Chapter 32 Villa overnight

Come to think of it, I passed ten or twenty warm and cozy barns and sheds that night, but I couldn't find a place I liked, for the lanes in Worcestershire were all remote and muddy.It wasn't until it was almost dark that I found an empty villa in a small garden full of mud and water, some distance from the main road.It had been pouring rain earlier that day, and the sprawling fruit trees were still dripping. The roof appeared to be intact, and there seemed to be no reason why it shouldn't be pleasantly dry inside—as dry as I'm likely to find it anywhere else, anyway. I made up my mind, looked carefully at this side of the road first, and then at the other side of the road, then pulled out an iron bar from the lining of my clothes and pried open the door.The door was guarded with nothing but a padlock and two shackles.Inside, it was dark, damp and dense.I struck a match, and through the halo of light, I saw a dark passage ahead somewhere.Just then the match snapped and went out.Though at such a gloomy hour, and in such a lonely alley, I had little reason to fear any passer-by, I closed the door cautiously.Then, lighting a match, I tiptoed into the passage and came to a hut at the end of the passage.Although the windows had been boarded up, the air here was a little fresher.Moreover, there was a small rusty stove in the house.Since it was dark and no one would see the fireworks, I removed a wainscot with the knife I carried with me, and soon I was boiling tea over a bright, small fire, roasting the fire during the day when it rained. Wet and steamy clothes.In a little while I had the fire full of logs, put my boots where they were easiest to dry, and, stretched out, got ready for bed.

I must have not slept very long, for when I awoke the fire was still burning.It is not easy to sleep for a long time lying on the uneven wooden floor, because the body is numb and wakes up at the slightest movement.I turned over and was about to go back to sleep when I was startled when I heard footsteps in the passage.As I said before, the windows were boarded up, and there were no other doors in the cabin, not even a cupboard to hide in.It occurred to me rather strongly that there was no other way now but to sit up and face reality, and that might mean being sent back to Worcester Gaol.I just got out of there two days ago and, for various reasons, was in no rush to resurface there.

The stranger was not in a hurry, but after a while, attracted by the firelight, he walked slowly into the passage.When he walked in, he didn't seem to notice that I was huddled in a corner, but went straight to the stove to warm his hands.He was dripping wet.I think, even on such a rainy night, no one will be wetter than him.He was hatless, his straight hair dripping over his eyes and hissing resentfully in the embers. It occurred to me at once that he was not a legal citizen, but another bum like myself, a street gentleman, so I greeted him, and we were chatting before long.He kept complaining about the cold and wet weather, curled up by the fire, his teeth chattered, and his face was dead white.

"That's right," I said. "Well, it's not a fine day for a road trip. But I figured the villa wasn't often visited, and it's a pretty nice one." Outside, pale sunflowers and tall, thick weeds swayed in the rain. "There used to be," said he, "there was never a more solid cottage in the county, nor a prettier garden. It was a proper little drawing-room. No one lives in it now." , even homeless people seldom stop here." Where many beggars are used to, you'll find rags, canned food, and odds and ends, but here's nothing. "How did this happen?" I asked.

He let out a very disturbed sigh before answering. "Ghost," he said, "ghost. He used to live here. It's a very sad story, and I don't want to tell you, but he ended up drowned, in that cistern. He was covered in mud, Floating, they pulled him up. Someone saw a man floating in the pool, someone saw him around the corner of the school, waiting for his kids. He seemed to have forgotten how they all died and drowned himself. Some people said he was walking up and down, up and down the villa. As long as they heard him pacing up and down in front of the door, they couldn't sleep at all, as if they had smallpox. He really had Drowned in that pool, and now he's walking again."

The stranger sighed again.As he moved, I heard water creaking in his boots. "But superstition is out of the question for people like us," I said. "It would be bad if we saw ghosts, and we'd have to lie on the road many rainy nights." "Yeah," he said, "yes, that's totally out of the question. I've never believed in ghosts myself." I smiled. "I don't believe it either," I said. "Whether anyone else has seen a ghost or not, I've never seen one." He gave me that weird look again. "Yeah," he said, "hope you never will. Some people won't. It's hard enough for poor people without money to stay, and ghosts come to scare them."

"It's the coppers that keep me from sleeping, not the ghosts," I said. "Nowadays, those rich, meddling fellows have a hard time getting a night's rest." Water continued to seep from his clothes, flowing all over the floor, and a dank smell rose from him. "Oh my god, man," I exclaimed, "you can't do it anyway?" "What?" He let out a coughing laugh. "Do it? I'll never do it... No matter rain or shine, winter or summer, nothing like us can do it. Get it!" He thrust his muddy hands up to the wrists into the fire, and watched fiercely and madly.I grabbed my two boots and screamed out into the night.