Joanna here. Ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggedy beasties and things that go bump in the night are my topic today. That line would be a wonderful old survival from the past if only it were genuine instead of a Victorian fake. But it is fakes I’m going to talk about so this sets the mood pleasantly.
What did our Regency and Georgian predecessors dread when they huddled under the bedclothes and brisk winds blew their midnight candle out? What did they fear? What haunted their nightmares?
Superstition was pretty rife in the elegant Beau Brummel days, as we know by looking at all those ‘horrid novels’ they shiveringly adored. Before I let myself go all smug and superior, I’ll remind myself superstition is pretty rife nowadays too. Grossmom was born at the end of the nineteenth Century not far from Kiev. She not only believed in werewolves, there’d been one killed in her village in her father’s time. They tracked a killer wolf into the deep woods and shot it. When they came up to find the body, it was a naked man they found dead.
Hmmm … (goes jo skeptically.) Was this some hunting accident quickly hushed up? Or just somebody who'd made himself unpopular in the village? Grossmom believed it though.
My father’s mother who came from Ireland was utterly convinced of the existence of fairies. Frankly, since that doesn’t involve chasing
somebody through the snowy woods with a long gun, it is a belief I can get behind. A bowl of milk on the doorstep is a small price to pay for having magic in your life.
Since I’m looking at Regency London, I’m going to pass the werewolves by and take Ghosts for 300.
What it is, I had occasion not long ago to do fifteen minutes research on the procedure for arresting somebody who’d committed murder in London in the teens of the Nineteenth Century and I came across an unfortunate killing in Hammersmith in 1804.
You see, a fellow killed a ghost.
Let me go back to the beginning.
In 1804 the inhabitants of a neighborhood in Hammersmith, near London, were troubled by a haunting. A tall figure, all clothed in white, showed himself in the dead of night such that neither man, woman, nor child could pass that way. One description said it was covered by a “sheet or large tablecloth.” This ghost was held to be the apparition of a neighborhood man who’d cut his throat a year before. “Several lay in wait different nights for the ghost; but there were so many bye-lanes and paths leading to Hammersmith, that he was always sure of being on that which was unguarded, and every night played off his tricks” to the terror of all passersby.
A certain Francis Smith determined to watch for and confront the ghost.
He waited in hiding in Blacklion Lane. It “was very dark at all times, being between hedges; and on that evening it was so very obscure, that a person on one side of the road could not distinguish an object on the other.” He saw a figure all in white approach. He called out “Damn you, who are you, and what are you? I'll shoot you, if you don't speak.” But the figure continued to advance towards him. This “augmented his fear so much that he fired.”
Unfortunately this was not a safely deceased ghost but one Thomas Millwood, a bricklayer. He was dressed in “the usual habiliment of his occupation … linen trowsers entirely white, washed very clean, a waistcoat of flannel, apparently new, very white, and an apron, which he wore round him, and a flannel jacket on his body”. He was not haunting the streets but innocently coming home from his sister’s house.
Smith ran to get help and found a man nearby. That one had actually heard the shot, but “he took no notice of that circumstance, as he frequently heard firing in the night.”
Before I go on I’m going to just say this is giving me a whole new view of nighttime London in the Regency.
In any case, Smith returned with the other fellow and they found the unfortunate bricklayer “lying on his back, stretched out, and quite dead.” Smith asked that the other man would take him into custody, or send for some person to do so. So now you know what to do if you inadvertently shoot somebody in 1804.
They set off together and found the watchman who agreed to go back to look at the body “after crying the hour.” It argues a certain sang-froid in dealing with corpses does it not? It came out at the trial that the watchman was “armed with a pistol, as other watchmen are.”
I revise my opinion of nighttime London a bit more.
Francis Smith was convicted of murder, not because the jury wanted to, but because the whole ‘lurking in the dark with a loaded gun to shoot somebody’ demanded it. British law debated this whole what -if-you-shot-somebody-else question hotly for a century or so.
Smith was sentenced to death.
No, wait!
Wait.
The judge immediately reported the case to the crown and Smith received a pardon “on condition of being imprisoned one year.”
So this particular ghost hunter got off lightly.
I pulled this out of The New Newgate Calendar, Andrew Knapp and William Baldwin, Vol. 4, 1804.
And the two-page account is here and very interesting it is
That’s my Regency ghost story.
What’s your ghost story?
Or, y'know, I'm good with werewolves and fairies.
Hmmm…I’m writing book two of my Regency Werewolves. I’m kind of partial to them though. 🙂 As to having any ‘ghost stories’ of my own, aside from all the old, tried and true ones you tell each other as kids, I did write one of those too. I just love paranormal. 🙂
Hmmm…I’m writing book two of my Regency Werewolves. I’m kind of partial to them though. 🙂 As to having any ‘ghost stories’ of my own, aside from all the old, tried and true ones you tell each other as kids, I did write one of those too. I just love paranormal. 🙂
Hmmm…I’m writing book two of my Regency Werewolves. I’m kind of partial to them though. 🙂 As to having any ‘ghost stories’ of my own, aside from all the old, tried and true ones you tell each other as kids, I did write one of those too. I just love paranormal. 🙂
Hmmm…I’m writing book two of my Regency Werewolves. I’m kind of partial to them though. 🙂 As to having any ‘ghost stories’ of my own, aside from all the old, tried and true ones you tell each other as kids, I did write one of those too. I just love paranormal. 🙂
Hmmm…I’m writing book two of my Regency Werewolves. I’m kind of partial to them though. 🙂 As to having any ‘ghost stories’ of my own, aside from all the old, tried and true ones you tell each other as kids, I did write one of those too. I just love paranormal. 🙂
I had never connected the Irish habit of leaving a small bowl of milk out for the fairies with the preponderance of well-fed feral Irish cats. Go figure! No ghost stories of my own except for a knocking on the living-room window one night when my older sister and I had been left at home alone. We lived in the country with three houses on the mile road and our school-house at the end of the mile. Turned out the knocking was caused by a large lunar moth attracted to the light inside.
I had never connected the Irish habit of leaving a small bowl of milk out for the fairies with the preponderance of well-fed feral Irish cats. Go figure! No ghost stories of my own except for a knocking on the living-room window one night when my older sister and I had been left at home alone. We lived in the country with three houses on the mile road and our school-house at the end of the mile. Turned out the knocking was caused by a large lunar moth attracted to the light inside.
I had never connected the Irish habit of leaving a small bowl of milk out for the fairies with the preponderance of well-fed feral Irish cats. Go figure! No ghost stories of my own except for a knocking on the living-room window one night when my older sister and I had been left at home alone. We lived in the country with three houses on the mile road and our school-house at the end of the mile. Turned out the knocking was caused by a large lunar moth attracted to the light inside.
I had never connected the Irish habit of leaving a small bowl of milk out for the fairies with the preponderance of well-fed feral Irish cats. Go figure! No ghost stories of my own except for a knocking on the living-room window one night when my older sister and I had been left at home alone. We lived in the country with three houses on the mile road and our school-house at the end of the mile. Turned out the knocking was caused by a large lunar moth attracted to the light inside.
I had never connected the Irish habit of leaving a small bowl of milk out for the fairies with the preponderance of well-fed feral Irish cats. Go figure! No ghost stories of my own except for a knocking on the living-room window one night when my older sister and I had been left at home alone. We lived in the country with three houses on the mile road and our school-house at the end of the mile. Turned out the knocking was caused by a large lunar moth attracted to the light inside.
Luna moths are scary big. I have to admit a certain shock every time I see them.
I am so disappointed. No Lunas this year.
If I could figure any way cats could have managed it, I would certainly blame them for starting that fairy tale about the bowl of milk
Luna moths are scary big. I have to admit a certain shock every time I see them.
I am so disappointed. No Lunas this year.
If I could figure any way cats could have managed it, I would certainly blame them for starting that fairy tale about the bowl of milk
Luna moths are scary big. I have to admit a certain shock every time I see them.
I am so disappointed. No Lunas this year.
If I could figure any way cats could have managed it, I would certainly blame them for starting that fairy tale about the bowl of milk
Luna moths are scary big. I have to admit a certain shock every time I see them.
I am so disappointed. No Lunas this year.
If I could figure any way cats could have managed it, I would certainly blame them for starting that fairy tale about the bowl of milk
Luna moths are scary big. I have to admit a certain shock every time I see them.
I am so disappointed. No Lunas this year.
If I could figure any way cats could have managed it, I would certainly blame them for starting that fairy tale about the bowl of milk
I greatly enjoyed American Werewolf in London. So Regency werewolf seems like an excellent idea.
I’ve had several people tell me ghost stories of their own, so I’m surprised not to get any here.
I greatly enjoyed American Werewolf in London. So Regency werewolf seems like an excellent idea.
I’ve had several people tell me ghost stories of their own, so I’m surprised not to get any here.
I greatly enjoyed American Werewolf in London. So Regency werewolf seems like an excellent idea.
I’ve had several people tell me ghost stories of their own, so I’m surprised not to get any here.
I greatly enjoyed American Werewolf in London. So Regency werewolf seems like an excellent idea.
I’ve had several people tell me ghost stories of their own, so I’m surprised not to get any here.
I greatly enjoyed American Werewolf in London. So Regency werewolf seems like an excellent idea.
I’ve had several people tell me ghost stories of their own, so I’m surprised not to get any here.
Well, I can tell you that I was with my father when he died. I’d fallen asleep on his shoulder as he lay in the hospital bed and someone tapped me on the shoulder waking me just as he passed. But we were alone in the room so it was either his soul of my mother’s who had died years before…
Well, I can tell you that I was with my father when he died. I’d fallen asleep on his shoulder as he lay in the hospital bed and someone tapped me on the shoulder waking me just as he passed. But we were alone in the room so it was either his soul of my mother’s who had died years before…
Well, I can tell you that I was with my father when he died. I’d fallen asleep on his shoulder as he lay in the hospital bed and someone tapped me on the shoulder waking me just as he passed. But we were alone in the room so it was either his soul of my mother’s who had died years before…
Well, I can tell you that I was with my father when he died. I’d fallen asleep on his shoulder as he lay in the hospital bed and someone tapped me on the shoulder waking me just as he passed. But we were alone in the room so it was either his soul of my mother’s who had died years before…
Well, I can tell you that I was with my father when he died. I’d fallen asleep on his shoulder as he lay in the hospital bed and someone tapped me on the shoulder waking me just as he passed. But we were alone in the room so it was either his soul of my mother’s who had died years before…
My Irish mother-in-law had a few ghost tales from her childhood. One involved her mother, who had stepped out for a breath of air one evening. A man she knew from a nearby village was walking down the road and stopped to say hello. He couldn’t stay, he explained because he had an appointment, and went on his way down the road.
She later heard that he had died at his home at just about the time she saw him.
That one always reminded me of the Appointment in Samarra tale.
My Irish mother-in-law had a few ghost tales from her childhood. One involved her mother, who had stepped out for a breath of air one evening. A man she knew from a nearby village was walking down the road and stopped to say hello. He couldn’t stay, he explained because he had an appointment, and went on his way down the road.
She later heard that he had died at his home at just about the time she saw him.
That one always reminded me of the Appointment in Samarra tale.
My Irish mother-in-law had a few ghost tales from her childhood. One involved her mother, who had stepped out for a breath of air one evening. A man she knew from a nearby village was walking down the road and stopped to say hello. He couldn’t stay, he explained because he had an appointment, and went on his way down the road.
She later heard that he had died at his home at just about the time she saw him.
That one always reminded me of the Appointment in Samarra tale.
My Irish mother-in-law had a few ghost tales from her childhood. One involved her mother, who had stepped out for a breath of air one evening. A man she knew from a nearby village was walking down the road and stopped to say hello. He couldn’t stay, he explained because he had an appointment, and went on his way down the road.
She later heard that he had died at his home at just about the time she saw him.
That one always reminded me of the Appointment in Samarra tale.
My Irish mother-in-law had a few ghost tales from her childhood. One involved her mother, who had stepped out for a breath of air one evening. A man she knew from a nearby village was walking down the road and stopped to say hello. He couldn’t stay, he explained because he had an appointment, and went on his way down the road.
She later heard that he had died at his home at just about the time she saw him.
That one always reminded me of the Appointment in Samarra tale.
Here’s an interesting “ghost” story from Joanna Waugh’s FB page. http://www.lurganancestry.com/mmccall.htm
Here’s an interesting “ghost” story from Joanna Waugh’s FB page. http://www.lurganancestry.com/mmccall.htm
Here’s an interesting “ghost” story from Joanna Waugh’s FB page. http://www.lurganancestry.com/mmccall.htm
Here’s an interesting “ghost” story from Joanna Waugh’s FB page. http://www.lurganancestry.com/mmccall.htm
Here’s an interesting “ghost” story from Joanna Waugh’s FB page. http://www.lurganancestry.com/mmccall.htm
I remember reading a presumably on-the-level story of a woman who was delivering the eulogy at her dear friend Maggie’s funeral when who should come down the aisle but the ghostly Maggie, looking around and saying (I paraphrase), “Why, this is lovely. I had no idea so many people would miss me.” The speaker kept talking as this happened and no one else noticed anything strange. Maggie, BTW, was the famous cultural anthropologist Margaret Mead and the year was 1978.
I remember reading a presumably on-the-level story of a woman who was delivering the eulogy at her dear friend Maggie’s funeral when who should come down the aisle but the ghostly Maggie, looking around and saying (I paraphrase), “Why, this is lovely. I had no idea so many people would miss me.” The speaker kept talking as this happened and no one else noticed anything strange. Maggie, BTW, was the famous cultural anthropologist Margaret Mead and the year was 1978.
I remember reading a presumably on-the-level story of a woman who was delivering the eulogy at her dear friend Maggie’s funeral when who should come down the aisle but the ghostly Maggie, looking around and saying (I paraphrase), “Why, this is lovely. I had no idea so many people would miss me.” The speaker kept talking as this happened and no one else noticed anything strange. Maggie, BTW, was the famous cultural anthropologist Margaret Mead and the year was 1978.
I remember reading a presumably on-the-level story of a woman who was delivering the eulogy at her dear friend Maggie’s funeral when who should come down the aisle but the ghostly Maggie, looking around and saying (I paraphrase), “Why, this is lovely. I had no idea so many people would miss me.” The speaker kept talking as this happened and no one else noticed anything strange. Maggie, BTW, was the famous cultural anthropologist Margaret Mead and the year was 1978.
I remember reading a presumably on-the-level story of a woman who was delivering the eulogy at her dear friend Maggie’s funeral when who should come down the aisle but the ghostly Maggie, looking around and saying (I paraphrase), “Why, this is lovely. I had no idea so many people would miss me.” The speaker kept talking as this happened and no one else noticed anything strange. Maggie, BTW, was the famous cultural anthropologist Margaret Mead and the year was 1978.
I remember from Tony Robinson’s documentary series Gods and Monsters (it still seems to be on YouTube) this story about a man who thought fairies had replaced his wife with a changeling and he killed her thinking he was actually killing the changeling.
I remember from Tony Robinson’s documentary series Gods and Monsters (it still seems to be on YouTube) this story about a man who thought fairies had replaced his wife with a changeling and he killed her thinking he was actually killing the changeling.
I remember from Tony Robinson’s documentary series Gods and Monsters (it still seems to be on YouTube) this story about a man who thought fairies had replaced his wife with a changeling and he killed her thinking he was actually killing the changeling.
I remember from Tony Robinson’s documentary series Gods and Monsters (it still seems to be on YouTube) this story about a man who thought fairies had replaced his wife with a changeling and he killed her thinking he was actually killing the changeling.
I remember from Tony Robinson’s documentary series Gods and Monsters (it still seems to be on YouTube) this story about a man who thought fairies had replaced his wife with a changeling and he killed her thinking he was actually killing the changeling.
It’s a little like Pod People. Perfectly plausible when you think of it that way.
It’s a little like Pod People. Perfectly plausible when you think of it that way.
It’s a little like Pod People. Perfectly plausible when you think of it that way.
It’s a little like Pod People. Perfectly plausible when you think of it that way.
It’s a little like Pod People. Perfectly plausible when you think of it that way.
Oh Wonderful.
I WANT that to be true. Please. If anyone deserves to explore the afterlife, it’s MM.
Oh Wonderful.
I WANT that to be true. Please. If anyone deserves to explore the afterlife, it’s MM.
Oh Wonderful.
I WANT that to be true. Please. If anyone deserves to explore the afterlife, it’s MM.
Oh Wonderful.
I WANT that to be true. Please. If anyone deserves to explore the afterlife, it’s MM.
Oh Wonderful.
I WANT that to be true. Please. If anyone deserves to explore the afterlife, it’s MM.
I have to admit I’m a bit skeptical about the tales like this, but it was Urban Legend of the time.
I need an Eighteenth Century Snopes.
I have to admit I’m a bit skeptical about the tales like this, but it was Urban Legend of the time.
I need an Eighteenth Century Snopes.
I have to admit I’m a bit skeptical about the tales like this, but it was Urban Legend of the time.
I need an Eighteenth Century Snopes.
I have to admit I’m a bit skeptical about the tales like this, but it was Urban Legend of the time.
I need an Eighteenth Century Snopes.
I have to admit I’m a bit skeptical about the tales like this, but it was Urban Legend of the time.
I need an Eighteenth Century Snopes.
Okay. I’ll share something.
A woman I worked with. Level-headed woman with an important job and scientific training said that once she had awakened in the night feeling her hamster nuzzling against her ear.
Not all that surprising. Sometimes her hamster got out of its cage. She reminded herself to catch it in the morning.
But in the morning she found the hamster dead in the bottom of its (locked) cage, having died peacefully in the night.
Dunnoh what to make of that, really. She wasn’t the sort of woman to make stuff up.
#animalghoststories
Okay. I’ll share something.
A woman I worked with. Level-headed woman with an important job and scientific training said that once she had awakened in the night feeling her hamster nuzzling against her ear.
Not all that surprising. Sometimes her hamster got out of its cage. She reminded herself to catch it in the morning.
But in the morning she found the hamster dead in the bottom of its (locked) cage, having died peacefully in the night.
Dunnoh what to make of that, really. She wasn’t the sort of woman to make stuff up.
#animalghoststories
Okay. I’ll share something.
A woman I worked with. Level-headed woman with an important job and scientific training said that once she had awakened in the night feeling her hamster nuzzling against her ear.
Not all that surprising. Sometimes her hamster got out of its cage. She reminded herself to catch it in the morning.
But in the morning she found the hamster dead in the bottom of its (locked) cage, having died peacefully in the night.
Dunnoh what to make of that, really. She wasn’t the sort of woman to make stuff up.
#animalghoststories
Okay. I’ll share something.
A woman I worked with. Level-headed woman with an important job and scientific training said that once she had awakened in the night feeling her hamster nuzzling against her ear.
Not all that surprising. Sometimes her hamster got out of its cage. She reminded herself to catch it in the morning.
But in the morning she found the hamster dead in the bottom of its (locked) cage, having died peacefully in the night.
Dunnoh what to make of that, really. She wasn’t the sort of woman to make stuff up.
#animalghoststories
Okay. I’ll share something.
A woman I worked with. Level-headed woman with an important job and scientific training said that once she had awakened in the night feeling her hamster nuzzling against her ear.
Not all that surprising. Sometimes her hamster got out of its cage. She reminded herself to catch it in the morning.
But in the morning she found the hamster dead in the bottom of its (locked) cage, having died peacefully in the night.
Dunnoh what to make of that, really. She wasn’t the sort of woman to make stuff up.
#animalghoststories
My first home in London was at the top of Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese on Fleet Street, which was REbuilt – on top of a much older crypt – in 1667 (after the Great Fire). I spent a night in that building totally on my own, and it was about the scariest thing I have ever done. So many weird noises!
The Cheshire Cheese’s sister pub is the Cittie of Yorke, and apparently one day there they called the police because there was someone walking around the bar, but when they went in was nobody there…
My first home in London was at the top of Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese on Fleet Street, which was REbuilt – on top of a much older crypt – in 1667 (after the Great Fire). I spent a night in that building totally on my own, and it was about the scariest thing I have ever done. So many weird noises!
The Cheshire Cheese’s sister pub is the Cittie of Yorke, and apparently one day there they called the police because there was someone walking around the bar, but when they went in was nobody there…
My first home in London was at the top of Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese on Fleet Street, which was REbuilt – on top of a much older crypt – in 1667 (after the Great Fire). I spent a night in that building totally on my own, and it was about the scariest thing I have ever done. So many weird noises!
The Cheshire Cheese’s sister pub is the Cittie of Yorke, and apparently one day there they called the police because there was someone walking around the bar, but when they went in was nobody there…
My first home in London was at the top of Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese on Fleet Street, which was REbuilt – on top of a much older crypt – in 1667 (after the Great Fire). I spent a night in that building totally on my own, and it was about the scariest thing I have ever done. So many weird noises!
The Cheshire Cheese’s sister pub is the Cittie of Yorke, and apparently one day there they called the police because there was someone walking around the bar, but when they went in was nobody there…
My first home in London was at the top of Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese on Fleet Street, which was REbuilt – on top of a much older crypt – in 1667 (after the Great Fire). I spent a night in that building totally on my own, and it was about the scariest thing I have ever done. So many weird noises!
The Cheshire Cheese’s sister pub is the Cittie of Yorke, and apparently one day there they called the police because there was someone walking around the bar, but when they went in was nobody there…
Do you know … until just this minute I did not realize I had a life-long ambition to live over an ancient pub. Not so much a crypt, you understand. But a pub.
I’d want to live where the bargirls used to take their customers upstairs, though that may well be a vulgar misunderstanding of the social function of pubs in Seventeenth Century London.
Do you know … until just this minute I did not realize I had a life-long ambition to live over an ancient pub. Not so much a crypt, you understand. But a pub.
I’d want to live where the bargirls used to take their customers upstairs, though that may well be a vulgar misunderstanding of the social function of pubs in Seventeenth Century London.
Do you know … until just this minute I did not realize I had a life-long ambition to live over an ancient pub. Not so much a crypt, you understand. But a pub.
I’d want to live where the bargirls used to take their customers upstairs, though that may well be a vulgar misunderstanding of the social function of pubs in Seventeenth Century London.
Do you know … until just this minute I did not realize I had a life-long ambition to live over an ancient pub. Not so much a crypt, you understand. But a pub.
I’d want to live where the bargirls used to take their customers upstairs, though that may well be a vulgar misunderstanding of the social function of pubs in Seventeenth Century London.
Do you know … until just this minute I did not realize I had a life-long ambition to live over an ancient pub. Not so much a crypt, you understand. But a pub.
I’d want to live where the bargirls used to take their customers upstairs, though that may well be a vulgar misunderstanding of the social function of pubs in Seventeenth Century London.
I should add that a man years older than me – I was eighteen when I moved there – refused to go down in the cellar on his own (where the crypt is) unless I went with him! Granted, it’s spooky at night (it’s a tourist restaurant during the day), but… I’m not sure what he thought would happen!
I should add that a man years older than me – I was eighteen when I moved there – refused to go down in the cellar on his own (where the crypt is) unless I went with him! Granted, it’s spooky at night (it’s a tourist restaurant during the day), but… I’m not sure what he thought would happen!
I should add that a man years older than me – I was eighteen when I moved there – refused to go down in the cellar on his own (where the crypt is) unless I went with him! Granted, it’s spooky at night (it’s a tourist restaurant during the day), but… I’m not sure what he thought would happen!
I should add that a man years older than me – I was eighteen when I moved there – refused to go down in the cellar on his own (where the crypt is) unless I went with him! Granted, it’s spooky at night (it’s a tourist restaurant during the day), but… I’m not sure what he thought would happen!
I should add that a man years older than me – I was eighteen when I moved there – refused to go down in the cellar on his own (where the crypt is) unless I went with him! Granted, it’s spooky at night (it’s a tourist restaurant during the day), but… I’m not sure what he thought would happen!
Taking me with you into the cellar to protect you against ghosts would be perfectly useless. I don’t expect you were planning to do that, but I warn you against it.
Maybe it’s just for the human warmth. Or maybe he expects you to run for help while he’s being nibbled from the toes up by ancient horrors.
Taking me with you into the cellar to protect you against ghosts would be perfectly useless. I don’t expect you were planning to do that, but I warn you against it.
Maybe it’s just for the human warmth. Or maybe he expects you to run for help while he’s being nibbled from the toes up by ancient horrors.
Taking me with you into the cellar to protect you against ghosts would be perfectly useless. I don’t expect you were planning to do that, but I warn you against it.
Maybe it’s just for the human warmth. Or maybe he expects you to run for help while he’s being nibbled from the toes up by ancient horrors.
Taking me with you into the cellar to protect you against ghosts would be perfectly useless. I don’t expect you were planning to do that, but I warn you against it.
Maybe it’s just for the human warmth. Or maybe he expects you to run for help while he’s being nibbled from the toes up by ancient horrors.
Taking me with you into the cellar to protect you against ghosts would be perfectly useless. I don’t expect you were planning to do that, but I warn you against it.
Maybe it’s just for the human warmth. Or maybe he expects you to run for help while he’s being nibbled from the toes up by ancient horrors.
I’ve just come back from a weekend at the Jane Austen Festival in Bath. On the Sunday night we did a ghost walk for an hour and a half around the city. They highlighted the places where things were supposed to have happened. I didn’t experience anything but there was a place where duels used to take place. It seems one unfortunate guy was seen leaving a doorway in a wall, walking across the path and entering the dueling ground. He never returned but is still seen leaving the doorway at night. When we entered the spot my daughter suddenly felt very cold and uneasy. As soon as we left she felt fine again. Make what you will of it!!!
I’ve just come back from a weekend at the Jane Austen Festival in Bath. On the Sunday night we did a ghost walk for an hour and a half around the city. They highlighted the places where things were supposed to have happened. I didn’t experience anything but there was a place where duels used to take place. It seems one unfortunate guy was seen leaving a doorway in a wall, walking across the path and entering the dueling ground. He never returned but is still seen leaving the doorway at night. When we entered the spot my daughter suddenly felt very cold and uneasy. As soon as we left she felt fine again. Make what you will of it!!!
I’ve just come back from a weekend at the Jane Austen Festival in Bath. On the Sunday night we did a ghost walk for an hour and a half around the city. They highlighted the places where things were supposed to have happened. I didn’t experience anything but there was a place where duels used to take place. It seems one unfortunate guy was seen leaving a doorway in a wall, walking across the path and entering the dueling ground. He never returned but is still seen leaving the doorway at night. When we entered the spot my daughter suddenly felt very cold and uneasy. As soon as we left she felt fine again. Make what you will of it!!!
I’ve just come back from a weekend at the Jane Austen Festival in Bath. On the Sunday night we did a ghost walk for an hour and a half around the city. They highlighted the places where things were supposed to have happened. I didn’t experience anything but there was a place where duels used to take place. It seems one unfortunate guy was seen leaving a doorway in a wall, walking across the path and entering the dueling ground. He never returned but is still seen leaving the doorway at night. When we entered the spot my daughter suddenly felt very cold and uneasy. As soon as we left she felt fine again. Make what you will of it!!!
I’ve just come back from a weekend at the Jane Austen Festival in Bath. On the Sunday night we did a ghost walk for an hour and a half around the city. They highlighted the places where things were supposed to have happened. I didn’t experience anything but there was a place where duels used to take place. It seems one unfortunate guy was seen leaving a doorway in a wall, walking across the path and entering the dueling ground. He never returned but is still seen leaving the doorway at night. When we entered the spot my daughter suddenly felt very cold and uneasy. As soon as we left she felt fine again. Make what you will of it!!!