, she was not to be found in her house. She was
red-eyed and dreadful to look at, and no beggar ever knocked at her
door. Yet when she died she left a purse of money to the Church.

There was no storm on the night of her burial; it was fair and calm. But
there was some difficulty about getting bearers, and men to carry the
torches, in spite of the fact that she had left larger fees than common
for such as did that work. She was buried in woollen, without a coffin.
No one was there but those who were actually needed--and John Poole,
watching from his window. Just before the grave was filled in, the
parson stooped down and cast something upon the body--something that
clinked--and in a low voice he said words that sounded like "Thy money
perish with thee." Then he walked quickly away, and so did the other
men, leaving only one torch-bearer to light the sexton and his boy while
they shovelled the earth in. They made no very neat job of it, and next
day, which was a Sunday, the church-goers were rather sharp with the
sexton, saying it was the untidiest grave in the yard. And indeed, when
he came to look at it himself, he thought it was worse than he had left
it.

Meanwhile John Poole went about with a curious air, half exulting, as it
were, and half nervous. More than once he spent an evening at the inn,
which was clean contrary to his usual habit, and to those who fell into
talk with him there he hinted that he had come into a little bit of
money and was looking out for a somewhat better house. "Well, I don't
wonder," said the smith one night, "I shouldn't care for that place of
yours. I should be fancying things all night." The landlord asked him
what sort of things.

"Well, maybe somebody climbing up to the chamber window, or the like of
that," said the smith. "I don't know--old mother Wilkins that was buried
a week ago to-day, eh?"

"Come, I think you might consider of a person's feelings," said the
landlord. "It ain't so pleasant for Master Poole, is it now?"

"Master Poole don't mind," said the smith. "He's been there long enough
to know. I only says it wouldn't be my choice. What with the passing
bell, and the torches when there's a burial, and all them graves laying
so quiet when there's no one about: only they say there's lights--don't
you never see no lights, Master Poole?"

"No, I don't never see no lights," said Master Poole sulkily, and called
for another drink, and went home late.

That night, as he lay in his bed upstairs, a moaning wind began to play
about the house, and he could not go to sleep. He got up and crossed the
room to a little cupboard in the wall: he took out of it something that
clinked, and put it in the breast of his bedgown. Then he went to the
window and looked out into the churchyard.

Have you ever seen an old brass in a church with a figure of a person in
a shroud? It is bunched together at the top of the head in a curious
way. Something like that was sticking up out of the earth in a spot of
the churchyard which John Poole knew very well. He darted into his bed
and lay there very still indeed.

Presently something made a very faint rattling at the casement. With a
dreadful reluctance John Poole turned his eyes that way. Alas! Between
him and the moonlight was the black outline of the curious bunched
head.... Then there was a figure in the room. Dry earth rattled on the
floor. A low cracked voice said "Where is it?" and steps went hither and
thither, faltering steps as of one walking with difficulty. It could be
seen now and again, peering into corners, stooping to look under
chairs; finally it could be heard fumbling at the doors of the cupboard
in the wall, throwing them open. There was a scratching of long nails on
the empty shelves. The figure whipped round, stood for an instant at the
side of the bed, raised its arms, and with a hoarse scream of "YOU'VE
GOT IT!"----

At this point H.R.H. Prince Mamilius (who would, I think, have made the
story a good deal shorter than this) flung himself with a loud yell upon
the youngest of the court ladies present, who responded with an equally
piercing cry. He was instantly seized upon by H.M. Queen Hermione, who,
repressing an inclination to laugh, shook and slapped him very severely.
Much flushed, and rather inclined to cry, he was about to be sent to
bed: but, on the intercession of his victim, who had now recovered from
the shock, he was eventually permitted to remain until his usual hour
for retiring; by which time he too had so far recovered as to assert, in
bidding good night to the company, that he knew another story quite
three times as dreadful as that one, and would tell it on the first
opportunity that offered.




[End of There was a Man Dwelt by a Churchyard, by M. R. James]
