The Woman in Black: A Ghost Story

The Woman in Black: A Ghost Story

by Susan Hill


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Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780307950215
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Publication date: 10/18/2011
Edition description: Reprint
Pages: 174
Sales rank: 118,226
Product dimensions: 5.10(w) x 7.90(h) x 0.60(d)

About the Author

Susan Hill has been a professional writer for over fifty years. Her books have won the Whitbread, the John Llewellyn Prize, and the W. Somerset Maugham Award, and have been shortlisted for the Booker Prize. Her novels include Strange MeetingÌm the King of the Castle and A Kind Man, and she has also published collections of short stories and two autobiographies. Her ghost story, The Woman in Black, has been running in London’s West End since 1988. Susan is married with two adult daughters and lives in North Norfolk.

Read an Excerpt

The Woman in Black

By Susan Hill


Copyright © 2011 Susan Hill
All right reserved.

ISBN: 9780307950215

Christmas Eve

It was nine-thirty on Christmas Eve. As I crossed the long entrance hall of Monk’s Piece on my way from the dining room, where we had just enjoyed the first of the happy, festive meals, toward the drawing room and the fire around which my family were now assembled, I paused and then, as I often do in the course of an evening, went to the front door, opened it and stepped outside. 

I have always liked to take a breath of the evening, to smell the air, whether it is sweetly scented and balmy with the flowers of midsummer, pungent with the bonfires and leaf-mold of autumn, or crackling cold from frost and snow. I like to look about me at the sky above my head, whether there are moon and stars or utter blackness, and into the darkness ahead of me; I like to listen for the cries of nocturnal creatures and the moaning rise and fall of the wind, or the pattering of rain in the orchard trees, I enjoy the rush of air toward me up the hill from the flat pastures of the river valley.

Tonight, I smelled at once, and with a lightening heart, that there had been a change in the weather. All the previous week, we had had rain, chilling rain and a mist that lay low about the house and over the countryside. From the windows, the view stretched no farther than a yard or two down the garden. It was wretched weather, never seeming to come fully light, and raw, too. There had been no pleasure in walking, the visibility was too poor for any shooting and the dogs were permanently morose and muddy. Inside the house, the lamps were lit throughout the day and the walls of larder, outhouse and cellar oozed damp and smelled sour, the fires sputtered and smoked, burning dismally low.

My spirits have for many years now been excessively affected by the ways of the weather, and I confess that, had it not been for the air of cheerfulness and bustle that prevailed in the rest of the house, I should have been quite cast down in gloom and lethargy, unable to enjoy the flavor of life as I should like and irritated by my own susceptibility. But Esmé is merely stung by inclement weather into a spirited defiance, and so the preparations for our Christmas holiday had this year been more than usually extensive and vigorous.

I took a step or two out from under the shadow of the house so that I could see around me in the moonlight. Monk’s Piece stands at the summit of land that rises gently up for some four hundred feet from where the little River Nee traces its winding way in a north to south direction across this fertile, and sheltered, part of the country. Below us are pastures, interspersed with small clumps of mixed, broadleaf woodland. But at our backs for several square miles it is a quite different area of rough scrub and heathland, a patch of wildness in the midst of well-farmed country. We are but two miles from a good-sized village, seven from the principal market town, yet there is an air of remoteness and isolation which makes us feel ourselves to be much further from civilization.

I first saw Monk’s Piece one afternoon in high summer, when out driving in the trap with Mr. Bentley. Mr. Bentley was formerly my employer, but I had lately risen to become a full partner in the firm of lawyers to which I had been articled as a young man (and with whom, indeed, I remained for my entire working life). He was at this time nearing the age when he had begun to feel inclined to let slip the reins of responsibility, little by little, from his own hands into mine, though he continued to travel up to our chambers in London at least once a week, until he died in his eighty-second year. But he was becoming more and more of a country-dweller. He was no man for shooting and fishing but, instead, he had immersed himself in the roles of country magistrate and churchwarden, governor of this, that and the other county and parish board, body and committee. I had been both relieved and pleased when finally he took me into full partnership with himself, after so many years, while at the same time believing the position to be no more than my due, for I had done my fair share of the donkey work and borne a good deal of the burden of responsibility for directing the fortunes of the firm with, I felt, inadequate reward—at least in terms of position.

So it came about that I was sitting beside Mr. Bentley on a Sunday afternoon, enjoying the view over the high hawthorn hedgerows across the green, drowsy countryside, as he let his pony take the road back, at a gentle pace, to his somewhat ugly and over-imposing manor house. It  was rare for me to sit back and do nothing. In London I lived for my work, apart from some spare time spent in the study and collecting of watercolors. I was then thirty-five and I had been a widower for the past twelve years. I had no taste at all for social life and, although in good general health, was prone to occasional nervous illnesses and conditions, as a result of the experiences I will come to relate. Truth to tell, I was growing old well before my time, a somber, pale-complexioned man with a strained expression—a dull dog.

I remarked to Mr. Bentley on the calm and sweetness of the day, and after a sideways glance in my direction he said, “You should think of getting yourself something in this direction—why not? Pretty little cottage—down there, perhaps?” And he pointed with his whip to where a tiny hamlet was tucked snugly into a bend of the river below, white walls basking in the afternoon sunshine. “Bring yourself out of town some of these Friday afternoons, take to walking, fill yourself up with fresh air and good eggs and cream.”

The idea had a charm, but only a distant one, seemingly unrelated to myself, and so I merely smiled and breathed in the warm scents of the grasses and the field flowers and watched the dust kicked up off the lane by the pony’s hooves and thought no more about it. Until, that is, we reached a stretch of road leading past a long, perfectly proportioned stone house, set on a rise above a sweeping view down over the whole river valley and then for miles away to the violet-blue line of hills in the distance.

At that moment, I was seized by something I cannot precisely describe, an emotion, a desire—no, it was rather more, a knowledge, a simple certainty, which gripped me, and all so clear and striking that I cried out involuntarily for Mr. Bentley to stop, and, almost before he had time to do so, climbed out of the pony trap into the lane and stood on a grassy knoll, gazing first up at the house, so handsome, so utterly right for the position it occupied, a modest house and yet sure of itself, and then looking across at the country beyond. I had no sense of having been here before, but an absolute conviction that I would come here again, that the house was already mine, bound to me invisibly.

To one side of it, a stream ran between the banks toward the meadow beyond, whence it made its meandering way down to the river.

Mr. Bentley was now looking at me curiously, from the trap. “A fine place,” he called.

I nodded, but, quite unable to impart to him any of my extreme emotions, turned my back upon him and walked a  few yards up the slope from where I could see the entrance to the old, overgrown orchard that lay behind the house and petered out in long grass and tangled thicket at the far end. Beyond that, I glimpsed the perimeter of some rough-looking, open land. The feeling of conviction I have described was still upon me, and I remember that I was alarmed by it, for I had never been an imaginative or fanciful man and certainly not one given to visions of the future. Indeed, since those earlier experiences I had deliberately avoided all contemplation of any remotely nonmaterial matters, and clung to the prosaic, the visible and tangible.

Nevertheless, I was quite unable to escape the belief—nay, I must call it more, the certain knowledge—that this house was one day to be my own home, that sooner or later, though I had no idea when, I would become the owner of it. When finally I accepted and admitted this to myself, I felt on that instant a profound sense of peace and contentment settle upon me such as I had not known for very many years, and it was with a light heart that I returned to the pony trap, where Mr. Bentley was awaiting me more than a little curiously.

The overwhelming feeling I had experienced at Monk’s Piece remained with me, albeit not in the forefront of my mind, when I left the country that afternoon to return to London. I had told Mr. Bentley that if ever he were to hear that the house was for sale, I should be eager to know of it.

Some years later, he did so. I contacted the agents that same day and hours later, without so much as returning to see it again, I had offered for it, and my offer was accepted. A few months prior to this, I had met Esmé Ainley. Our affection for one another had been increasing steadily, but, cursed as I still was by my indecisive nature in all personal and emotional matters, I had remained silent as to my intentions for the future. I had enough sense to take the news about Monk’s Piece as a good omen, however, and a week after I had formally become the owner of the house, traveled into the country with Esmé and proposed marriage to her among the trees of the old orchard. This offer, too, was accepted and very shortly afterward we were married and moved at once to Monk’s Piece. On that day, I truly believed that I had at last come out from under the long shadow cast by the events of the past and saw from his face and felt from the warmth of his handclasp that Mr. Bentley believed it too, and that a burden had been lifted from his own shoulders. He had always blamed himself, at least in part, for what had happened to me—it had, after all, been he who had sent me on that first journey up to Crythin Gifford, and Eel Marsh House, and to the funeral of Mrs. Drablow.

But all of that could not have been further from my conscious thought at least, as I stood taking in the night air at the door of my house, on that Christmas Eve. For some fourteen years now Monk’s Piece had been the happiest of homes—Esmé’s and mine, and that of her four children by her first marriage, to Captain Ainley. In the early days I had come here only at weekends and holidays but London life and business began to irk me from the day I bought the place and I was glad indeed to retire permanently into the country at the earliest opportunity.

And, now, it was to this happy home that my family had once again repaired for Christmas. In a moment, I should open the front door and hear the sound of their voices from the drawing room—unless I was abruptly summoned by my wife, fussing about my catching a chill. Certainly, it was very cold and clear at last. The sky was pricked over with stars and the full moon rimmed with a halo of frost. The dampness and fogs of the past week had stolen away like thieves into the night, the paths and the stone walls of the house gleamed palely and my breath smoked on the air.

Upstairs, in the attic bedrooms, Isobel’s three young sons—Esmé’s grandsons—slept, with stockings tied to their bedposts. There would be no snow for them on the morrow, but Christmas Day would at least wear a bright and cheerful countenance.

There was something in the air that night, something, I suppose, remembered from my own childhood, together with an infection caught from the little boys, that excited me, old as I was. That my peace of mind was about to be disturbed, and memories awakened that I had thought forever dead, I had, naturally, no idea. That I should ever again renew my close acquaintance, if only in the course of vivid recollections and dreams, with mortal dread and terror of spirit, would have seemed at that moment impossible.

I took one last look at the frosty darkness, sighed contentedly, called to the dogs, and went in, anticipating nothing more than a pipe and a glass of good malt whisky beside the crackling fire, in the happy company of my family. As I crossed the hall and entered the drawing room, I felt an uprush of well-being, of the kind I have experienced regularly during my life at Monk’s Piece, a sensation that leads on naturally to another, of heartfelt thankfulness. And indeed I did give thanks, at the sight of my family ensconced around the huge fire which Oliver was at that moment building to a perilous height and a fierce blaze with the addition of a further great branch of applewood from an old tree we had felled in the orchard the previous autumn. Oliver is the eldest of Esmé’s sons, and bore then, as now, a close resemblance both to his sister Isobel (seated beside her husband, the bearded Aubrey Pearce) and to the brother next in age, Will. All three of them have good, plain, open English faces, inclined to roundness and with hair and eyebrows and lashes of a light chestnut brown—the color of their mother’s hair before it became threaded with gray.

At that time, Isobel was only twenty-four years old but already the mother of three young sons, and set fair to produce more. She had the plump, settled air of a matron and an inclination to mother and oversee her husband and brothers as well as her own children. She had been the most sensible, responsible of daughters, she was affectionate and charming, and she seemed to have found, in the calm and level-headed Aubrey Pearce, an ideal partner. Yet at times I caught Esmé looking at her wistfully, and she had more than once voiced, though gently and to me alone, a longing for Isobel to be a little less staid, a little more spirited, even frivolous.

In all honesty, I could not have wished it so. I would not have wished for anything to ruffle the surface of that calm, untroubled sea.


Excerpted from The Woman in Black by Susan Hill Copyright © 2011 by Susan Hill. Excerpted by permission of Vintage, a division of Random House, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

What People are Saying About This

From the Publisher

‘A rattling good yearn, the sort that chills the mind as well as the spine’ — Guardian

‘She writes with great power… Authentically chilling’ — Daily Telegraph

‘An excellent ghost story… magnificently eerie… compulsive reading’ — Evening Standard

Reading Group Guide

1. The novel opens with a detailed description of happy family life and builds to a ghastly climax. How does the author create the continual suspense to bring things to their terrifying conclusion?

2. The novel’s narrator, Arthur Kipps, seems a straightforward character and surprisingly level-headed through the extraordinary drama of the novel. Do you as a reader trust the narrator more because of this? How does this calmness contribute to the effect of the more chilling and supernatural events later in the book?

3. The description of the woman in black is a gradual unveiling throughout the novel. How effective is this style of description? How do details, such as the cloak or hints of disease, contribute to our growing impression of her?

4. The author has chosen a woman as the central ghost figure — how is the concept of gender handled in the novel?

5. The story is set very firmly in Victorian times, with clear descriptions of daily life at that time. How does the historical setting add to the horror? Would a ‘modern’ version of The Woman in Black be as frightening?

6. The Woman in Black is a modern ghost story not only in the strength of its writing, but also in its use of the conventions in this genre of writing. How does the author use these conventions to effect, and how does the novel compare to other ghost stories, not only in books but in film as well?

Customer Reviews

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The Woman in Black 4 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 340 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
The release of the movie made me search out the book. I dislike horror stories, but love a mystery and suspense story. This book met and exceded mt expectations! I highly recomend it! Great fast enjoyable read!
librarysusie More than 1 year ago
This was a good spooky ghost story not gory but psychologically suspenseful. Arthur Kripps is given the task of going through the papers of a woman he has never met her, but his firm is handling her affairs after her death. What Arthur finds in the town and house is something that will stay with him for the rest of his life. This book was written very well with just the right amount of suspense and trepidation, as events happen to Arthur I found myself with butterflies in my stomach and was glad no one came up behind me while I was reading. I liked that the author made you feel the darkness, smell the marshes, and hear the sounds and that's what's great about this book it has great atmosphere and does a good job at pulling you in. If you are a fan of Victorian ghost stories I highly recommend this book this will be a book I will recommend to anyone who likes ghost stories that are suspenseful without any blood & gore. This was my first book by Susan Hill and after her descriptive writing in this book I will try others by her. 4 Stars
Leah-books More than 1 year ago
Great Book. enjoyed it. I was very entertained
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I wanted to read this before the film was released and I'm happy I did. I would NOT reccomend this book if you're looking for the big "BOO" moment. However, in all honesty, no other novel has ever…unnerved…and chilled me more than "The Woman in Black". Susan Hill's precise descriptions leave you just as uncomfortable as you would be had there been a big surprise scare. Her careful suspense building peaks a certain discomfort in you that makes you almost nervous to turn the page, and the resulting, seemingly small reveal turns out to chill you more than you would have imagined. This novel is definitely one that will make you look over your shoulder should you read it in the dark! I'm very interested to follow more of Hill's work.
SuperBookish More than 1 year ago
I love horror. It was a Great Book with great story line.
Guest More than 1 year ago
This book is extremely well written with a well thought-out storyline. I found it very scary in some places and also frighteningly realistic. The theatre prodution which is showing in Covent Garden is also superb.
Jennifer24 More than 1 year ago
The descriptions of the town and house are superb. The plot is a little slow, but it's still creepy. A quick and enjoyable read!
Guest More than 1 year ago
This book is very good it keeps you guessing until the very end. It is a bit old but it would be great if it was more modern. Worth reading!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Wondeerful book. Good movie to. Saw the movie with my friend and it was amazing! I recommend this to horror lovers! Amy 13 yrs old
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
This book was great, not all that scary, but a good read. And for people wondering, it is age appropiet. I'm only 13 and I wasn't scared during this book. The movie is very different from the book. The movie is exagerated. The book will keep you anxious, but not scared.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Although I invisioned Daniel R in the role, this book was very well done and just when you thought the character was out of harms way... well.... read and see!
Reader4LifeAM More than 1 year ago
While the setting isn't modern, that is what makes this all the more wonderful. It's different from the modern day ghost story. You can never tell what's going to happen next. It may not be full-blown horror but it still delivers that creepy feeling causing you to glance around occasionally.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Definately a book to keep you up in the night hours. Spooky enough to give you the creeps, old English style writing, a nice classic. I enjoyed this. Have read scarier but worth the time and money. If you are looking for a quick one nighter with creep factor I recommend this one. This was perfect for tonights stormy weather.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
First book I bought on my new nook and I never put it down. Kept me wanting to know more buy it you wont regret it. I read it in less than 24 hours it was so good and everytime i guessed one thing would happen it didnt kept you wondering till the end! GREAT BOOK
calebbo More than 1 year ago
Susan Hill's "The Woman In Black" is an excellent read. This was my first experience reading one of Hill's novels, but after reading the Woman In Black, I am excited to give her "Simon Serrailler" series a shot. My Overview: A young solicitor by the name of Arthur Kipps is sent to the small english town of Crythin Gifford to settle the affairs of Mrs. Alice Drablow. What Kipps doesn't know is the disturbing secret that lye on the other side of Nine Lives Causeway. Kipps experiences some quite frightening moments on and around Eel Marsh House, which includes the sight of the mysterious Woman in Black, a child's cry in the marsh, and a eerie nursery with a slow-moving rocking chair. Find out what happens in Susan Hill's "The Woman in Black."
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
This is my first scary novel and I have to say that while I wasn't scared, I did become freaked out. I found myself noticing my heart beating faster and I did have to turn lights on at some points. The ending is the "scariest" part and I am excited to see the upcoming motion feature.
sherrmit More than 1 year ago
Very spooky. It gave me chills when I finished the last page.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
This story is intriguing and has a lot of room for more scariness. The subsequently developed stage production was quite scary. The development of the level of terror felt by the main character never seemed to jump off the page.
hpfan28 More than 1 year ago
This story truly is the classic ghost story! The Woman in Black is one of the creepiest characters I have encountered before. The story begins when Arthur Kipps is at his home and his stepchildren are telling ghost stories. So he then decides that it is time to exorcist his own demon and write down what happened to him with his real encounter with the ghost of The Woman in Black. The story has a dark and dreary atmosphere. Something that struck me as something notable is once the tide goes up on the causeway you are basically trapped trapped at Eel Marsh House. Overall this is a vary well written story and I really enjoyed reading it.
JoyHoll More than 1 year ago
I saw the movie first so wanted to read the book. A great fast read. Very suspenseful. I love spooky stories but not ones that are gory. This one was great! I would recommend it.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I really enjoyed this book. It is a great ghost story in the traditional sense. The author did a great job of not going for cheap thrills, but kept me tense and on the edge of my seat with great build up.
Elle_Wilvee More than 1 year ago
A quick read, finished in one sitting. Not the scariest ghost story ever, but still very entertaining. I love the Gothic style, so this was perfect for me!
HeatherMVA More than 1 year ago
You know it's a good ghost story when you look over your shoulder constantly as you walk through dark rooms and jump at mysterious sounds in your house. This one will stay with you for a while. Great suspenseful read, and a well developed tale. It will keep you up at night but it thrills you as a good ghost story should.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I'm really glad that I read the book before I saw the movie because it definitely made it even creepier.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
This book is amazing!!!!!!! It is just alittle slow......