In the April 1931 issue of “Occult Review,” one Lieutenant-Colonel Ralph W. Nicholson related a story he titled “A Pathan-Haunted Bungalow.” He described a particularly malevolent haunting, with an enigmatic ending that would not be out-of-place in one of M.R. James’ more sinister tales.
In 1897, Nicholson was quartered at a station in India’s North-West Province. One night, a young man who had just come up from Bombay related an experience he and two other men had while living at Surat, on the West Coast.
The three men were employed on the Bombay, Baroda & C.I. Railway, so they decided to make their residence in Surat, as it was conveniently situated near the part of the line where they were working. They soon found what seemed like an ideal residence--a large, comfortable bungalow with a remarkably low rent. The landlord had one odd requirement: that they pay at least three months’ rent in advance. However, as the bungalow came so cheap, the men did not consider this as any disadvantage.
The house had two stories. The lower contained a large drawing-room, flanked on each side by other rooms, while the bedrooms were on the top floor. There was a wide veranda running along the length of the bungalow, with a staircase at one end leading to the upper story.
On their first night in the house, the men fastened all the doors and windows. Two of them went to bed, leaving the third, whose name was Woodburn, downstairs to turn out the lights. As he was doing so, he suddenly felt “a presence” near him. When he looked around, he was startled to see a “Pathan,” (a tribe residing in the North-West) dressed in their trademark flowing white robes. The man was glaring at him in a highly unnerving fashion.
Woodburn demanded to know what the stranger was doing there. The Pathan’s response was to hiss at him through his teeth. Woodburn threw a punch at the man, only to have his fist go completely through the figure. Then the Pathan slowly faded away.
Woodburn, now quite thoroughly shaken, ran up to join his companions. It took some time before he was calm enough to tell the others what had happened. He strongly hinted that the ghostly Pathan had somehow threatened him, but when the men pressed him for details, Woodburn refused. If he told them, he said, the Pathan would surely return and kill him.
Woodburn, quite understandably, declared that he would not spend another night in the house. The other two men disagreed, pointing out that they couldn’t afford to just throw away all the rent they had paid. The trio finally came to a compromise: they would stay for the three months, but sleep in the same room and keep a light burning until dawn.
All the rest of that night, the men heard the most terrifying groans and screams, along with the sound of loud hissing coming from the drawing-room. On several occasions, they tried rushing into the drawing-room suddenly, but when they did, the noises would immediately cease.
Every night, the men were plagued by these chilling spectral sounds, and now and then they would see the Pathan on the veranda, or spying on them through the windows of the drawing-room. One night, Nicholson’s informant heard a threatening hissing sound. He then saw through the glazed door of the drawing-room the face of the Pathan, giving him an evil grin. When he went in search of the figure, he saw nothing, but felt a sharp slap on his cheek. Every now and then, invisible hands would throw stones at them from outside. The stones would somehow go through the windows of the drawing-room without breaking the panes of glass.
On one occasion, a friend of the three men, a sailor in the Coast Guard, came for a short stay. He laughed at their tales of the ghost, and said he had no fear of sleeping in the room next to the drawing-room. However--assuming the bungalow was being plagued by some human miscreant--he took the precaution of putting a loaded revolver under his pillow, and keeping a cutlass by his side. During the night, he was suddenly awakened by the feeling that someone was unfastening the straps of his bed and dumping him on the floor. When he leaped to his feet, he was shocked to see the tall Pathan standing over him.
The sailor spoke to the intruder, but getting no reply, he lunged at him with the cutlass. He was appalled to see the blade pass harmlessly through the Pathan, who continued to stand there, hissing at him. The terrified sailor fled upstairs, shrieking “I’ve seen him! I’ve seen him!”
The men searched the records of Surat in an effort to learn why the bungalow was haunted. All they could discover is that for many years past, it was known as the “Bhut [ghost] Bungalow.” None of the local residents would go near it after dark, and no servant could be persuaded to spend the night there. There was a tomb in the back of the house, which was said to be that of a very evil man. It was believed that his spirit was haunting the place.
Not long after the men finally the house, Nicholson’s informant ran into Woodburn--who had become uncharacteristically quiet and somber--at a spot some three hundred miles from Surat. The informant again begged Woodburn to say what sort of threat the ghostly Pathan had made to him. Surely, now that they were so far from the bungalow, the apparition was no longer of any danger? The shuddering Woodburn refused to talk. He was still convinced that if he did, the Pathan would hear him and take his life.
Three months later, Woodburn died of cholera. This surprised his doctor, as the attack was so mild it should not have been fatal. The doctor told Nicholson’s informant that something had obviously been deeply troubling Woodburn--a mental burden so great “that he had no wish to bear it any longer.”
