Free Black Ceremonies by Charles Black, David A. Riley

the Dark Continent. I’m a sensitive sort of chap, so I did not press him for more details.”
    The Major took a mouthful of his drink.
    “Naturally, I thought it only right that I should pay my respects to old Hadingly-Scott.”
    The Major broke off from his story. “See to the fire would you, Dawson?”
    The steward hastened to obey.
    “I don’t know much about architecture, so I couldn’t tell you when Morstan House was built, but it’s enough to say that it’s an old place. Old enough to have one of those private chapels adjoining the house,” the Major explained.
    “Hadingly-Scott had been laid to rest in its crypt, and after dinner I ventured down to this underground vault to pay my respects to the old fellow.
    “You’d think it wouldn’t affect an old soldier like myself – must have faced death a hundred times or more. But I have to admit, I found it quite an unnerving experience, being underground in this ill-lit sepulchre, surrounded by all these boxes containing the remains of long dead people. Made me contemplate the fact that that’s the fate that awaits us all. But I don’t suppose you young fellows ever bother to think about your own mortality.”
    Rather unusually for the Major, he did not wait for us to reply. He had evidently warmed to his tale.
    “Now, neither young Hadingly-Scott nor a servant had accompanied me down to the vault, and I thought I was quite alone down there. But I realised that that was not the case when I quite distinctly heard someone cough.
    “I glanced around but could see no one. The cough had definitely come from inside the crypt, and I called out, ‘Who’s there?’ No one answered, but then I heard the coughing again.
    “At first, I had thought it was the cough of someone trying to attract my attention – and perhaps the first time it was. But I realised that it was the cough of someone suffering from some sort of malady.
    “Well, despite my discomfort, I knew I would have to look further into the crypt. I had to know if someone needed aid, or whether it was someone’s idea of a joke.”
    “Rather bad taste,” said Soames.
    “Yes, quite,” the Major agreed.
    “So there I was, just preparing myself to delve deeper when a voice spoke. ‘You hear it too.’ It was young Hadingly-Scott, although at first I didn’t really pay attention to the words that he had said. Made me jump, you see, I’d been sure I was alone.
    “‘Damn it all, Hadingly-Scott,’ I said, ‘I didn’t realise you were in here with me. You ought to get something for that cough of yours.’ Well, the fellow just stared at me, and it suddenly dawned on me, what he had actually said.
    “And whilst he stared at me, I heard again that pitiful coughing. And I finally realised where it was coming from. Yes, gentlemen, from the senior Hadingly-Scott’s coffin!”
    “My God!” exclaimed Soames.
    “Catalepsy!” gasped Dr Hurst.
    “Buried alive,” I said. “The poor fellow.”
    “Monstrous!” I heard Dawson cry.
    Hurst shook his head. “It’s like something that fellow Poe would have written.”
    The Major was indignant at our quite understandable – I thought – interruption. “Am I telling this story or not?” He huffed.
    We profusely agreed that he indeed was, and urged him to continue. Soames even had Dawson fetch the Major another drink to placate him.
    “Well, if you chaps would let me get on with it, rather than interrupting all the time, you would learn that it is a tale more strange than you imagine.”
    The Major had a slight smile of amusement – I noted now – but I don’t think any of the others noticed.
    He continued, “Overcoming my initial shock, I realised why the junior Hadingly-Scott had been so reticent over the manner of his father’s death. And quite naturally I suspected some sort of foul play on his part.”
    “Quite naturally,” echoed Hurst.
    “I demanded that the coffin be opened immediately. The heir sighed, but agreed that it would be so.