The Mezzotint by M.R. James - Classic Horror

Atmospheric Victorian ghost stories and supernatural fiction, performed in the style of classic BBC radio drama. Adapted and Narrated by Rehannah Mian, 

THE MEZZOTINT by M.R. James

A chilling, supernatural painting holds the key to the historical mystery of a missing child. 

The mezzotint was published in 1904 by English author M.R. James. 

Step into the shadows with chilling ghost stories, haunted houses, and paranormal encounters brought to life in the style of classic BBC radio dramas.

This atmospheric horror podcast delivers dramatised supernatural stories, Victorian ghost tales, eerie folklore, and spine-tingling hauntings in immersive, bite-sized episodes.

The stories are not true paranormal experiences or urban legends but are instead, fictional old ghost stories,  poltergeist cases, mysterious murders, and unexplained phenomena, each story is created for listeners who love:

• Scary bedtime stories
• Classic horror radio dramas
• Haunted house stories
• Folk horror & gothic tales
• Traditional supernatural storytelling
• Creepy late-night listening

Perfect for long drives, dark rooms, stormy nights, or when you think you heard something behind you…

If you enjoy ghost story podcasts, paranormal investigations, BBC-style audio dramas, and spooky storytelling, press follow and enter a world of shadows.

🎧 New haunting episodes released regularly.
👁 Just don’t look behind you.

The Music: 

Come Play with Me by Kevin MacLeod

Come Play with Me by Kevin MacLeod is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 license. ⁠⁠https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/⁠⁠

Source: ⁠⁠http://incompetech.com/music/royalty-free/index.html?isrc=USUAN1400042⁠⁠

Artist: ⁠⁠http://incompetech.com/⁠⁠

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:02

Hit subscribe or follow wherever you listen to your podcasts. Classic short ghost stories for radio. Adapted and read by Rihanna Mean. The Mezzotint by M. R. James. Those who have taken even the most limited interest in the acquisition of topographical pictures are aware that there is one London dealer whose aid is indispensable to their researchers. Mr J. W. Brittnell publishes at short intervals very admirable catalogues of a large and constantly changing stock of engravings, plans, and old sketches of mansions, churches, and towns in England and Wales. These catalogues were, of course, the ABC of his subject to Mr Williams. But as his museum already contained an enormous accumulation of topographical pictures, he was a regular rather than a copious buyer, and he rather looked to Mr Britnell to fill up gaps in the rank and file of his collection than to supply him with rarities. Now in February of last year, there appeared upon Mr Williams' desk at the museum a catalogue from Mr Brittnell's Emporium, and accompanying it was a typewritten communication from the dealer himself. This latter ran as follows Dear Sir, we beg to call your attention to number nine seven eight in our accompanying catalogue, which we shall be glad to send on approval. Yours faithfully JW Britnell To turn to number nine seven eight in the accompanying catalogue was with Mr Williams The Work of a Moment, and in the place indicated he found the following entry nine seven eight unknown interesting mesitant View of a Manor House Early Part of the Century fifteen by ten inches black frame two pound two shillings. It was not especially exciting and the price seemed high. However, as Mr Britnell, who knew his business and his customer, seemed to set store by it, Mr Williams wrote a postcard asking for the article to be sent on approval, along with some other engravings and sketches which appeared in the same catalogue, and so he passed, without much excitement of anticipation, to the ordinary labours of the day. A parcel of any kind always arrives a day later than you expect it, and that of Mr Britnell proved, as I believe the right phrase goes, no exception to the rule. It was delivered at the museum by the afternoon post of Saturday after Mr Williams had left his work, and it was accordingly brought round to his rooms in college by the attendant, in order that he might not have to wait over Sunday before looking through it and returning such of the contents as he did not propose to keep. And here he found it when he came into tea with a friend. The only item with which I am concerned was the rather large black framed mezzotint, of which I have already quoted the short description given in Mr Britnall's catalogue. Some more details of it will have to be given, though I cannot hope to put before you the look of the picture as clearly as it is present to my own eye. Very nearly the exact duplicate of it may be seen in a good many old inn parlours, or in the passages of undisturbed country mansions at the present moment. It was rather an indifferent mezzotint, and an indifferent mezzotint is, perhaps the worst form of engraving known. It presented a full face view of a not very large manor house of the last century, with three rows of plain sashed windows with rusticated masonry about them, a parapet with balls or vases at angles, and a small portico in the centre. On either side were trees, and in front a considerable expanse of lawn. The legend AWF Sculpsit was engraved on the narrow margin, and there was no further inscription. The whole thing gave the impression that it was the work of an amateur. What in the world Mr Britnell could mean by affixing the price of two pound two shillings to such an object was more than Mr Williams could imagine. He turned it over with a good deal of contempt. Upon the back was a paper label, the left hand half of which had been torn off. All that remained were the ends of two lines of writing. The first had the letters NGLEY Hall, the second S E X. It would perhaps be just worth while to identify the place represented, which he could easily do with the help of a gazetteer, and then he would send it back to Mr Britnell with some remarks reflecting upon the judgment of that gentleman. He lighted the candles, for now it was dark, made the tea, and supplied the friend with whom he had been playing golf. Tea was taken to the accompaniment of a discussion which golfing persons can imagine for themselves. It was now that the friend, let us call him Professor Binks, took up the framed engraving and said What's this place, Williams? Just what I'm going to find out, said Williams, going to the shelf for a gazetteer. Look at the back. Somethingly hall. Either in Sussex or Essex. Half the name's gone, you see. You don't happen to know it, I suppose. It's from that man Brittell, I suppose, isn't it? said Binks. Is it for the museum? Well I think I should buy it if the price was five shillings, said Williams. But for some unearthly reason he wants two guineas for it. I can't conceive why. It's a wretched engraving, and there aren't even any figures to give it life. It's not worth two guineas, I should think, said Binks. But I don't think it's so badly done. The moonlight seems rather good to me. And I should have thought that there were figures, or at least a figure, just on the edge in front. Let's look, said Williams. Well it's true the light is rather cleverly given. Where's your figure? Oh yes, just the head, in the very front of the picture. And indeed there was, hardly more than a black blot on the extreme edge of the engraving. The head of a man or woman, a good deal muffled up, the back turned to the spectator and looking towards the house. Williams had not noticed it before. Still, he said, Though it's a cleverer thing than I thought, I can't spend two guineas of museum money on a picture of a place I don't know. Professor Binks had his work to do and soon went, and very nearly up to haul time, Williams was engaged in a vain attempt to identify the subject of his picture. If the vowel before the NG had only been left, it would have been easy enough, he thought. But as it is, the name may be anything from Gestingly to Langley, and there are many more names ending like this than I thought. And this rotten book has no index of terminations. Hall, in Mr Williams College, was at seven. It need not to be dwelt upon, the less so as he met their colleagues who had been playing golf during the afternoon, and words with which we have no concern were freely banded across the table, merely golfing words I would hasten to explain. I suppose an hour or more to have been spent in what is called common room after dinner. Later in the evening some few retired to William's rooms, and I have little doubt that whist was played and tobacco smoked. During a lull in these operations, William picked up the metzutent from the table without looking at it, and handed it to a person mildly interested in art, telling him where it had come from, and the other particulars which we already know. The gentleman took it carelessly, looked at it, then said in a tone of some interest, It's a really very good piece of work, Williams. It has quite a feeling of the romantic period. The light is admirably managed, it seems to me. And the figure, though it is rather too grotesque, is somehow very impressive. Yes, isn't it? said Williams, who was just then busy giving whiskey and soda to the others of the company, and was unable to come across the room to look at the view again. It was by this time rather late in the evening, and the visitors were on the move. After they went, Williams was obliged to write a letter or two and clear up some odd bits of work. At last, sometime past midnight he was disposed to turn in, and he put out his lamp after lighting his bedroom candle. The picture lay face upwards on the table where the last man who looked at it had put it, and it caught his eye as he turned the lamp down. What he saw made him very nearly drop the candle on the floor, and he declares now that if he had been left in the dark at that moment, he would have had a fit. But as that did not happen, he was able to put down the light on the table and take a good look at the picture. In the middle of the lawn, in front of the unknown house, there was a figure where no figure had been at five o'clock that afternoon. It was crawling on all fours towards the house, and it was muffled in a strange black garment with a white cross on the back. I do not know what is the ideal course to pursue in a situation of this kind. I can only tell you what Mr Williams did. He took the picture by one corner and carried it across the passage to a second set of rooms which he possessed. There he locked it up in a drawer, sported the doors of both sets of rooms, and retired to bed. But first he wrote out and signed an account of the extraordinary change which the picture had undergone since it had come into his possession. Sleep visited him rather late, but it was consoling to reflect that the behavior of the picture did not depend upon his own unsupported testimony. Evidently, the man who had looked at it the night before had seen something of the same kind as he had, otherwise, he might have been tempted to think that something gravely wrong was happening to either his eyes or his mind. This possibility being fortunately precluded, two matters awaited him on the morrow. He must take stock of the picture very carefully and call in a witness for the purpose, and he must make a determined effort to ascertain what house it was that was represented. He would therefore ask his neighbour Nisbet to breakfast with him, and he would subsequently spend a morning over the gazetteer. Nisbert was disengaged and arrived about nine thirty. His host was not quite dressed, I'm sorry to say, even at this late hour. During breakfast nothing was said about the Metzotent by Williams, save that he had a picture on which he wished for Nisbet's opinion. But those who are familiar with university life can picture for themselves the wide and delightful range of subjects the conversation of two fellows of Canterbury College is likely to extend during a Sunday morning breakfast. Hardly a topic was left unchallenged. Yet I am bound to say that Williams was rather distraught, for his interest naturally centered in that very strange picture which was now reposing face downwards in the drawer in the room opposite. The morning pipe was at last lighted, and the moment had arrived for which he looked. With very considerable, almost tremulous excitement, he ran across, unlocked the drawer, and, extracting the picture, still face downwards, ran back and put it into Nisbet's hands. Now, he said, Nisbert I want you to tell me exactly what you see in that picture. Describe it, if you don't mind, rather minutely. I'll tell you why afterwards. Well, said Nisbert, I have here a view of a country house. English, I presume. By moonlight. Moonlight, you're sure of that? Certainly. The moon appears to be on the wane, if you wish for details, and there are clouds in the sky. I'll swear there was no moon when I first saw it, added Williams in an aside. All right, go on. Well there's not much more to be said, Nisbert continued. The house has one, two, three rows of windows five in each row. Except at the bottom where there's a porch instead of the middle one, and but what about the figures? said Williams with marked interest. There aren't any, said Nisbert. What? No figure on the grass in front Not a thing. You'll swear to that certainly I will. But there's just one other thing. What? Why one of the windows on the ground floor, left of the door, is open. Is it really so? My goodness he must have got in, said Williams with great excitement, and he hurried to the back of the sofa on which Nisbert was sitting, and catching the picture from him, verified the matter for himself. It was quite true. There was no figure, and there was the open window. Williams, after a moment of speechless surprise, went to the writing table and scribbled for a short time. Then he brought two papers to Nisbert, and asked him first to sign one, it was his own description of the picture, which you have just heard, and then to read the other, which was Williams' statement written the night before. What can it all mean? said Nisbert. Exactly, said Williams. Well one thing I must do, or three things now I think of it. I must find out from Garwood, this was his last night's visitor, what he saw, and then I must get the thing photographed before it goes further, and then I must find out what the place is. I can do the photographing myself, said Nisbet, and I will. But you know, it looks very much as if we were assisting at the working out of a tragedy somewhere. The question is has it happened already? Or is it going to come off? You must find out what the place is, yes, he said, looking at the picture again. I expect you're right. He has got in. And if I don't mistake, there'll be the devil to pay in one of the rooms upstairs. I'll tell you what, said Williams, I'll take the picture across to Old Green, this was a senior fellow of the college who had been the burser there for many years. It's quite likely he'll know it. We have property in Essex and Sussex, and he must have been over the two counties a lot in his time. Quite likely he will, said Nisbert. But just let me take my photograph first. But look here, I rather think that Green isn't up today. He wasn't in hall last night, and I think I heard him say he was going down for the Sunday. That's true, said Williams. He's gone to Brighton. Well if you'll photograph it now, I'll go across to Garwood and get his statement, and you keep an eye on it while I'm gone. I'm beginning to think that two guineas is not a very exorbitant price for it now. In a short time he had returned and brought Mr Gwood with him. Gard's statement was to the effect that the figure, when he had seen it, was clear of the edge of the picture, but had not got far across the lawn. He remembered a white mark on the back of its drapery, but could not have been sure it was a cross. A document to this effect was then drawn up and signed, and Nisbet proceeded to photograph the picture. Now what do you mean to do? he said. Are you going to sit and watch it all day? Well, no, I think not, said Williams. I rather imagine we're meant to see the whole thing. You see, between the time I saw it last night and this morning, there was time for lots of things to happen, but the creature only got into the house. It could easily have got through its business in the time and gone to its own place again, but the fact of the window being open, I think must mean that it's in there now. So I feel quite easy about leaving it. And besides, I have kind of an idea that it wouldn't change much, if at all in the daytime. We might go out for a walk this afternoon, and come in to tea, or whenever it gets dark. I shall leave it out on the table here and sport the door. My skip can get in but no one else. The three agreed that this would be a good plan, and further that if they spent the afternoon together, they would be less likely to talk about the business to other people, for any rumour of such a transaction as was going on would bring the whole of the phasmatological society about their ears. We may give them a respite until five o'clock. At or near that hour the three were entering William's staircase. They were at first slightly annoyed to see that the door of his rooms was unsported, but in a moment it was remembered that on a Sunday the Skips came for orders an hour or so earlier than on weekdays. However, a surprise was awaiting them. The first thing they saw was the picture leaning up against a pile of books on the table as it had been left. And the next thing was William Skip, seated on a chair opposite, gazing at it with undisguised horror. Mr Filcher, the name is not my own invention, was a servant of considerable standing, and set the standard of etiquette to all his own college and to several neighbouring ones, and nothing could be more alien to his practice than to be found sitting on his master's chair or appearing to take any particular notice of his master's furniture or pictures. Indeed, he seemed to feel this himself. He started violently when the three men were in the room, and got up with a marked effort. Then he said Oh I ask your pardon, sir, for taking such a freedom as to sit down. Not at all, Robert, interposed Mr Williams. I was meaning to ask you some time what you thought of that picture. Well, sir, of course I don't set up my opinion against yours, but it ain't the picture I should hang where my little girl should see it, sir. Wouldn't you, Robert? Why not? No, sir. Why the poor child? I recollect once she see a door bible with pictures not half of what that is, and we had to set up with her three or four nights afterwards, if you'll believe me. And if she was to catch sight of this skeleton here, or whatever it is, carrying off the poor baby, she would be in a taken. But what I should say, it don't seem a right picture to be laying about, sir. Not where anyone that's liable to be startled could come on it. Should you be wantin' anything else this evening, sir? Thank you, sir. With these words the excellent man went to continue the round of his masters, and you may be sure the gentleman who he left lost no time in gathering round the engraving. There was the house as before, under the waning moon and the drifting clouds. The window that had been open was shut, and the figure was once more on the lawn. But not this time crawling cautiously on hands and knees. Now it was erect, and stepping swiftly with long strides towards the front of the picture. The moon was behind it, and the black drapery hung down over its face so that only hints of it could be seen. And what was visible made the spectators profoundly thankful that they could see no more than a white, dome-like forehead and a few straggling hairs. The head was bent down, and And the arms were tightly clasped over an object which could be dimly seen and identified as a child. Whether dead or living, it was not possible to say. The legs of the appearance alone could be plainly discerned, and they were horribly thin. From five to seven the three companions sat and watched the picture by turns, but it never changed. They agreed at last that it would be safe to leave it, and that they would return after Hall and await further developments. When they assembled again at the earliest possible moment, the engraving was there, but the figure was gone, and the house was quiet under the moonbeams. There was nothing for it but to spend the evening over the gazetteers and guidebooks. Williams was the lucky one at last, and perhaps he deserved it. At eleven thirty PM he read from Murray's guide to Essex the following lines sixteen and a half miles, Anningley. The church has been an interesting building of Normandate, but was extensively classicized in the last century. It contains the tomb of the family of Francis, whose mansion, Anningley Hall, a solid Queen Anne House, stands immediately beyond the churchyard in a park of about eighty acres. The family is now extinct, the last heir having disappeared mysteriously in infancy in the year eighteen oh two. The father, Mr Arthur Francis, was locally known as a talented amateur engraver in Mesotint. After his son's disappearance he lived in complete retirement at the hall, and was found dead in his studio on the third anniversary of the disaster, having just completed an engraving of the house, impressions of which are of considerable rarity. Mr Green on his return at once identified the house as Anningloo Hall. Is there any kind of explanation of the figure Green? was the question which Williams naturally asked. I don't know, I'm sure. What used to be said in the place when I first knew it, which was before I came up here, was just this. Old Francis was always very much down on these poaching fellows, and whenever he got the chance he used to get a man who he suspected of it turned off the estate, and by degrees he got rid of them all but one. Squires could do a lot of things then that they daren't think of now. Well, this man that was left was what you find pretty often in that country, the last remains of a very old family. I believe they were lords of the manor at one time. I recollect just the same thing in my own parish. What, like the man in Tess of the Derbervilles? Williams put in. Yes, I dare say. It's not a book that I could ever read myself, but this fellow could show a row of tombs in the church there that belonged to his ancestors, and all that went to sour him a bit. But Francis, they said, could never get at him. He always kept just on the right side of the law. Until one night the keepers found him at it in a wood right at the end of the estate. I could show you the place now. It marches with some land that used to belong to an old uncle of mine. You can imagine there was a row, and this man, Gordy Yes, that was the name to be sure, Gordy. I thought I should get it. He was unlucky enough, poor chap, to shoot a gamekeeper. Well that was what Francis wanted, and grand juries. You know what they would have been like back then, and poor Gordy was strung up in double quick time. I've been shown the place he was buried in, on the north side of the church. You know the way in that part of the world. Anyone that's been hanged or made away with themselves, they bury them that side. And the idea was that some friend of Gordy's, not a relation because he had none, poor devil. He was the last of his line, kind of spes ultimatis, must have planned to get hold of Francis's boy and put an end to his line too. I don't know, it's rather an out of the way thing for an Essex poacher to think of, but you know, I should say now, it looks more as if old Gordy had managed the job himself. Bor, I hate to think of it. Have some whiskey, Williams. I have only to add that the picture is now in the Ashlean Museum, that it has been treated with a view to discovering whether sympathetic ink has been used in it, but without effect, that Mr Britnell knew nothing of it, save that he was sure it was uncommon, and that, though carefully watched, it has never been known to change again. 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