I have been reading the first issue of The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction. It was only The Magazine of Fantasy for this first issue (Fall 1949), with the “Science Fiction” added with issue two. I enjoy reading the premiere issue of magazines to see how they differ from the later run of the publication. This first issue of F&SF begins with a Cleve Cartmill story called “Bells On His Toes”, probably written originally or nostalgically for Unknown Worlds. It is that brand of American Fantasy– John W. Campbell Fantasy– that I have no real liking for. A cop investigates a swami, who is a fraud, but gains the magical power to sing his wishes.
The second story is “Thurnley Abbey” by Percival Landon, a Jamesian ghost story from 1908. (In fact, these two types of stories pretty much alternate through the contents page. Oliver Onions, Fitz James O’Brien and Guy Endore filling out the old school alumni.) The editors of F&SF were Anthony Boucher and J. Francis McComas. Modelled on Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, F&SF used the same format, text with an illustrated cover to create an artsy feel, very much NOT like a Pulp magazine. The contents (especially in the early years) came from all over as long as it fell within the subject matter of the magazine. Stories in this first issue by Philip Macdonald and Stuart Palmer speak to Boucher’s involvement with Mystery writers. Richard Sale was a well-known slick writer who wrote about the sea. The only names that were familiar to SF fans were Cartmill and Theodore Sturgeon.
In the intro to “Thurnley Abbey” the editors write:
“Unfortunately, we have learned but little about Percival Landon, whose Thurnley Abbey was published in England in 1908. But the story itself is sufficient evidence of its author’s status, though it has occasioned long and serious arguments between us. One editor claims that it is unequaled among the innumerable chronicles of haunting and the horror thereof, while the other holds it is merely one of the three most terrifying stories in the English language…”
Fortunately for us, we have Wikipedia. Percival Landon (1869-1927) was a graduate of Oxford and a good friend of Rudyard Kipling’s. He spent most of his life traveling and reporting, beginning with the Boer War. Landon did produce one book of stories called Raw Edges (1908) from which “Thurnley Abbey” is taken. He died at only 58.
The story of “Thurnley Abbey” concerns a man named Alastair Colvin who asks a fellow traveler if it is alright if they share a room on the boat they are on, not because it is crowded but for some other reason. Slowly, the narrator pulls the story out of Colvin, who relates his association with a man named Broughton.
Colvin had not seen Broughton for a while, but when he married, Broughton invited his friend out to Thurnley Abbey, an old manor house, to discuss an important favor. Colvin arrives, meets the new wife, and hears all the stories about the previous owner who had spread rumors that the place was haunted. Broughton jokes that people in ghost stories never talk to the ghosts. Despite the silliness of these stories, Colvin does notice that Broughton doesn’t look well. In the morning the two men are to discuss the matter that has brought Colvin to stay. After a big dinner party, Colvin heads for bed. Broughton jokes, if he sees any ghosts, to make sure he talks to them.
Colvin goes to bed and sleeps. He wakes suddenly, turns on the light. Sitting at the end of the bed is a skeletal figure of a woman, partly wrapped in a shroud:
“‘Leaning over the foot of my bed, looking at me, was a figure swathed in a rotten and tattered veiling. This shroud passed over the head, but left both eyes and the right side of the face bare. It then followed the line of the arm down to where the hand grasped the bed-end. The face was not entirely that of a skull, though the eyes and the flesh of the face were totally gone. There was a thin, dry skin drawn tightly over the features, and there was some skin left on the hand. One wisp of hair crossed the forehead. It was perfectly still. I looked at it, and it looked at me, and my brains turned dry and hot in my head…”
Colvin freezes for several minutes, then he remembers Broughton talking to some others at the party. He thinks he has been the butt of a joke or a bet. He angrily throws himself across the bed, punching the ghostly form, cutting his hand. He then destroys the skeleton in a fit of rage, breaking every bone.
Not one to wait, he takes a piece of the skull in his bleeding hand and stomps off to Broughton’s room. For several minutes he berates his friend’s stupid sense of humor. Broughton doesn’t laugh but lies in bed stunned. His wife comes in, having her own room. When Colvin throws the skull shard on the floor, Broughton jumps, mumbling in terror. His wife tries to calm him but the three hear footsteps coming down the hall. All three cover their eyes (though Colvin wishes he had had the courage to look). The visitor takes the skull fragment and walks back down the hall. Colvin looks down the hall after it leaves and only sees a retreating figure.
Colvin knows he must return to his room but he can’t do it alone. Later, with Broughton, he goes back. The room is in order except for the blood he smeared all over as he moved about the room, destroying the bones.
I don’t know if I consider this one of the three best ghost stories in the English language. It is a good one. My bald description is by no means as effective as Landon’s atmospheric descriptions. He is quite a good writer in this way, effective but never overly dull. What I do notice are some similarities to some of the best ghost stories ever written. One by Edward Lucas White, and one by F. Marion Crawford. But before I go into these, I want to point out that the author’s choice of “Broughton” is interesting in itself. No doubt a tip-of-the-hat to Rhoda Broughton, the niece of J. Sheridan Le Fanu and author of “The Truth, the Whole Truth, and Nothing But the Truth”, an effective ghost story.
The Edward Lucas White story that comes to mind is “Lukundoo”, in which White uses a distancing mechanism where a person tells of another person telling of another person. This allows the horrible to be obscured, to allow the reader to gradually figure it out. Landon does that here too. The narrator tells of Colvin who tells of Broughton. Telling the story from Broughton’s POV directly would not work as well. This technique also builds up the believability as well.
The F. Marion Crawford connection is with “The Upper Berth”, also a tale of a traveler. Crawford uses the distancing mechanism as well to tell of a traveler on a ship that thinks he is sharing his room with another passenger but is, in fact, doing so with a ghost. And here is where I think Landon falls down. He describes in full the horrific thing he sees at the foot of the bed while Crawford only gives us the feel of the ghost, never really giving a full description. The second part of “Thurnley Abbey”, when the ghost comes down the hall and the three people can’t look at it is much more effective than when Colvin sees the ghost, though his description of being frozen is quite good.
Horror fiction is very much like humor. What works for one person, doesn’t for another. This story obviously worked for Boucher and McComas. Comparisons to M. R. James are unavoidable. Personally, I don’t see too strong a connection. If James had written this story, he would have had Colvin stay in a haunted room but would not have bothered with Broughton. Also we would have learned much more about Thurnley Abbey and had more hints as to the nature of the ghost. Landon provide nothing to explain her existence. Jamesian ghosts are usually hinted at for their reason to exist, and that reason is always horrible.
