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- [00:00]
Ryan Reynolds
Hey, I'm Ryan Reynolds. Recently I asked Mint Mobile's legal team if big wireless companies are allowed to raise prices due to inflation. They said yes. And then when I asked if raising prices technically violates those onerous two year contracts, they said, what the are you talking about, you insane Hollywood. So to recap, we're cutting the price of mint unlimited from $30 a month to just $15 a month. Give it a try@mintmobile.com Switch $45 upfront.
- [00:26]
Genevieve Mannion
Payment equivalent to $15 per month New customers on first three month plan only Taxes and fees extra speed slower above 40 gigabyte.
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Hello and welcome to My Victorian Nightmare. I'm your host Genevieve Mannion, and I'm here to talk about mysterious deaths, morbid fascinations, disturbing stories, and otherwise spooky events from the Victorian era. Because to me, there's just something especially.
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Intriguing, creepy, and oddly comforting about horror.
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And mayhem from the 19th century. So listener discretion is advised.
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Hello friends, and welcome to this, my 20th episode.
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Almost old Enough to Drink. How nice.
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I do have to apologize though. I have a little cold today, so I may sound a little raspy, but I will do my best to edit the sniffles out.
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That aside, oh what a lovely week I had.
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I decorated my Christmas tree with about.
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20 bouquets of dry roses.
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I use blown glass ornaments and pretty little dried orange slices. It smells so glamorous. I may be a Buddhist witch, but Christmas is still my favorite holiday apart from Halloween. I'll put pictures of the tree on the post for today's episode on Instagram so you can see.
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I am very proud of it.
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Every year I get all of my Christmas crafts together and decorate the tree while watching Dickens Christmas Carol, the one from the 1930s. Apart from tiny Tim being the single most annoying child to ever appear in a movie, that rendition is by far my favorite. And it's genuinely creepy. Old practical effects, strange echoey sound effects, and the knowledge that even the youngest.
- [02:21]
Cast member now is dead.
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These are the things that I lock onto when watching old movies. Also, side note, that annoying kid, he grew up to be delicious. I'll put a picture of him on the Instagram too. His name was Terry Kilburn. He was apparently in a ton of other movies between the 30s and the 60s. Terry Kilburn, snack of the 1940s.
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Good for him.
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I have a very fun little episode for you today, a little different than usual.
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Being that it is the holiday season.
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I figured today I would keep with Victorian Christmas tradition and tell you a terrifying Victorian story. If you've ever wondered what that line in the Christmas song the Most Wonderful Time of the Year was about. That line that goes, there'll be scary.
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Ghost stories and tales of the glories of Christmases long, long ago.
- [03:14]
This was a nod to the tradition of Victorians terrorizing each other with scary stories around chilly fireplaces at Christmas time. I'm gonna do a full episode on the weird, creepy, disturbing and simply charming Victorian holiday traditions later in the month, and I'll tell you all about why VICT saved their spookiest storytelling for Christmas. But today I'm going to read for you one of my very favorite Victorian spooky short stories, another Dickens tale called the Signal man to get you in the spooky Victorian Christmas spirit. And I need to tell you there is a fabulous film rendition of this that you can find on Shutter and Prime if you want to rent it. I don't think it's not like included, but it was part of a BBC series called called A Ghost Story for Christmas. It was made in 1976 and I'm usually not scared at all by any movies that were made before 1990, but I really enjoyed this. It has a few moments with imagery.
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That still haunt my dreams.
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I'll put some of those on the Instagram too. So if you like the story today.
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Treat yourself to the episode.
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But before we get to the story.
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A little Haunted Housekeeping.
- [04:33]
Guys, I am almost at 10,000 followers on Spotify. This is so exciting. Thank you so much for being a part of my creepy little family here and for continuing to rate the podcast on Spotify. Those ratings have slowed down so I would really appreciate it. If you haven't done it yet, please pop a rating on there. It still means the world to me. And thank you as always for your comments that you leave for me on Spotify on Instagram that you email me@myvictorian nightmare.com mail wait myvictorianightmaremail.com thank you very much for those.
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They delight me to my bones.
- [05:19]
And thank you everyone who has joined my patreon@myvictorianightmare.com who received the show ad free. Oh and thank you to everybody who posted on Instagram that I was part of your Spotify wrapped top five.
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I love that.
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That was so and so nice of you. Oh also I love that so many of you have told me that you.
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Like to listen to the show with.
- [05:43]
Your morning cup of coffee. So I added mugs to the store. They also make a lovely gift for this spooky co worker in your life. You'll find those and all of my merch also@myvictorianightmare.com just click store, go all the way to the bottom of the page and find my cute little mugs. Okay now, if you like today's episode some spooky Victorian GH storytelling and would maybe like minisodes like this, let me know. I might have more time to spare to produce more content soon and I was thinking of reviving a spooky Victorian bedtime story idea. It wouldn't replace the current show format, it would just be added like extra maybe on Fridays or something. If you would be interested in that, vote in the poll, go to today's episode on Spotify, click the name of the episode, scroll all the way down and you'll find the poll there. And also if you just have any ideas for minisode content that you would enjoy, let me know in the comments.
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I am always open to new ideas. So without further ado, I hope you.
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Enjoyed this spooky ghost story with your.
- [06:52]
Cup of coffee The Signalman by Charles Dickens it is a tale about a man on a stroll coming upon a train signalman and being compelled to speak to him by an unexplainable impulse. The signalman appears terrified of him. They begin to speak though, and the man discovers the signalman is a very intelligent, lovely man with a terrifying secret. Eventually he tells him this secret and his fear that a specter is appearing to him for a horrifying reason. In the end, we sadly find out why. Hello below there when he heard a voice thus calling to him, he was standing at the door of his box with a flag in his hand furled round its short pole. One would have thought, considering the nature of the ground, that he could not have doubted from what quarter the voice came. But instead of looking up to where I stood on the top of the steep cutting nearly over his head, he turned himself about and looked down the line. There was something remarkable in his manner of doing so, though I could not have said for my life what, but I know it was remarkable enough to attract my notice, even though his figure was foreshortened and shadowed down in the deep trench, and mine was high above him, him so steeped in the glow of an angry sunset that I had shaded my eyes with my hand before I saw him at all. Hello below, from looking down the line, he turned himself about again, and raising his eyes saw my figure high above him. Is there any path by which I can come down and speak to you? He Looked up at me without replying, and I looked down at him without pressing him too soon, with a repetition of my idle question. Just then there came a vague vibration in the earth and air, quickly changing into a violent pulsation and an oncoming rush that caused me to start back as though it had force to draw me down, down. When such vapor arose to my height from this rapid train had passed me and was skimming away over the landscape, I looked down again and saw him referling the flag he had shown while the train went by. I repeated my inquiry. After a pause during which he seemed to regard me with a fixed attention, he motioned with his rolled up flag towards a point on my level some 2 or 300 yards distant. I called down to him, all right. And made for that point. There, by dint of looking closely about me, I found a rough, zigzag descending path notched out, which I followed. The cutting was extremely sharp and unusually precipitate. It was made through a clamshell stone that became oozier and wetter as I went down. For these reasons, I found the way long enough to give me time to recall a singular air of reluctance or compulsion with which he had pointed out the path. When I came down low enough upon the zigzag descent to see him again, I saw that he was standing between the rails on the way by which the train have lately passed, in an attitude as if he were waiting for me to appear. He had his left hand at his chin, and that left elbow rested on his right hand crossed over his breast. His attitude was one of such expectation and watchfulness that I stopped a moment wondering at it. I resumed my downward way, and stepping out upon the level of the railroad, and drawing nearer to him, saw that he was a dark, sallow man with a dark beard and rather heavy eyebrows. His post was in as solitary and dismal a place as ever. I saw on either side a dripping wet wall of jagged stone, excluding all view but a strip of sky. The perspective one way only, a crooked prolongation of this great dungeon, the shorter perspective in the other direction, terminating in a gloomy red light, and the gloomier entrance to a black tunnel in whose massive architecture there was a barbarous, depressing and forbidding air. So little sunlight ever found its way to this spot that it had an earthly deadly smell and so much cold wind, wind rushed through it that it struck chill to me as if I had left the natural world before he stirred. I was near enough to him to have touched him not even then. Removing his eyes from mine, he stepped back one step and lifted his hand. This was a lonesome post to occupy, I said, and it had riveted my attention when I looked down from up yonder. A visitor was a rarity, I should suppose. Not an unwelcome rarity, I hoped. In me he merely saw a man who had been shut up with narrow limits all his life, and who, being at last set free, had a newly awakened interest in these great works. To such purpose I spoke to him, but I am far from sure of the terms I used, for besides that, I am not happy in opening any conversation. There was something in the man that daunted me. He directed a most curious look towards the red light near the tunnel's mouth, and looked all about it as if something were missing from it, and then looked at me. That light was part of his charge, was it not? He answered in a low voice. Don't you know it is? The monstrous thought came into my mind as I pursued the fixed eyes and saturnine face. That this was a spirit, not a man. I have speculated since sense whether there may have been infection in his mind. In my turn I stepped back, but in making the action I detected in his eyes some latent fear of me. This put the monstrous thought to flight. You look at me, I said, forcing a smile, as if you had a dread of me. I was doubtful, he returned, whether I had seen seen you before. Where? He pointed to the red light he had looked at. There, I said intently. Watchful of me, he replied, but without sound. Yes, my good fellow. What should I do there? However, be that as it may, I never was there. You may swear. I think I may, he rejoined. Yes, I am sure I may. His manner cleared like my own. He replied to my remarks with readiness and in well chosen words. Had he much to do there? Yes, that was to say, he had enough responsibility to bear, but exactness and watchfulness were what was required of him, and of actual work, manual labor. He had next none. To change. That signal, to trim those lights and to turn his iron handle now and then was all he had to do under that head. Regarding those many long and lonely hours of which I seemed to make so much, he could only say that the routine of his life had shaped itself into that form, and he had grown used to it. He had taught himself a language down here, if only to know it by sight, and to have formed his own crude ideas of its pronunciation could be called learning it. He had also worked at fractions and decimals, and tried a little Algebra. But he was, and had been as a boy, a poor hand at figures. Was it necessary for him, when on duty, always to remain in that channel of damp air? And could he never rise to the sunshine from between those high stone walls? Why, that depended upon times and circumstances. Under some conditions there would be less upon the line than under others and the same held good as to certain hours of the day and night. In bright weather he did choose occasions for getting a little above these lower shadows, but being at all times liable to be called by his electric bell, and at such times listening for it with redoubled anxiety, the relief was less than I would suppose. He took me into his box where there was a fire, a desk for an official book in which he had made certain entries, a telegraphic instrument with its style, face and needles, and the little bell of which he had spoken on my trusting that he would excuse the remark, that he had been well educated, and I hoped I might say without offence, perhaps educated above that station. He observed that instances of slight incongruity in such wise would rarely be found wanting among large bodies of men. That he had heard it was so in workhouses, houses, in the police force, even in that desperate resource, the army and that he knew it was so, more or less in any great railway staff. He had been when young, if I could believe it, sitting in that hut he scarcely could. A student of natural philosophy and had attended lectures. But he had run wild, misused his opportunities, gone down and never risen again. He had no complaint to offer about that. He had made his bed, and he lay upon it. It was far too late to make another. And that I have here condensed, he said in a quiet manner, with his grave dark regards divided between me and the fire. He threw in the word, sir, from time to time, and especially when he referred to his usual youth, as though to request me to understand that he claimed to be nothing but what I found him. He was several times interrupted by the little bell and had to read off messages and send replies. Once he had to stand without the door and display a flag as a train passed and make some verbal communication to the driver in the discharge of his duty. I observed him to be remarkably exact and vigilant, breaking off his discourse at a syllable and remaining silent until what he had to do was done. In a word, I should have set this man down as one of the safest of men to be employed in that capacity, but for the circumstance that while he was speaking to me he twice broke off with a fallen colour, turned his face toward the little bell, when it did not not ring, opened the door of the hut, which was kept shut to exclude the unhealthy damp, and looked out toward the red light near the mouth of the tunnel. On both of those occasions he came back to the fire with the inexplicable air upon him, which I had remarked without being able to define when we were so far asunder, said I when I rose to leave him, you almost make me think that I have met with a contented man. I am afraid I must acknowledge that I said it to lead him on. I believe I used to be so, he rejoined in the low voice in which he had first spoken. But I am troubled, sir. I am troubled. He would have recalled the words if he could. He had said them, however, and I took them up quickly with what? What is your trouble? He said, it is very difficult to impart, sir. It is very, very difficult to speak of. If ever you make me another visit, I will try to tell you. And I said, but I expressly intend to make you another visit. Say when shall it be? He replied, I go off early in the morning, and I shall be on again at 10 to morrow night, sir. I will come at 11 then, I said. He thanked me and went out the door with me. I'll show my white light, sir, he said in his peculiar low voice, till you have found the way up. When you have found it, don't call out. And when you are at the top, don't call out. His manner seemed to make the place strike colder to me, but I said, no more than very well, he replied, and when you come down tomorrow night, don't call out. Let me ask you a parting question. What made you cry? Hello below there tonight? I replied. Heaven knows. I cried something to that effect. He said, not to that effect, sir. Those were the very words. I know them well, I replied. I admit those were the very words. I said them no doubt because I saw you below. He says, for no other reason. I reply, what other reason could I possibly have? He replies, you had no feeling that they were conveyed to you in a supernatural way? No, I replied. He wished me good night and held up his light. I walked by the side of the downline rail with a very disagreeable sensation of a train coming behind me until I found the path. It was easier to mount than to descend, and I got back to my inn without any adventure. Punctual to my appointment, I placed my foot on that first notch of the zigzag. Next night, as the distant clocks were striking 11, he was waiting for me at the bottom with his white light on. I have not called out, I said when we came close together. May I speak now? By all means, sir. Good night. Good night, then. And here is my hand. Good night, sir. And here is mine. With that, we walked side by side to his box, Entered it, Closed the door and sat down by the fire. I have made up my mind, sir, he began, bending forward as soon as as we were seated and speaking in a tone but a little above a whisper, that you shall not have to ask me twice. What troubles me? I took you for someone else yesterday evening. That troubles me. That mistake, I said. No, that's someone else. Who is it? I said. I don't know. I never saw the face. The left arm is across the face and the right arm is waved violently waved this way. I followed his action with my eyes, and it was the action of an arm gesticulating with the utmost passion and vehemence. One moonlit a night, said the man. I was sitting here when I heard a voice cry, hello, below there. I started up, looked from that door and saw this someone else standing by the red light near the tunnel, waving as I just now showed you. The voice seemed hoarse with shouting, and it cried, look out. Look out. And then again, hello, below there. Look out. I caught up my lamp, turned it on red and ran towards the figure calling, what's wrong? What has happened? Where it stood just outside the blackness of the tunnel, I advanced so close upon it that I wondered at its keeping the sleeve across its eyes. I ran right up at it and had my hand stretched out to pull the sleeve away when it was gone. Into the tunnel, said I, no. I ran on into the tunnel, 500 yards. I stopped and held my lamp above my head and saw the figures of the measured distance and saw the wet stains stealing down the walls and trickling through the arch. I ran out again faster than I had run in, For I had a mortal abhorrence of the place upon me. And I looked all around the red light with my own red light, and I went up the iron ladder to the gallery atop of it, and I came down again and ran back here. I telegraphed both ways. An alarm has been given. Is anything wrong? The answer came back both ways, all well. Resisting the slow touch of a frozen finger tracing out my spine, I showed him how this figure must be a deception of his sense of sight, and how that figures originating in disease of the delicate nerves that minister to the functions of the eye, Were known to have often troubled patients. Some of whom have become conscious of the nature of their affliction, and had even proved it by experiments upon themselves as to an imaginary cry said, I do but listen for a moment to the wind in this unnatural valley while we speak so low, and to the wild harp it makes of the telegraph wires. That was all very well. He returned after we had sat listening for a while. And he ought to know something of the winds and the wires, he who so often passed long winter nights there alone and watching. But he would beg to remark that he had not finished. I asked his pardon, and he slowly, slowly added these words, touching my arm. Within six hours after the appearance, the memorable accident on this line happened. The dead and wounded were brought along through the tunnel over the spot where the figure had stood. A disagreeable shudder crept over me, but I did my best against it. It was not to be denied, I rejoined, that this was a remarkable coin coincidence calculated deeply to impress his mind. But it was unquestionable that the remarkable coincidences did continually occur, and they must be taken into account in dealing with such a subject. Though to be sure, I must admit, I added, for I thought I saw that he was going to bring the objection to bear upon me. Men of common sense did not allow much for coincidences in making the ordinary calculations of life. He again begged to remark that he had not finished. I again begged his pardon for being betrayed into interruptions. This, he said again, laying his hand upon my arm and glancing over his shoulder with hollow eyes, was just a year ago. Six or seven months passed, and I had recovered from the surprise and shock when one morning as the day was breaking, I, standing at the door, looked towards the red light and saw the specter again. He stopped with a fixed look at me. Did it cry out? I said, no. It was silent. Did it wave its arm? I said no. It leaned against the shaft of the light with both hands before the face, like this. Once more I followed his action with my eyes. It was an action of mourning. I have seen such an attitude in stone figures in tombs. Did you go up to it? I said. I came in and sat down, partly to collect my thoughts, partly because it had turned me faint. When I went to the door again, daylight was above me and the ghost was gone. Nothing came of this, I said. He touched me on the arm with his forefinger twice or thrice, giving a ghastly nod each time he said. That very day, as a train came out of the tunnel, I noticed a carriage window on my side, what looked like a confusion of hands and heads and Something waved. I saw it just in time to signal the driver stop. He shut off and put his brake on. But the train drifted past here, 150 yards or more. I ran after it, and as I went along heard terrible screams and cries. A beautiful young, some lady had died instantaneously in one of the compartments and was brought in here and laid down on this floor between us. Involuntarily I pushed my chair back. As I looked from the boards at which he pointed to himself, he said, true, sir, true. Precisely as it happened. So I tell you. I could think of nothing to say to any purpose, and my mouth was very dry. The wind and the wires took up the story with a long lamenting wail. He resumed, now, sir, mark this and judge how my mind is troubled. The specter came back a week ago. Ever since it has been there now and again by fits and starts. At the light? I asked, at the danger light, I asked. What does it seem to do? He repeated, if possible with increased passion and vehemence, that former gesticulation of, for God's sake, clear the way. Then he went on, I have no peace or rest for it. It calls to me for many minutes together in an agonized manner. Below there, look out, look out. It stands waving to me. It rings my little bell. I caught it that. Did it ring your bell? Yesterday, even when I was here and when you went to the door? Twice, he said, see, said I, how your imagination misleads you.
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My eyes were on the bell, my.
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Ears were open to the bell, and.
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If I am a living man, it.
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Did not ring at those times.
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No, nor at any other time except.
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When it was rung in the natural course of physical things by the station communicating with you? He shook his head. I have never made a mistake as to that yet, sir. I have never confused the specter's ring with the man's. The ghost's ring is a strange vibration in the bell that it derives from nothing else. And I have not asserted that the bell stirs to the eye. I don't wonder that you failed to hear it. But I heard it and I replied, did the specter seem to be there when you looked out? He said, it was there both times. I said. He repeated firmly, both times. Will you come to the door with me and look for it now? He bit his underlip as though he were somewhat unwilling, but arose. I opened the door and stood on the step while he stood in the doorway. There was the danger light. There was the dismal mouth of the tunnel. There were the high wet stone walls of the cutting there were the stars above them. Do you see it? I asked him, taking particular note of his face. His eyes were prominent and strained, but not very much more so perhaps, than my own had been when I directed them earnestly toward the same spot. No, he answered, it is not there. Agreed, said I. We went in again, shut the door, and resumed our seats. I was thinking how best to improve this advantage, if it might be called one, when he took up the conversation in such a matter of course way. So, assuming that there could be no serious question of fact between us, that I felt myself placed in the weakest of positions. By this time you will fully understand, sir, he said, that what troubles me so dreadfully is the question. What is its warning against? He said, rumour resonating with his eyes on the fire, and only by times turning them on me. What is the danger? Where is the danger? There is danger overhanging somewhere on the line. Some dreadful calamity will happen. It is not to be doubted this third time after what has gone before. But surely this is a cruel haunting of me. What can I do? He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped the drops from his heated forehead. If I telegraph danger on either side of me, or on both, I can give no reason for it. He went on, wiping the palms of his hands. I should get into trouble and do no good. They would think I was mad. This is the way it would work.
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Message, danger, take care. Answer what?
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Danger? Where?
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Message don't know, but for God's sake, take care.
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They would displace me. What else could they do? His pain of mind was most pitiable. To see it was the mental torture of a conscientious man, oppressed beyond endurance by an unintelligible responsibility involving life. When it first stood under the danger light, he went on, putting his dark hair back from his head and drawing his hands outward, across and across his temples in an extremity of feverish distress. Why not tell me where that accident was to happen? If it must happen, why not tell me how it could be averted if it could have been averted when on its second coming it hid its face, why not tell me instead she is going to die. Let them keep her at home. If it came on those two occasions only to show me that its warnings were true, and so to prepare me for the third, why not warn me plainly now? And I, Lord help me, a mere poor signalman on this solitary station, why not go to somebody with credit to be believed, and power to act when I saw him in this state, I saw that for the poor man's sake as well for the public safety, what I had to do for the time was to compose his mind. Therefore, setting aside all question of reality or unreality between us, I represented to him that whoever thoroughly discharged his duty must do well, and that at least it was his comfort that he understood his duty, though he did not understand these confounding appearances. In this effort I succeeded far better than in the attempt to reason him out of his conviction. He became calm. The occupations incidental to his post, as the night advanced, began to make larger demands on his attention, and I left him at 2 in the morning. I had offered to stay through the night, but he would not hear of it. That I more than once looked back at the red light as I ascended the pathway, that I did not like the red light, and that I should have slept but poorly if my bed had been under it, I see no reason to conceal. Nor did I like the two sequences of the accident and the dead girl. I see no reason to conceal that either. But ran most in my thoughts was the consideration, how ought I to act? Having become the recipient of this disclosure, I had proved the man to be intelligent, vigilant, painstaking, and exact. But how long might he remain so? In his state of mind, though in a subordinate position, still, he held a most important trust. And would I, for instance, like to stake my own life on the chances of his continuing to execute it with precision? Unable to overcome a feeling that there would be something treacherous in my communicating what he had told me to his superiors in the company without first being plain with himself and proposing a middle course to him, I ultimately resolved to offer to accompany him, otherwise, keeping his secret for the present to the wisest medical practitioner we could hear of in those parts. And to take his opinion, a change in his time of duty would come around next night. He had apprised me, and he would be off an hour or two after sunrise and on again soon after sunset. I had appointed to return accordingly. Next evening was a lovely evening, and I walked out early to enjoy it. The sun was not yet quite down when I traversed the field path near the top of the deep cutting. I would extend my walk for an hour, I said to myself, Half an hour on and half an hour back, and it would be time to go back to my signal man box. Before pursuing my stroll, I stepped to the brink and mechanically looked down from the point with which I had first seen him. I cannot describe the thrill that seized upon me when Close at the mouth of the tunnel I saw the appearance of a man with his left sleeve across his eyes, passionately waving his right arm. The nameless horror that oppressed me passed in a moment, for in a moment I saw that this appearance of a man was a man indeed, and that there was a little group of other men standing at a short distance to whom he seemed to be rehearsing the gesture he made. The danger light was not yet lighted against its shaft. A little low hut, entirely new to me, had been made of some wooden supports and tarpaulin. It looked no bigger than a bed. With an irresistible sense that something was wrong. With a flashing, self reproachful fear that fatal mischief had come to my leaving the man there and causing no one to be sent to overlook or correct what he did. I descended the notched path with all the speed I could make. What is the matter?
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I asked.
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Asked the men. Signal man killed this morning, sir. Not the man belonging to that box? Yes, sir, not the man that I know. You will recognize him, sir, if you knew him, said the man who spoke for the others, solemnly uncovering his own head and raising an end of the tarpaulin, for his face is quite composed. Oh, how did this happen? How did this happen? I asked, turning from one to the.
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Other as the hut closed in again.
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He was cut down by an engine, sir. No man in England knew his work better, but somehow he was not clear of the outer rail. It was just that broad day. He had struck the light and had the lamp in his hand. As the engine came out of the tunnel, his back would towards her and she cut him down. That man drove her and was showing how it happened. Show the gentleman, Tom. The man who wore a rough dark dress, stepped back to his former place at the mouth of the tunnel. Coming round the curve in the tunnel, sir, he said. I saw him at the end like as if I saw him down a perspective glass. Glass. There was no time to check speed and I knew him to be very careful, as he didn't seem to take heed of the whistle.
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I shut it off when we were.
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Running down upon him and called to him as loud as I could. Call. What did you say? I said, below there.
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Look out, look out, for God's sake.
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Clear the way. I started. Ah, it was a dreadful time, sir. I never left off calling to him. I put this arm before my eyes not to see, and I waved this arm to the last. But it was no use, without prolonging the narrative, to dwell on any one of its curious circumstances more than on any other. I may, in closing it, point out the coincidence that the warning of the engine driver included not only the words which the unfortunate signalman had repeated to me as haunting him, but also the words which I myself, not he, had attached, and that only in my own mind, to the gesticulation he had intimated, nothing says Merry Christmas like a woman.
- [41:52]
Inexplicably flying out of a train at.
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Top speed into a tunnel. I do hope that you enjoyed this.
- [41:59]
Creepy Christmas ghost story. And now that you've heard the story, don't forget to check the Instagram for those really spooky visuals at my Victorian.
- [42:07]
Nightmare that I told you about. And if you enjoy this podcast and would like to hear more, please rate.
- [42:14]
The podcast on Spotify. Review Subscribe Leave me all the comments.
- [42:21]
I love them so much. Be kind to yourselves and I will see you in your nightmares.