“The past, present, and future, were all equally in gloom.”

October 31, 2014

Dear Jane,

Jane Austen: All Hallows Eve Edition

The above quotation from your fine novel, Northanger Abbey is exactly the kind of quotation that I was searching for to set the chilling tone of my "Halloween" letter to you,  for what is more frighftul than a past, present and future plunged equally in doom?

As I write to you on All Hallow's Eve, I realize that I have absolutely no intriguing gossip or exciting to news to relate to you, and for this I must apologize. Pray, what good is a correspondent who has no scandals to spread? Nevertheless, fear not, Miss Austen, for I have decided to invent a haunting tale to entertain you on this gloomy, autumnal day. Whether or not it will be satisfactory, however, I cannot say. 

Before I begin my thrilling tale, I must own that I did make two notes on my cellular device that I wished to recount to you. As per usual, they are quite silly and are of very little importance:

• "Lady at dunkin donuts was going to give me a regular ole Boston Cream donut...but I corrected her and said, 'Oh umm, sorry, Boston Scream...thanks.'"  (Now, Jane, the difference between a common Boston Cream donut and a Boston Scream donut is quite significant. While the Boston Cream has merely a chocolate frosting on it's top, the Boston Scream is decorated with festive colors that represent the harvest season. They are by no means equal so I was forced to correct the gentle lady behind the counter before she made a grave mistake.)

• "Body block for seat on train" (I realize how often notes such as this appear on my cellular device, Jane, and I gather that I must be more respectful on the train.... However, the prospect of sitting down while on the subway is so very tempting that I seem to lose my ladylike manners if a seat becomes available.)

Now without further ado, I will attempt to pen a haunting tale, in the style of a favorite of your time called, The Mysteries of Udolpho by authoress, Ann Radcliffe. (Hopefully, mine will not be too repellent for you to read.)

The Troubled Author:

A Regency Ghost Tale

By: Amanda Forker

The fateful date was the first of November in the Year of our Lord, eighteen-hundred-and-ten and it began as a most horrid, dreadful and gloomy sort of evening, gentle readers. A troubled author by the name of Jane, sat at her small, round table by the drafty, parlor window frantically writing a most grievous confession, deep into the night. She was not aware of the late time but as the night wore on, Jane began to question her sanity. She did not know what had come over her as of late for she could often be found writing at this particular table, but nothing quite of this concerning nature.

As Jane wrote, she could feel a mysterious presence lurking beneath the fog outside her window…and it was chilling her to the bone. The faint glow of candlelight reached only far enough for Jane to see the journal directly before her, whilst the accompanying shadows did their best to upset her already fragile state of mind. 

Alas, gentle readers, the unhappy event from two days earlier was still on Jane's mind and so like any respectable writer, she took to her pen and paper to try and make sense of it all....

The morning one day prior had begun as a day like any other when Jane and her dear sister, Cassandra, took a leisurely, morning walk along their favorite path in order to get some much needed exercise. Unfortunately, much to Jane's dismay, it had been constantly raining for what seemed a fortnight so there had been little opportunity for their daily walks together. 

As they left their home, they soon realized that they would only have a short while before the rain began again for the wind and clouds were both turning quite wicked. They were nearing the end of their walk when they happened upon their particular friend, Fanny, who told them of dreadfully scandalous news from town. Apparently, the body of a young woman of no means or position had been found not one mile from the ladies’ home earlier that morning. How inconceivably distressing this news was, gentle readers, for nothing of the sort had ever happened near their peaceful cottage before.

Upon hearing this news, Jane and Cassandra bid Fanny farewell and hurried home so as not to be caught outside when the next storm began (likewise, they were quite out of spirits upon hearing this dreadful news). Once arriving home, the ladies immediately recounted Fanny's tale to their mother, not sparing a single, gruesome detail. Their dear mother, however, thought it best to put the terrible tale behind them and go about their day as usual, for there was nothing more they could do for the poor girl besides pray for her departed soul. Jane said a short prayer and began her daily chores, but as she was working she could not rid herself of the terrible feeling that she was somehow responsible for the young girl’s passing.

She reluctantly recalled how just yesterday morning a poor, beggar woman had knocked on their door and after singing a lovely, haunting song, asked for shelter from the cold for a night. With a heavy heart, Jane had to inform her that the ladies had no rooms to spare in their modest home, but that she was happy to offer some warm food and a shilling for her lovely song. The lowly girl gratefully accepted Jane’s kind offerings before leaving to brave the harsh, November weather again.  Surely, Jane thought to herself, this could not have been the same girl who was later met with such an unhappy end!

Curiously, peculiar events began to happen throughout the rest of the day and the next. Doors would open (seemingly) of their own accord, objects laid down one moment would be in a very different spot the next, and perhaps most peculiarly of all, the faint sound of a woman singing could be heard at the end of the upstairs hall.... More distressing than this, however, is that Jane seemed to be the only one of her family to notice or hear these otherworldly occurrences.

As these strange things continued to happen, Jane was becoming more and more nonsensical and finally all she could do to stop herself from losing her mind was to write everything down, and confess her greatest fear: that it was her utter lack of Christian hospitality that sent the poor girl to her untimely death.  

Except for the sad day almost six years ago that her beloved father passed away, these were some of the worst days that Jane had ever experienced in her life; she was not likely to ever forget them. 

As she sat at her writing table the next night, she poured her tired and remorseful heart into her journal trying to make sense of the horrid event and her unquestionable part in it. Jane was working so intently, that as the midnight hour approached, she almost missed the silver mist that had begun to creep into the small room. Jane, who thought that she had been suffering from extreme fatigue, tried to ignore it, but suddenly the pale figure of a familiar, young girl slowly rose out of the mist. 

Dumbfounded, Jane tried to cry for help, but she was so rooted in fear that no sound was able to escape her lips; all she could do was stare wide-eyed at the haunting apparition standing before her.

After what felt like an eternity, the ghost of the young woman spoke gently to Jane.

"Please do not blame yourself for my untimely passing, dear Jane, for this melancholy matter was not your fault," said the ghostly girl.

"But surely it was!" whispered a tearful Jane. "It was I who had the opportunity to shelter you and did not. Perhaps, if you had been given a place to stay, you would not have met such a woeful fate!" she cried.

"I know in my heart that you did everything you could, though sadly, many others showed much less kindness to me in my lowly state. Nevertheless, I have not lingered in your home to make you uneasy, dear lady, but rather to assure you that I do not fault you for anything. Please, do not distress yourself over this unhappy matter any longer for it comforts my spirit to know that such a kind soul cared so deeply about what happened to me. Thank you again for your kindness."

After a moment of venerating silence, Jane gathered up her remaining courage and quietly asked, "What was your name, dear girl?"

"Elizabeth Bennet," she answered.

"Well, Elizabeth, I hope your soul finds the peace it so richly deserves. You will forever be in my thoughts and in my prayers."

"God bless you, Miss Austen."

And with these parting words, the rain ceased, the fog lifted, the morning sun later rose and both Miss Austen and Miss Bennet found peace. 

I hope you enjoyed my tale, Jane, for rumour has it, that had more of your letters and journals survived, then this ghost tale would be more widely known as your inspiration for Elizabeth Bennet in Pride & Prejudice...but I guess we shall never truly know your long lost secrets. 

Yours Faithfully (and Hauntingly),

Amanda