The True Tale of the Phantom Coach

This story is called The True Tale of the Phantom Coach by W.t. Linskill. This is a LibraryCall adaptation and recording. The great curtain had fallen after the play, and I was standing chatting on the stage of the theatre in Cambridge when one of the stage men came to tell me I was wanted at the stage door and I must hurry up at once. I proceeded, and someone shouted out “Come with us, we want you to meet a fellow named Willie Carson, and there will be supper. He has something to tell us.” Well, off we went to a hotel restaurant and we found Carson sitting over a blazing fire, with a supper set that was lit up with candles. It was a picture of comfort. Outside it was snowing, the wind bitterly cold. After a talk over an excellent supper, our host asked, “Did you ever hear of the Phantom Coach at St Andrews?” “Often,” I replied, “I have heard stories from lots of people; but why do you ask?” “Because I’ve seen it,” he replied, softly and thoughtfully. “Five years ago, it was very, very strange; that is why I asked you here tonight. I wanted to talk to you about it.” “Tell us all about it,” we all shouted at once, “we won’t make fun of it.” “There is nothing to make fun of; indeed, it’s a true story,” he said. “Listen, and I will try to tell you what I saw, but I can’t picture it properly. Five years ago I had just come home from America. One night—it was hot and stuffy, and about midnight—I was determined to take a walk. “It was a hot, dark, and stormy night, black clouds floated now and again over the moon, shining brightly in the distance. “Now and again I could hear the sound of far-away thunder, and there were gusts of wind. I must have been about two miles along the road, when I could discern some very large object approaching me rapidly. As it came nearer I noticed it resembled a coach, it seemed to have four large black horses, and the driver was a dark, shapeless figure. As it passed by, I heard the scariest sound. “It was uncanny and eerie in the extreme. As it passed me the moon shined brightly, and I saw for a second a ghostly white face at the coach window. One most remarkable thing was that it had no shadow of any kind. “Just as it passed me there was a terrific roar of thunder, and a blaze of lightning that nearly blinded me, and in the distance I saw that ghastly coach; then clouds came over the moon and all was black—a darkness one could feel. “I tell you, boys, it’s all right in this room to talk about, but none of you would have liked to be on that lonely road. It was supernatural, I am convinced. There is a very thin veil between us and the unseen world of spirits. “They say I have a sixth sense, meaning I can see spirits. “One day, a letter came from my brother giving me a curious explanation. “The following afternoon after the day I saw the coach, my brother was looking out of the old manor house windows, when he and several others noticed a large bird, having the most peculiar feathers. It was sitting on the garden wall. No one had ever seen a bird of this kind before. My brother said, “That is the bird of a dark omen, it only appears before death. I have only seen it once before.’ The next time my brother wrote to me, I learned that our eldest brother had died the day I saw the coach, which was the same day my brother saw the bird at our old home. Very odd, right? What do you think about that coach?” “Only tales,” I said. “Many people swear they have heard it, or seen it, on stormy nights. I know someone who swears to it, and also a doctor who passed it on the road, and it nearly frightened his horse to death and him too. “I heard the tale of the two travelers. They were walking one wild stormy night when the uncanny coach passed by them. Then it stopped; the door opened, and a white hand reached towards them. One of the travelers rushed up and got in, then suddenly the door noiselessly shut and the coach moved on, leaving the other traveler alone in the wind and rain. ‘I never saw my friend again,’ said the traveler, when he told the tale. ‘ “They say his body was found in the sea some months afterwards, and the tale goes that the phantom coach finishes its journey in the waves of St Andrews Bay.” “Whose coach is it?” asked all that were in the room. “I cannot say. I do not know who is supposed to be the figure inside, unless it is the Devil himself. At all events, it seems a certain fact that a phantom coach has been seen from time to time on the roads round St Andrews. I have never seen any of these things myself.” “Well,” said Carson, “that awful coach does appear; it appeared to me, and, eventually will appear to many others. I pity with all my heart anyone who sees it. Beware of those roads late at night, or, like me, you may some day meet that ghastly, uncanny, old phantom coach. If so, you will remember it forever.” “I’d sooner see the bird than the coach,” said one. “Guess I’d rather not see either of them,” said an American present, “glad we have no phantom coaches in the east.” “Perhaps you do. I would tread lightly on the lonely dark roads.” said Carson. He knows we are aware of his presence… We can’t escape now.