The phantom at Clapham
At dusk one day in the middle of the nineteenth century, a woman and her son sat peacefully in the garden at the back of the house in Clapham, England. Nothing in their surroundings carried any suggestion of the unusual. The hour was pleasant and serene, the fading light throwing long shadows across a rolling lawn that stretched from the house to a wall and gate. Yet in a moment the lives of their family would be transformed by what they believed to be a phantom encounter.

As the two of them sat talking, the son, whose name was John, shifted suddenly in his chair and pointed at something across the lawn. "Mother," he exclaimed, "there's Ellen!"

His surprise was understandable. Ellen, the older of the family's two daughters, had been sent away to Brighton in the south of England by her parents, in hopes of dampening the ardor of an unacceptable romance. Although the girl had been desperately unhappy away from home and suitor, Ellen's mother realized that her husband would be angry over their daughter's early return against his wishes.
"John," she said to her son, "go quickly and tell Ellen to come into the house. Don't say anything to your father."

The young man started to rise from his chair, but sank down again after trying to put his weight on an ankle sprained earlier that day. "I can't run after her," he said. "You'll have to send Mary."

The mother summoned the other daughter from the house and told her to go fetch her sister. "Father shall not know anything about her coming back," the mother instructed. "We'll send her away again the morning." Mary, a young and energetic girl, ran across the lawn and through the garden gate. She hailed Ellen and was puzzled when her sister failed to respond. She called out again. Wordlessly, Ellen turned down a path that led away from the house, her dark blue cloak billowing behind her.

Mary ran in pursuit, following the path across the softly rolling countryside. At last she caught up and reached out to grasp her sister's arm. "Ellen," she said, "where are you going? Why are you -"

The words caught in her throat. She found that she was unable to take hold of her sister's arm. Her hand seemed to pass directly through the flesh and bone; she felt nothing. A terrible chill ran through her as she watched Ellen turn silently away again and recede.

Numb, the girl walked back to the garden where her mother and brother sat waiting. She told them what had happened. The mother, by now ashen, ran to her husband and repeated the story to him. He shared her conviction that some calamity had befallen their elder daughter.

The next day, their worst fears were confirmed. The previous evening, at the very hour her image had appeared at the house in Clapham, their distraught daughter had thrown herself into the sea and drowned.