Greetings readers. This is your faithful correspondent blogging live from a bona fide haunted house. Oogly boogly.
Part of this house was standing in the 16th century. For history buffs this was after the dinosaurs, before Abba and around the time when William Shakespeare was doing the locomotion.
This farm house has many a charming period detail: creaking floors, a stable, a wishing well, two secret passages, ducted heating and… a ghost.
In the dead of night a heaviness seems to fall across the oldest part of the house and an old atrocity seems to reconjure itself.
*Dennis screams and clutches soft toy Simon Sausage*
Legend has it that in 1735 highway person Dick Turpin and his merry gang of deer thieves robbed the lady of the house, Shelley. They stole money and “all manner of household goods” before raiding the pantry for meat and the cellar for wine.
They raped the lady of the house and tortured her by holding her over the fire.
Dick Turpin and his horse’s ghost are meant to appear three times a year. So far I have seen nothing. But once in the night my partner’s brother – a man of science – heard someone downstairs breathe a deep sigh and say, “Oh no…oh no…oh no” that was equal parts dread and resignation.
I’m shitting myself. Maybe evil cannot be erased by the passage of time.