Introduction
… when the elder boy is out of the house nothing happens.
Among the the hundreds of articles that Arthur Machen wrote for the Evening News during the years 1910-1921, a handful of stories remained in his mind long after his career as a journalist ceased. Memories of treasure hordes, mysterious syndicates and the Sidney-street siege would crop up in his later essays and fiction. This month, we begin a series on one such story arc… the Hornsey Poltergeist. This supernatural set of phenomena has been little-studied, but the curious reader may find some additional information here.
Our purpose for the next few weeks will be to focus on Machen’s coverage of the inexplicable case. For our correspondent, this case was quite a head-scratcher. Machen never fully resolved his personal thoughts and feelings concerning the veracity of the haunting. This struggle is reflected in his numerous retelling of the affair in The London Adventure, his “Queer Things” column for The Observer (See What Do We Know?) and other places. A minor character in his final novel, The Green Round, casually mentioned the case, which is a further example of Machen’s technique of mixing reality with fiction for greater verisimilitude.
In this opening article, the modern reader will find Machen the investigator. He presents the facts of the case as he received them while allowing ample space for the inhabitants of the afflicted home to tell the story in their own words. The front page headline is overmuch, but the reporting is sincere.
Hornsey House of Nightmares
by
Arthur Machen
February 16, 1921
Very extraordinary things have been happening during the last three weeks at a house in Ferrestone-road, Hornsey.
Loud explosions, “like bombs,” have been heard, lumps of coal have been unaccountably propelled by some unknown agency in all directions, brooms have flown violently from a landing into the kitchen, glass and china have been smashed and windows broken.
A boy, sitting on a chair, has been raised, with the chair, from the ground.
The occupant of the house, writes an Evening News correspondent, is Mr. J. S. Frost.
How It Began
One of Frost’s sons gave me the whole history of the amazing disturbances.
He told me that the family consisted of his father and mother, his brother and himself, an aunt, and three children, his nephews.
The mother of these children has been dead about a year. One is a child of four, the other two are boys of nine and eleven.
“It all began,” said Mr. Frost, “three weeks ago. It was between five and seven in the evening.
“We heard loud explosions, like bombs, coming from the kitchen. We took it to be something wrong with the coal.
Coal Bounces Upstairs
“We went into the kitchen and found more coal on the floor than could have come out of the grate. But none of it showed any signs of the fire.
“We thought there must have been explosions which drove the coal out of the scuttle.”
“Next day it was ten times worse. We still thought it must be something wrong with the coal.
“As it happened, we had half a ton of fresh coal in some time before, so we cleared the old coal out and started on the new.
“Between twelve and two there must have been a hundred explosions.
“We found coal on the ground floor landing, as if it had been blown up the stairs from the kitchen.”
A Breakfast-time Crash
Thus, minutely, from day to day, almost from hour to hour, Mr. Frost told me the story of the strange events in the house. Finally, the coal was moved from the cellar into the garden.
At eight o’clock the next morning the whole family—this is an important point; and let it be noted that no servant is kept—were seated round the breakfast-table. There was a sudden crash; and coal was found on the first-floor landing.
So it goes on; with brief intervals of peace; coal is projected from somewhere, from any and every direction apparently; smashing glass gas-globes, vases, china.
“Last Sunday morning,” said Mr. Frost, “I was in church. Father was at home, downstairs, in the kitchen.
Shaving Pot Walks Out
“He saw the step-ladder rise and fall several times, and he saw some long brooms that are kept outside the kitchen come flying through the room at him.
“A tin of carbonate of soda burst open and smothered the walls, and a shaving-pot from the bathroom came downstairs.”
So far it has been coal which has been the centre and chief instrument of the disturbance; now there is a development.
“Last Monday, at tea-time,” Mr. Frost continued, “the plates in front of the two boys, my nephews, rose into the air and came down again upon the table without smashing.
“We had called the vicar in; and that night my mother and the vicar saw a chair and a towel-rail move across the room where the boys were sleeping. And a candlestick flew at my mother and hit her.
Alice—in Wonderland
“This morning I was sitting with the elder boy. A book, ‘Alice in Wonderland,’ flew on the floor and twirled around.
“Three glass dishes went off the sideboard, and two of them were smashed.
“Later in the day I was sitting with both boys. There came three loud taps, which sounded as if someone had kicked the under side of the table. I could see the boys’ feet, and I am certain they couldn’t have done it.
“Then I saw the elder boy, who was sitting on a chair, rise up, chair and all, and I caught hold of him.
“This happened again in five minutes’ time.”
Such, in a condensed form, is Mr. Frost’s story. I must mention, firstly:
That when the elder boy is out of the house nothing happens. He slept one night in the vicarage, and that night nothing happened at the vicarage or at the house in Ferrestone-road.
And secondly: that the whole family are convinced that trickery of any sort is utterly out of the question.
Is it a Racketty Spirit?
Ferrestone-road, in fact, is the scene of one of the most notable manifestations of the Poltergeist, or racketty spirit.
It has been noted that these manifestations always coincide with the presence of some youthful person in the household.
The “medium,” as the Spiritualists would put it, is usually a girl from 12 to 16.
If we say, briefly, that all Poltergeists are frauds, we are confronted by the questions: “But how on earth is it done?”
If we accept the theory of an unknown force, then we have to admit the utter want of purpose or meaning in the manifestations. But this lack of meaning may well be an argument in favour of their genuineness.
The Weekly Machen
Previous: The Shirt
Next: The Rackety Ghost Still Busy
darklybrightpress.com 
Thanks! That is lucidly – and vividly – presented, not least the last two paragraphs.
By the way, I suspect “gate” in the first paragraph after the sub-heading “Coal Bounces Upstairs” should be “grate”.
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Thank you for catching that error! It has now been corrected.
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