Scary Ghost Stories Strange Adventures In New York

“Strange Adventures in New York” is a frightening tale of horror. Scary stories and ghost stories lead you into an unfamiliar world that questions your reason. Enter this world at your own peril and enjoy the tale.

Strange Adventures in New York

Jim Shorthouse was private secretary to Mr. Jonas B. Sidebotham. Mr. Sidebotham had an old partner, a Mr. Garvey, who was blackmailing him into bringing a letter he wanted to cut his name off of. Shorthouse was to be his accredited representative. He handed him the letter and a Smith and Wesson revolver and off he went. He hadn’t seen him in 20 years, and odds were there would not be violence.

Shorthouse made up a second packet identical to the first, just in case, and headed out the Garvey’s estate. Inside, were only sheets of blank paper. It was his intention to change the packets and to let Garvey see him put one into the bag. In case of violence the bag would be the point of attack, and he intended to lock it and throw away the key. Before it could be forced open, and the deception discovered, he could escape with the real packet. The moment the signature was cut out he would be off. The last train back to Brooklyn was 7.15; and he would have to walk the six miles of mud and snow, for the driver of the buggy had refused point-blank to wait for him. Shorthouse told him to drive up to the front door but the man refused.

He paid the man, and then pushed open the rickety old gate swinging on a single hinge, and proceeded to walk up the drive that lay dark between close-standing trees. The house soon came into full view. There was not a sign of life. He went to the door, and saw that the door was standing ajar. It had been quietly opened, and there were a pair of eyes peering at him around the edge. There was no light in the hall beyond and he could only just make out the shape of a dim human face.

“Does Mr. Garvey live here?” he asked in a firm voice.

“Who are you?” came in a man’s tones.

“I’m Mr. Sidebotham’s private secretary. I wish to see Mr. Garvey on important business.”

“Are you expected?”

“I suppose so,” he said impatiently, thrusting a card through the opening. “Please take my name to him at once, and say I come from Mr. Sidebotham on the matter Mr. Garvey wrote about.”

He let Shorthouse in and told him to wait in the study. Thirty minutes passed when Shorthouse saw the figure of Joel Garvey standing before him. Surprise almost took his breath away. He was a distinguished looking man. He had been working in his lab in a hidden room behind the library. He was a fanatic for chemistry.

“I have all the papers, Mr. Garvey,” he replied, taking them out of the bag, “and I should be very glad if we could transact our business as speedily as possible. If you will cut out your signature I”

“One moment, please,” interrupted the other. “I must, before we proceed further, consult some papers in my laboratory. If you will allow me to leave you alone a few minutes for this purpose we can conclude the whole matter in a very short time.”

He drew a chair up to the desk and sat down, taking a pair of scissors from a drawer. His companion approached with the papers in his hand, unfolding them as he came. Garvey at once took them from him, and after turning over a few pages he stopped and cut out a piece of writing at the bottom of the last sheet but one.

Holding it up to him Shorthouse read the words “Joel Garvey” in faded ink.

“There! That’s my signature,” he said, “and I’ve cut it out. It must be nearly 20 years since I wrote it, and now I’m going to burn it.”

He went to the fire and stooped over to burn the little slip of paper, and while he watched it being consumed Shorthouse put the real papers in his pocket and slipped the imitation ones into the bag. Garvey turned just in time to see this latter movement.

“I’m putting the papers back,” Shorthouse said quietly; “you’ve done with them, I think.”

“Certainly,” he replied as, completely deceived, he saw the blue envelope disappear into the black bag and watched Shorthouse turn the key. “They no longer have the slightest interest for me.” As he spoke he moved over to the sideboard, and pouring himself out a small glass of whisky asked his visitor if he might do the same for him. But the visitor declined and was already putting on his overcoat when Garvey turned with genuine surprise on his face.

He insisted Shorthouse stay the night. It seems he had missed the last train out. So with hesitation Shorthouse agreed, and dinner was promptly served.

The meal was curious. When the servant Marx brought out a plate and placed it in front of Garvey, Shorthouse could sense steam rising from it. Not the steam of hot coals, but of warm flesh just removed. Garvey devoured his meal like a famished tiger. Shorthouse was disgusted.

“I suppose it was a shock to you to see me eat raw meat like that. I must apologize if it was unpleasant to you. But it’s all I can eat.”

“I shall ask your permission to retire,” Shorthouse said in a determined voice; “I’m tired tonight, will you be good enough to show me to my room?”

Garvey looked up at him with a curious expression with the gleam of cunning passion.

“Certainly,” he said, rising from his chair. “You’ve had a tiring journey. I ought to have thought of that before.”

Altogether the bedroom was very pleasant and comfortable, Shorthouse had no intention of going to bed. It was impossible to disregard the warning of his nerves. They had never failed him before.

Something brushing gently against the door set his nerves tingling afresh and made him tighten his grasp on the pistol. Somebody was evidently peering now through the keyhole of his room. He felt a presence in the room. There would be no sleep for him that night for fear of what might happen.

Towards morning, when the tension of the night had reached a high, a mist seemed to rise. The hideous shadow leaped into Garvey’s face and Marx’s face that had been hiding in the room. He foresaw a dreadful battle, and covering the two men with his pistol he retreated slowly to the door. Whether they were both mad, criminal, he didn’t wait to find out. The only thought present in his mind was that the sooner he made his escape the better.

Garvey’s face was loathsome, beast-like and livid with anger. Marx’s face was white and grey with fear and horror; both turned towards him and joined in a wild, horrible yell that woke the echoes of the night. The next second they were after him at full speed.

As he ran down the drive he heard behind him in the house the yells of the maniacs, and when he reached home several hours later Mr. Sidebotham not only raised his salary but also told him to buy a new hat and overcoat and send in the bill to him.