“TERRIFYING TRUE CHRISTMAS GHOST STORIES AND HORRIFYING HOLIDAY HAUNTINGS” #WeirdDarkness
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For most people now, those stories are for Halloween time, with its haunted houses, spooky decorations, and creepy costumes.

But as with many things, there is a surprising story behind them that most people don't know. For hundreds of years, Christmas, not Halloween, was the ideal time to share spine-tingling tales of spirits and hauntings. Even the most famous Christmas story of all time, Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol, is a ghost story, with four different ghosts visiting Sourpuss Scrooge on Christmas Eve.

This link between Christmas and ghost stories may feel odd to some of you nowadays, but it made all kinds of sense to those living a century or two ago. Think of winter before electricity and central heating. With December came shorter, darker days. Families would all huddle around their fireplaces, not just to keep warm, but for light and entertainment.

Such long and dark winter nights lent themselves to the telling of mysterious stories about things that went bump in the night. In the 1800s, ghost stories read on Christmas Eve became a favorite tradition in England. This sparked the time when people would sit in their warm homes against the cold winds howling outside, taking turns to share scary stories, ghostly encounters, haunted homes, unimaginable cases.

Jerome K. Jerome, a contemporary writer, wrote about how excited people could get over this tradition. He wrote that whenever English-speaking folk came together on Christmas Eve, they were bursting to tell authentic anecdotes about spectres. "There," said an M for "true ghost stories." This wasn't anything new. It had actually been a tradition for centuries. Even that great icon of playwrights, William Shakespeare, was aware of it.

In his play of the early 1600s, "The Winter's Tale," one of his characters says, "A sad tale's best for winter," and speaks of tales of sprites and goblins. Another playwright, Christopher Marlowe, mentioned old women spinning what he called "winter's stories" about spirits and ghosts. These references give us an idea that people had been associating winter nights with ghost stories for centuries.

But it was Charles Dickens who truly popularized Christmas ghost stories. In 1843, he wrote A Christmas Carol: The Story of Ebenezer Scrooge, a nasty and selfish man who was visited by four ghosts on Christmas Eve. First, the spirit of his deceased business partner, Marley, visits him, bound in chains he forged in life by his avarice. Then three more spirits visit Scrooge, the ghost of Christmas past, present, and yet to come.

Through these visitations, Scrooge discovers invaluable lessons around warmth, giving, and the actual significance of, what else, Christmas. I've actually narrated the entire book, A Christmas Carol, for the podcast, and it's free to listen to. I'll place a link directly to that episode in the episode description.

Dickens didn't stop after one Christmas ghost story, though. He was the editor of two magazines named Household Words and All the Year Round. And every Christmas, he would pack these magazines with ghost stories. But Dickens' ghost stories were different. They weren't just about fright. Every story had a moral message of being a good human being. Ghosts were his vehicle to educate people about forgiveness, charity, and helping others not as fortunate.

Other writers emulate Dickens, so that soon Christmas magazines produced all sorts of ghost stories. A few were less about lessons and more about being scary, like Henry James' famous story "The Turn of the Screw," which starts with people telling ghost stories by the fire on Christmas Eve. But over the years, things began to change, particularly in America.

During the late 1800s, many came to America from Scotland and Ireland, bringing their Halloween customs with them. In their culture, Halloween, or Samhain as it was originally known, was thought to be the time when the veil between the living and the dead was thinnest, allowing spirits to cross over more easily.

Initially, those immigrants attempted to celebrate Halloween as a celebration of their Scottish and Irish heritage. They organized special events featuring traditional dances, music, and poetry. But Americans grew more fascinated with Halloween's spooky, supernatural elements. Gradually, ghost stories and other scary tales moved away from Christmas and toward Halloween.

It wasn't an overnight change. As recently as 1915, Christmas magazines continued to publish ghost stories and some books still recommended telling ghost stories at Christmas parties. In 1904, the author Florence Kingsland wrote that Christmas was when people thought spirits were nearest to the living than at any other time of the year.

Today, when most Americans reserve their ghost stories for Halloween, these families are the lucky few who still keep the old Christmas tradition alive. They come together in the holiday season to share eerie stories instead of gifts. For these families, using ghost stories as entertainment provides a welcome alternative to conventional Christmas activities centered around shopping and presents.

just as they could in Dickens' day, these stories can remind us, during a time widely considered to be the season of giving, that the holiday season is about more than material things. That it's about experiences we share with one another and reflecting on important values like kindness and generosity. And the tradition reminds us, sometimes the best way to impart important teachings is through stories that capture our imagination.

Whether these stories make us laugh, gasp, or shiver with fear, they unite people during the darkest days of the year. But as the ghosts in A Christmas Carol help Scrooge become a better human being, these stories continue to remind us about the need to think of others. And doing our part is the greatest gift we could give. I'm Darren Marlar and this is Weird Darkness.

Welcome, Weirdos! I'm Darren Marlar and this is Weird Darkness. Here you'll find stories of the paranormal, supernatural, legends, lore, the strange and bizarre, crime, conspiracy, mysterious, macabre, unsolved and unexplained.

If you're new here, welcome to the show. While you're listening, be sure to check out WeirdDarkness.com for merchandise, to visit sponsors you hear about during the show, sign up for my newsletter, enter contests, connect with me on social media, hear other podcasts that I host, listen to free audiobooks I've narrated, plus you can visit the Hope in the Darkness page if you're struggling with depression, dark thoughts, or addiction. You can find all of that and more at WeirdDarkness.com.

Coming up in this episode, I hope over the past couple of weeks that you've enjoyed my attempt to keep this ancient Christmas tradition alive of telling spooky stories during the holidays. Some stories were true, others were figments of the author's imaginations, but all of them kept the spirit of holiday horrors.

When trying to find strictly true ghost stories taking place during the Christmas season, it was a bit more of a challenge. But hopefully you'll enjoy this last Christmas episode of the year, True Christmas Ghost Stories and Holiday Haunts. Now bolt your doors, lock your windows, turn off your lights, and come with me into the Weird Darkness.

Many years ago, journalist and television presenter Willie "RWF" Poole told a story about his first season as a master of the Dartmoor Foxhounds. On Christmas Eve, the hunt met at a pub on the edge of the moor. The landlord sniffed the air and said snow was on the way. A fox was found at Piles Wood, and soon the hounds were streaking away up the rocky valley.

They ran past Ermie Pitts, an open-cast tin mine, and onto the bogs of the Struggy and the fog on top of the moor. Riders started peeling off for home, and by the time Poole reached Green Hill, he was alone in the mist with the occasional cry of hounds and the first flakes of snow. He was about to turn back when a figure beckoned him to follow him.

He could not make him out in what was now a blizzard, but he could see that he was a little wiry figure riding a sharp-looking iron-gray horse. As they climbed higher, the ground got worse, and Mr. Poole, who could not look into the driving snow, noticed they were on a faint path.

"The path undulated as we rode along it," wrote Mr. Poole. "I know what this was, the infamous Black Lane, a man-made track across the wet green mosses, mosses which would swallow a horse. Few people rode Black Lane in good weather, certainly not in a blizzard. I had not heard the hounds for some time, but was more concerned with survival. So I clung to my guide as he flitted through the murk."

At last we emerged from the bog onto the slightly better ground around Swincombe Heads. The misty figure held up his hand, and we stopped. I could hear hounds coming to my left. We held on in a trot, my horse being very tired now, and then suddenly we dropped below the cloud into the Swincombe Valley, just in time to see the hounds catch their fox by the moor gate. I knew that I was safe now.

I just had to follow the track down from the gate. My guide had been beside me, and I turned to thank him, but he waved a hand and was swallowed up in the cloud. Later that day, Poole sat in a farmer's kitchen and related the eerie encounter.

John unhooked a picture from the wall of a wiry little man on an iron gray horse with a ratty tail. Best liberty, the gipsy huntsman. He died in a blizzard on Swincombe Heads 50 years ago on Christmas Eve. More true-life ghost stories and holiday haunts coming up when Weird Darkness returns.

We all dream, but for some people, what should be a time for their bodies and minds to rest turns into a nightmare from which they cannot escape. Our next Weird Darkness live stream is Saturday night, December 28th on the Weird Darkness YouTube channel, and during the live broadcast I'll share some of these chilling nighttime stories

Tales of shadow people, sleep paralysis, and demons who stalk their victims in that place between dreams and reality. I'll share true tales of prophetic dreams, some joyful, some not. Sleepwalking incidents that are both amusing and disturbing. I'll also share real stories of night terrors so horrifying that sleep

became something to fear and dread for those victimized by the night. You might not want to sleep after joining our next live-screen. It's Saturday, December 28th at 5pm Pacific, 6pm Mountain, 7pm Central, 8pm Eastern. On the lighter side, I'll also be responding to comments and questions live on the air and doing a giveaway of some Weird Darkness merch.

Prepare yourself for our next live-screen for chilling tales of what some people must endure in an attempt to get some sleep. Find the details on the live-screen page at WeirdDarkness.com. "Lights are going up, snow is falling down, there's a feeling of goodwill around town. It could only mean one thing, McRib is here!"

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However, in Webheath on the outskirts of Redditch, the Foxley Dyate Arms Hotel claims to have an association with this strange haunting. In 1781, Sarah Hemming purchased three houses near Foxley Dyate Gate. A relative, Mr. W. Hemming, demolished the houses and built himself a country mansion, calling it Foxley Dyate House. The story about the house is one of antiquity and seems to relate to a murder by an evil vicar.

Many years before, there was a quarrel between the vicar and curate of nearby Studley, who was covering for the vicar of Tardebrig. On Christmas Eve, the verger of Tardebrig died, leaving the vicar or curate of Studley having to conduct a funeral service on Boxing Day, missing the day's hunting. The vicar flew into a rage and, after a very heated argument, killed the curate.

In desperation, the vicar took the curate's body, borrowed the hearse and horses, and secretly buried the curate in the grave meant for the burger. On his way back to Studley, the vicar is said to have killed Bill Attawood, a poacher, by thrusting his head into a man-trap. And so started the annual appearances of a hearse without the driver manifesting on Christmas Eve when the moon is full.

Another legend states that those who witness the hearse and horses will die within the year. Yet one person lived to tell the tale when he witnessed the hearse a few miles south of Foxley Dyate. Talking to author Anne Bradford, he said, "I could hear this cart coming nearer and nearer. It was only a narrow lane and I thought I was going to get run over. I could hear it and feel it. But although it was a bright, moonlit night, I couldn't see a thing."

The Foxley Dyate Arms now stands just a few yards from A44/8 Bromsgrove Highway. It'll be interesting to see if the hearse is seen on this modern road over time and whether the legend continues. In 1892, the houses of St. George's Road, Kilburn, London were only 40 years old and known for being substantial, solid and very comfortable, far removed from what you would imagine as being a typical haunted home.

And yet #27, a terrace house with a pretty small garden, held a terrifying secret that the family struggled to hold over 18 months. The house, for many years, had been the dwelling for various ministers who have succeeded each other every three years at Quex Road Chapel. Rev. G.S. Tyler and his family moved into the home in late 1892, and sightings of a ghost began.

Tyler commented, "I have never seen the apparition myself and have always been a confirmed unbeliever in spirit manifestations and so on. But the fact remains, explain it how you will, that my wife and my daughters, Ada and Julie, aged respectively 20 and 19 years, have distinctly seen a mysterious 'something' which is the absence of any better way of describing it. We have called it an apparition."

They agree closely in their several descriptions of the figure. It is that of a person attired as a Wesleyan minister in black clothes, of a clerical cut. It's a figure of average stature with long grey beard and keen, peculiar eyes. It was my youngest daughter who first met with the apparition.

Julie Tyler was interviewed at the time by the Pall Mall Gazette. She discussed a sighting that occurred just before Christmas. She claimed, "I was standing at the corner of the stairs and I saw what I took to be

I had gone to call him to tea, and he neither answered nor moved when I called him. I thought he was playing with me and giving me the trouble to go up to him, and I ran up to push him. I pushed right through the figure and fell against the wall. I was dreadfully frightened, but when I told the others, they laughed at me. Soon after, her sister Ada and mother encountered the dark figure.

Ada related her own experience of the uncanny visitor. She was alone in the house one Sunday evening and saw the figure in the doorway. She thought that a man had broken into the house at first until she realized what the figure was wearing and remembered her sister's earlier sighting. Mrs. Tyler encountered the figure while passing a small room at the end of a passage in the house. As she passed, she thought she could see Reverend Tyler standing in the room,

She made her way up to the study, and that it was here she found the real Reverend Tyler in the flesh. Throughout the family's inhabitation of 27 St. George's Road, the small room at the end of the passage was the epicenter of the haunting. With the ladies of the household refusing to venture near it alone, Miss Julie during her interview remarked, "...it was in that room that I met the figure face to face. I shall never forget his eyes, grayish-blue in color, and they seemed to look right through me."

The story of the Tylers haunting appeared in several newspapers, and the last mention in March 1893 seems to signal the end of the haunting itself. Soon afterwards, the road was renamed Priory Terrace and the house numbers changed, effectively ruling out any modern investigation of this thoroughly strange haunting. Emmitsburg, Maryland may not be as well known as the close-by Gettysburg, but it certainly has history.

Named after its founder, William Emmett, in 1785, previously known as Silver Fancy, the town had a relatively quiet time until the Civil War. The Union Army fortified the town to stop the Confederate invasion of June 1863. Strangely, on the 23rd of June, a mysterious fire broke out, burning half the town to the ground.

While the "Great Fire," as it was known in folklore, became the talk of the town, with many believing a Union sympathizer started the fire to stop the advancing Confederate from taking supplies. Whatever the truth, the town was spared a battle, with it taking place just 12 miles north, near the Pennsylvania town of Gettysburg. Emmitsburg sits at the bottom of the Catoctin Mountain, a part of the easternmost mountain ridge of the Blue Ridge Mountains, which in turn are a part of the Appalachian Mountain Range.

The mountain is probably best known for being the site of Camp David, the mountain retreat for the presidents of the United States. One must wonder if the following ghost story was ever experienced by the staff or indeed the presidents during their visits. Professor Henry Caspar Dielman, who in the 1800s was one of the most celebrated musicians in the country, lived in Emmitsburg with his family.

Henry was also the composer of the inauguration marches of four presidents of the United States and many sacred songs. Dillman was well known locally for his love of Christmas, and before dawn on Christmas Day, he would assemble the school orchestra and awaken his students with "Adesta Fidelis" or "O Come All Ye Faithful."

Another tradition Henry started was playing his violin on Christmas Eve night while hidden in the woods above St. Mary on the Hill, a Catoctin mountain church. "My grandmother, who was born on the mountain in 1858, recalled the family talking about the music that he made on the mountain on Christmas Eve," said Francis Biddle, whose family had lived in the area for nearly 200 years.

Sadly, his son Lawrence "Larry" Diehlmann, even though schooled on the flute, had no interest in classical music and began to play the popular instrument of the time, the banjo. Instead of following in his father's footsteps, he got married and then opened a general store in town. Larry could often be seen sitting on his general store porch, singing his own compositions for the local girls. Things took a turn in 1882 when his father died.

Filled with regret and now divorced, he decided to continue his father's Christmas Eve tradition and played at his father's graveside on the mountain, near to where his father would hide in the woods. That Christmas, in 1883, Larry walked to his father's grave near the grotto of Our Lady of Lourdes. As he stood by the harshly carved gravestones, he lifted the flute to his lips for the first time.

Townsfolk recalled hearing the strains of the melody to "When Glory Lit the Midnight Air," a composure of Larry's recently deceased father. "His tribute, with carols on the flute his father's played to parental memory on Christmas morning, is perhaps the prettiest ever paid a parent by a son," wrote the Frederick Evening Post on December 24th, 1912.

Upon one of these occasions, it had snowed throughout the night. On Christmas morning, the mountain was picturesquely cloaked in white. Through the surrounding valleys, oil lamps flickered in the dark as they shone from windows. All was quiet as the country children listened and watched for some trace of good St. Nicholas' visit to their home in the starlight. Suddenly, the stillness of the crisp winter morning was broken by the sweet note of a flute coming from the direction of the mountains.

The first suggestion was one of weirdness, which however was soon dispelled as the sacred refrains of Ad Est Fidelis was heard. From 1884 until 1923, for 39 years, Larry made the journey, no matter the weather, to the grave high up on the mountain and for hours on that Christmas Eve would play his father's favorite Christmas songs. Larry, or the Lone Mountain Musician, became a minor celebrity with his fame being known around the land.

Journalists came to Emmitsburg to interview him and ask why he continued the tradition. "Larry is a picturesque son of the mountains, as rugged as the hills he has always called home, and possesses all the vigor that a life of freedom can endow. He's six feet of brawn, with an eye as alert as ever."

Larry probably would have laughed at this description, but when the journalist asked him why he continued his tribute, he was resolute. "After my father passed away I still had the flute which he had presented to me. So now for these many years I have taken it up the mountain, and there we meet again, where in spirit he may join me in the Christmas carols."

Just a few years after this interview, Larry passed away. But this is not the end of the story, because Larry did not stop his touching tribute to his father, even in death. In 1967, 45 years after his death, newspapers reported that Larry could still be heard on Christmas Eve.

Some say the tunes were mournful, a memento to the death of his musician father and to the love Larry never rekindled with the wife who left him. While others maintain they have heard music, though solemn at times, was a jubilant start to Christmas Day. In the 1960s and 70s, several townspeople still remembered the old man playing Silent Night on his flute and then entering St. Anthony's Church wrapped in a shawl to observe the midnight services.

One witness clearly remembered the sound of the music after Larry's death. "You've got to understand, I was only a boy at the time, but sure, I heard the music year after year," said Eugene Worthen in a 1977 interview with the Evening Sun. "I remember the sounds of Christmas night, the sleigh bells, the laughter of people bundled up for the cold weather on the sleighs and the howling of the dogs at the flute music," he said. It was Christmas Eve 1922 when Larry last played the flute,

According to legend, he began his normal piping on the mountain, faltered, and then the music ceased altogether. By the time townsfolk arrived at the cemetery on the hill, Larry was unconscious and had died in the spring. He was buried in a plot next to his father. Over the years, there have been numerous reports of the flute echoing down the mountainside. Families would make a special trip to sit on the hillside on Christmas Eve to hear the spectral music, while others would stay in the safety of their homes, listening intently.

Some years, Larry could be heard alone. Sometimes a laugh could be heard. And sometimes, town folk reported they could hear a flute and a violin. Larry and Henry, son and father, were once again reunited.

London has a Christmas ghost. Moreover, it is the ghost of a lady, and it has revisited the glimpses of the moon within the precincts of that grey and time-worn centre of London's tragedy and London's romance, the Tower. The Manchester Times, December 28th, 1900. The Tower of London is famed for its ghosts.

For centuries there have been tales of phantom footsteps, manifestations and omens within its walls. But I will discuss its only Christmas haunting in this episode. On Christmas Eve 1900, a poor officer who lived in the constable's tower within the Tower of London heard a long, drawn-out wail coming from the top of the tower. Since it was late, around 9pm, he decided to investigate in case someone was breaking into the castle.

When he reached the stairs, once again the wail sounded, but this time closer. Suddenly he heard a distinct light footstep receding behind the arras, a wall hanging or tapestry, in one of the rooms down the corridor. In total, three times a sad, low, wailing cry trembled through the tower, and each time the soft footfall was heard retreating behind the arras. The officer searched the whole tower several times, but nothing could be found.

Days later, he met with Captain Jupp, a former guard at Constable Tower, and he confirmed that there had been similar strange activity reported by previous officers based there. Interestingly, Captain Jupp also claimed that several Chelsea pensioners that's retired ex-military witnessed the spectre of a middle-aged gentleman of long ago with a peaked hat, pointed beard, cloak, and sword over Christmas.

The ghost was seen walking with a dejected gait, his head sunk low and his hand to the chin. He was seen near the state apartments set aside as the governor's residence. In the state apartments, there have been rumors and conjecture that it is haunted and said to have secret passages running to and from the precinct.

East Barnet and South Mimms in north London are two suburbs known for being leafy, calm and comfortable, yet are classed as "haunted lands" by many researchers. Within this relatively small area, there are hundreds of reports of ghosts and paranormal activity. A thousand years ago, these "haunted lands" were heavily wooded and were a part of a larger area, including Chipping or High Barnet, where the Battle of Barnet took place.

The Abbot of St Albans once owned most of this land, but in his resistance to William the Conqueror, he lost the southern part of his lands to the Bishop of London. One of the knights who fought alongside William the Conqueror at Hastings was Geoffrey de Mandeville from Dieppe in France. After the battle, he was given large swathes of land across Essex, Middlesex and adjoining counties.

He became one of ten knights who were the highest ranked in England. However, fortunes changed with his son William. In 1100, William was the Constable of the Tower of London. Unfortunately, one of his prisoners, Ranulf Flambard, escaped. This had great repercussions for the de Mandevilles and William. As punishment, King Henry I confiscated William's three richest estates, Barnet included.

William's son, Geoffrey, set about to recover the family's fortunes through manipulation and political maneuvering. By 1141 it began to pay off, and Sir Geoffrey was the premier baron of England. He was known for his ruthlessness and created many powerful enemies, one of which became the king. Geoffrey misplayed the political game just once and paid for it dearly.

During the battles between Stephen and Matilda, Geoffrey changed sides several times depending on who was in the most powerful position at the time. This was a battle for the crown, so Geoffrey had to choose well. Sadly, like many barons of the time, he picked Matilda. In 1143, after Stephen's release from prison and coronation, the king arrested the Earl.

Threatened with execution, Geoffrey surrendered his castles and estates to King Stephen and in reaction, he launched a rebellion. For over a year, Sir Geoffrey operated as a rebel, mainly in the Fen country.

Eventually, he was besieged by King Stephen, meeting a bloody death in September 1144. Because he was excommunicated, his body was denied burial by all churches except one. His corpse was wrapped in lead and taken to the Templar Church in London, where his effigy can still be seen today. Why Geoffrey haunts East Barnett's Oak Hill Park and only appears at Christmas time, no one knows for sure.

There are dozens of witnesses to the ghost of a cloaked knight. In 1926, Jeffrey's clanking ghost hit the headlines after a night watchman's experience was read out as part of the East Barnett District Councilor's Minutes. The night watchman in question had been working in Oak Hill Park during the recent road workings.

A week before Christmas, he witnessed a figure enveloped in a long military cloak near a building that stands in the park. The night watchman observed the ghost long enough to realize that the cloak was see-through and the figure within was a skeleton. The counselors put forward the motion that the night watchman should have an increased wage due to the issues he was experiencing. Another watchman was asked to relieve the former watchman's shift but began to shake like a leaf and refused to take over.

Interestingly, the building where the night watchman had his experience was previously a part of the East Barnet Workhouse founded in the early 1700s. Known as "The Shanty," the building had a reputation for many years as being haunted both by the clanking ghost and mistreated children who were punished by being locked in the cellars below. The children's ghosts haunt the building after some were lost in the vast underground passages, never to be seen again.

At the time of the roadworks in 1926, many people expected the workmen involved to bring to light long-hidden secrets connected with the old workhouse. Several journalists took to ghost hunting in the park after the newspaper reports of the night watchman's encounter with Sir Geoffrey.

A Western Times journalist wrote, "Even the prospect of handsome photographs in the illustrated papers failed to tempt shy Jeffrey into the upper air today. Every effort to trace him since the debate with a view of ascertaining whether he was a sufficiently disagreeable person to warrant extra payment to the night watchman had proved vain. Nevertheless, residents believe Jeffrey is lurking about somewhere in the neighborhood."

Two years later, great expectations had built for Jeffrey's return at Christmas, and he held his promise. On Christmas Eve, he appeared. A few minutes before midnight, near the old parish church at East Barnett, I saw in the distance a vague figure dressed in a heavy cloak moving towards me from the direction of the farm home. I stood still and waited for this to approach, but suddenly it seemed to pass through a wall and disappear in the fields in the direction of Trent Barnett.

"As I waited and listened, I distinctly heard sound like the clanking of spurs, but saw nothing more of the strange figure." The witness, not named in the report, was allegedly part of a ghost hunt organized by the East Barnet Research Society. The group organized members to be posted each night in different parts of the park to observe any ghostly activity.

When asked if the Society would use force to rid the park of the ghost, they replied, "The purpose of the Research Society is to get into communication with the ghost quietly and try, if possible, to find out why Sir Geoffrey's spirit remains earthbound." A year later, the East Barnet Research Society was reported to be undertaking an even larger ghost hunt of Barnet and South Mimms due to the reports of Reverend Alan Hay, a vicar.

He had an experience with a supernatural presence in his bedroom, and a relative of his met the ghost of an Elizabethan woman in the village hall. Even South Mimms Church at the time was alleged to be haunted by a clergyman dressed in white robes walking from the chancel and through a wall. Due to the upsurge of sightings of Sir Geoffrey and other ghosts in the area at Christmas, the Society decided to ban the press and other paranormal investigations.

The police were asked to regulate the queues of thousands of visitors armed with cameras and flash lamps to see Sir Geoffrey. Leading up to the ghost hunt, more paranormal activity was reported, including the dogs in the neighborhood becoming very restless at nightfall and a woman reporting the sound of muffled drums coming from the park over two successive nights. With the ghost hunt cloaked in secrecy, we do not know if Geoffrey once again made his return that night,

But in 1932, the park had such a reputation that a local justice of the peace described Church Hill Road, which runs by the park, as "the Ghost's Promenade."

Another ghost hunt took place at Christmas 1933, and a reporter wrote, "...I, as with many others, gathered in the old village to await the arrival of the ghostly visitor. The night was cold and cloudy. There was a woodland copsey in the background. As we stood, staring, there was a sudden break in the clouds, and there could be seen clearly a figure in armor, Sir Geoffrey de Mandeville."

Jack Holman, in his book Ghosts of London, claims that the first vigil after World War II brought nearly 400 ghost hunters from all parts of London. Sadly, the only thing they saw that night was the mists swirl around the trees and along the gully, known as Pimsbroke.

East Barnet seems to be one of Britain's most haunted, if not active, locations, with the local press claiming, "Headless hounds, decapitated bodies, spectres in the trees. The list of ghostly experiences at Oak Hill Park in the East Barnet seems to go on and on." More true Christmas ghost stories when Weird Darkness returns!

Hey Weirdos! If you enjoy what you're hearing from me in the Weird Darkness Podcast throughout the year, may I ask for a Christmas gift from you? It's an easy one, and it's free to give. This month, just invite two or three people you know to give Weird Darkness a listen. That is truly the greatest gift you could ever give to me.

Letting your family, friends, coworkers, neighbors and others know about the podcast is incredibly valuable to me, my bride Robin and our cat, Ms. Mocha Monster. That's it. Tell someone about the show. Drop a link to Weird Darkness in your social media. Maybe send a text to a few folks to wish them a very scary Christmas with a link to the show in that text. It doesn't matter how you do it, but it does make a huge impact when you do.

From all of us here at Marlar Manor, thank you and Merry Christmas.

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Situated in a narrow valley that runs to the sea, Cone Martin is principally a single street running two miles long. Cone Martin is the place if tradition has stuck around anywhere in Devon, hidden away in the gentles and alleyways. The town has several very old traditional events, from the hunting of the Earl of Rhone, which features a rare hobby horse from folklore tradition, to the Strawberry Fair in June.

To the outsider, these activities seem strange and bizarre, if not otherworldly. And that indeed was the purpose. Cone Martin is said to have three ghosts, but the most celebrated is that of its Christmas ghost, Squire Eustick.

Many a warning was heeded when it was told that if you walked the streets of Combe Martin after midnight on Christmas Eve, then you would encounter the specter of this squire, the master of the old manor house next to the village's church. When Squire Eustache died, preparations were made for a grand funeral, and a great gathering of the relations, neighbors, and local gentry took place at the mansion.

When Ustick died, all his servants except one were ordered to join the funeral procession, it being the Devonian custom to assess the reputation of a dead person by the numbers who escorted him to the grave. But when a serving maid also stayed behind, she was in for a fright. Even in 1867, many remembered the maid's name, Jane Bullock. Jane stayed at the mansion to cook the funeral baked meats for the mourners on their return,

Whether Jane was worn out with her chores or overwhelmed with grief, knowing she would be unsupervised for a few hours, she sat down for a rest in her late master's favorite chair. Scarcely had she sat in the chair when her master's form appeared before her and in a stern and booming voice told her to immediately "get out of that and go and mind your work." Not long after, the funeral party returned after depositing their poor friend in his family vault.

A small group entered the sitting room where Jane lies prosaic on the floor after the terror of seeing her very dead master. However, the group began to shout in horror and alarm. Sitting in the chair was the Squire himself, smoking his pipe by his fireside. How the rest of the funeral party continued after the Squire's appearance is unknown, but in 1847 Jane Bullock's family still told the story well over a hundred years later.

The Squire still wanders his old mansion, smoking his pipe if you fancy a trip to North Devon. However, it is said that just after midnight on Christmas Eve, he likes to wander down the dark lane that still goes by his name, Eustick Lane, and into the village of Combe Martin. Dare you meet the Squire?

Cotton Hall, near Alvally Bridge North, with its links to the infamous Lee family, is an idyllic historic house with ties to American and British history. The family, originally named De La Lee of Norman descent, have lived on the site of Cotton Hall since the 1300s. The present hall was built in the early 1800s for Harry Lee. Interestingly, the previous hall was the building Robert E. Lee's ancestors left for America in the 1600s.

Originally a trading family, soon the Lee family forged a new life. Two of them, Richard Henry and Francis Lightfoot Lee, were the only brothers to sign the Declaration of Independence. General Robert E. Lee's father was Lights Horse Harry Lee, a famous soldier of the Revolutionary War, where he was known for his courage in fighting the British. Little remains of the house of Robert E. Lee's ancestors, but in its ground remains a 13th-century chapel.

The cellar is two stories deep underneath the present house and includes a tunnel said to stretch to Alvali village two miles away. And it is one of the Lee family that haunts the hall and its grounds on Christmas Eve. Ahsan was to receive a beautiful white horse for Christmas from his parents. Unfortunately, Ahsan was very impatient and received it beforehand, thundering off across Cotton Hall's grounds.

No one knows for sure what happened, but as he was riding around the park, he went into some trees where it is believed he caught his neck on a branch, fell from the horse, and died of a broken neck. For countless years, locals believed that at midnight, on Christmas Eve, you could witness the ghost of the boy on the white horse. On Christmas Eve 1978, Les Hunt was walking home with a girl from the village hall's annual dance.

As he reached the edge of the park, he saw a gate open by itself. Rather startled, he continued walking, and a few moments later it closed again by unseen forces. He went back to the gate and searched the area, but nothing could explain how such a heavy gate could open and close on its own. Maybe Hunt encountered the ghost boy without realizing it. There are many tales of ghosts and spirits in Norfolk's historic houses and indeed its countryside.

Across Britain, there are numerous tales of a ghostly "wild hunt" setting out on Christmas Eve, searching the countryside for poor souls to take. This following story could be classed as one such wild hunt story, but with one resounding difference: it is a story based on fact. This story concerns Colonel Sidley and his activities at Ranworth Hall, Norfolk, on Christmas Eve 1770.

Some people still swear that the galloping hooves of his great mare, Black Jezebel, can be heard thundering across the windswept countryside on Christmas Eve. Others reckon that they have heard the mare plunge into the water of the nearby broad. Colonel Sidley was a wild man with a passion for wine, women and hunting. The people of Ranworth feared him for being cruel and bitter in his dealings with them. He had the reputation of being possessed with a devil or even being the devil himself.

His startling appearance supported these beliefs, for he always wore dark, somber clothes. His hair was jet black, and his dark eyes glinted evilly. He remained booted and spurred at all times, ready to ride Black Jezebel at a moment's notice, always at the gallop. He would call out his hounds at any time of the day, then ride the huge black mare like a demon.

Woe betide anyone who got in his way or tried to interfere with his sport. Small wonder the country folk of Ranworth instinctively sought cover at the sound of the approach of his galloping fiend. Life at Ranworth Hall was equally hectic. Often lights from every window blazed out long into the night. On these occasions the sounds of drunken songs, laughter, shrieks and screams echoed across the surrounding countryside.

Characteristically, Colonel Seidly sent invitations to half the local gentry and a group of local Blades from Norwich to ride the hounds with him on the stroke of midnight on Christmas Eve 1770. The guests arrived to find the Colonel ready to ride, but first he insisted on them finishing a bowl of punch.

By the time midnight approached, few of the men were sober, and a whoop of enthusiasm broke out as Colonel Sidely rose to his feet, brandished his writing crop, and urged the company to finish their drinks then follow him to the stables. Before he reached the main door, a loud bang was heard upon it. Suddenly it flew open and a solitary figure in a voluminous black coat filled the doorway. The stranger wore a large black hat that concealed his features.

In a harsh, commanding voice, he invited Colonel Sidely to ride with him. He also pointed to other members of the company. Flushed with drinking, the men went for their horses, and the hounds burst from their kennels. A servant came forward with the colonel's cloak, but the stranger brushed him aside, saying, "He will need no cloak this night." At the sight of the stranger, the hounds suddenly turned tail and fled howling. The sky had become heavily overcast, and peals of thunder heard through the air.

Halted by these strange signs, the men watched a flash of lightning zigzag across the sky. By this eerie light, they saw their host gallop off with the stranger in the direction of Ranworth Broad. Suddenly, an agonized shriek pierced out above the storm, followed by a great splash of water, then a chilling, momentary silence before a bell began to toll softly.

Guests and servants fled in all directions, leaving the hall shining out like a beacon in the surrounding blackness. But Colonel Sidely did not return. The following morning, his solicitor came from Norwick. He announced that he had received an urgent summons. He turned deathly white when told of the nature of the colonel's departure. He then collected all the dead man's papers and burnt the lot. It was never discovered who told the bell or who summoned the solicitor.

Still, because of these mysterious happenings and the rioting of the ghostly horses on Christmas Eve, Ranworth Hall remained empty for a long time. In 1985, it was finally demolished, leaving only its old porch as a reminder of its terrible history. Today, in summer, Ranworth is a popular holiday village, throned with holidaymakers from the Norfolk Broads.

In winter, however, it is lonely and deserted, and on Christmas Eve, the past can be resurrected by the prospect of Colonel Sidely riding Black Jezebel again. The Welsh village of Landoga, between Chepstow and Monmouth, came to the attention of national newspapers due to a poltergeist that came active at the Christmas of 1823. The windows shake, the drawers crack, each thinks that Nick's behind his back.

So wrote a correspondent to the Bristol Mercury investigating William Edwards, a former preacher whose haunted house was classed as being in the league as the notable haunting of the time known as Scratching Fanny, the Cock Lane Ghost, another poltergeist story. It was reported that an invisible spirit had made Edwards and his family's life utter hell.

It became so violent that it demolished earthenware and broke glasses. Poor William believed the poltergeist to be living in his house. He relocated to another location in the village, only for the crockery-destroying demon to pursue him to the new home. Then the poltergeist seems to have found this move disagreeable and began kicking furniture down the stairs and generally causing damage and mayhem around William Edwards.

The correspondent visiting Landoga interviewed the locals and concluded that what was happening was real, although the villagers had various ideas on what was really happening. Mr. Edwards was reported to believe he was "buffeting Satan" on his determination to become a new man. Another villager claimed that Edwards once promised to meet a ghost or sprite to try and find hidden treasure with it, but had forgotten the appointment.

Sadly, the Landoga Poltergeist disappears from history and we never discover the truth behind the poltergeist, or if it indeed ever stopped haunting poor William Edwards. Yorkshire has its fair share of ghosts that like to appear at Christmas, but one story has drifted into legend and has become known for its romance and murder.

In the picturesque hills between Leeds and Bradford sits the quiet, sleepy village of Calverley, and in this village is a very haunted manor. Calverley Hall adjoins a burial ground whose ancient yew trees cast long, haunting shadows across its lawns. The hall was once the residence of Walter Calverley and generations of Calverleys.

The Hall has now been split into several dwellings, yet the part where a dastardly deed took place stands in a ruinous state. The pedigree of the ancient Calverley family has been traced back to the 1400s, and the Hall was a noted place of great importance and medieval comfort.

Walter Calverley was just 17 when his father died, and the estate was placed in the hands of his mother and great-uncle, William, until Walter reached manhood at 21 years. In summer 1599, Walter married Philippa Brooke, and this was a good marriage indeed for the Calverleys.

Philippa was part of London's high society, and her family was involved in the royal circle. In fact, Philippa's mother was directly related to Sir Robert Cecil, 1st Earl of Salisbury, the spymaster of King James I. The marriage surprised many as the couple were from such different social backgrounds.

Within a year, the marriage ran into difficulties, and famously, Philippa's mother, Lady Brooke, wrote to Sir Robert saying, "One Mr. Calverley, Her Majesty's Ward, who hath married my daughter, an unstaid young man." By "unstaid," she presumably meant unstable or unbalanced of mind. In 1600, Walter was reported to be in prison due to debts and dangerously ill,

Lady Brooke once again sought Sir Robert's help to somehow help her daughter be removed from her husband. However, Walter did not die, and following his release from prison, Walter and Philippa had their first child, William, in early 1601. Sadly, it was also the year that Walter had to sell off major plots of land around Calverley, Pudsey, and the East Riding.

Two more children were born, Walter and Henry, and the family became more unsettled due to financial worries and the pull to London from Philippa. She was used to living in style. Her residence in London was Durham House, the former property of Queen Elizabeth. No matter how comfortable, Calverley Hall was no match for the social circles and style of London.

What happened next has been covered many times by many writers, and at one time it was believed that even William Shakespeare had written a version, but here's the tale. On April 23rd, 1605, on hearing that a relative had been arrested for a debt that he was responsible for, Walter went out of the house to get drunk.

Returning in a drunken frenzy later that day, he rushed into the house, each snatched up one and then another of his children, and plunged his dagger into them both and threw them on the floor. He then tried to take Philippa's life, but the steel in her corset saved her life. Walter, believing her to be dead, left the hall, hurriedly, giving the intent to his servants that he was rioting to kill his youngest son Henry, a brat at nurse.

The servant called for help, and the villagers overpowered Walter and threw him off his horse. Walter was brought to trial at York, but he refused to plead, knowing that doing so would mean his estate's forfeiture to the Crown, and his son would receive nothing. Instead of the usual hanging as punishment for his crimes, Walter was sentenced to be pressed to death at York Castle. Tradition or local legend says that an old servant was with him when they put stones on his chest to crush him to death.

The criminal begged for mercy from his servant. The servant complied with his request and was promptly hanged for his trouble. Walter was believed to have been buried at St. Mary's Castle Gate, York. Local tradition states that he was secretly buried at Calvary alongside 16 generations of the Calvary. Little wonder that Calvary Hall and its surroundings are regarded as haunted grounds after such a dire tragedy.

Walter is returned as a spectral horseman seen galloping about the district on a headless horse at night, sometimes being chased by ghostly villagers. The ghostly horseman became so troublesome to the village in the mid-1700s that the Vicar of Calverley Church undertook the task of laying the ghost, and for a hundred years it seemed a success.

In 1847, Reverend Richard Birdsall, having preached in the village, stayed at the hall. It was early January and he retired to bed at midnight. Several minutes later, he claimed to have experienced, "...I had not been asleep long before I thought something crept up to my breast, pressing me much. I was greatly agitated and struggled hard to awake."

Suddenly, the bed moved, and Richard was thrown to the floor. He thanked God and returned to the bed, for he was again thrown on the floor fifteen minutes later. "I was thrown off the bed a third time. After this I once more crept under the bed to ascertain whether all the cords were fast, and found all was right. I now put on my clothes, not attempting to lie down any more."

For six hours Richard kept vigil without awakening the household in his account of his experience, and he wrote, "I longed to see the light of the morning, and had I been immured in a dungeon and heavily fettered in irons, I could not have been more desirous of my liberty than I was for the return of the morning." Three years later, a man named Parson Greenwood had a similar experience, and the villagers began to speak of ghosts in the churchyard.

It became a local tradition that some of the villagers held a vigil at Christmas to look for the ghost of Walter Calverley, while others just played tricks. The ghost became the focus for the schoolchildren in the area who decided to raise Walter from the grave.

A writer of one article describes how the children would meet in the churchyard of Calverley and then "put their hats and caps down on the ground in a pyramidical form. Then, taking hold of each other's hands, they formed a magic circle, holding firmly together and making use of an old refrain: 'Old Calverley, old Calverley, I have thee by the ears; I'll cut thee into calypso unless thee appear.'"

Some of the more venturesome boys had to go around to each of the church doors and whistle aloud through the keyhole, repeating the magical couplet while their comrades in the circle were chanting. This happened on many occasions, but only once did a pale and ghostly figure appear. It came forward out of the church, sending the boys into different directions, fearful to avoid the ghost's grasp.

In 1871, according to a report published 13 years later, the bell at Calverley Church began tolling at 1:00 a.m. on a January morning when curious villagers went to investigate, the tolling stopped the moment they entered the church. The incident was blamed on Walter Calverley's ghost. On the 18th of December, 1904, the ghost of Calverley was spotted by a man from nearby Horsforth. The man was passing the church when he heard weird sounds coming from the direction of the graveyard.

Suddenly, there was a large flash and the phantom-like form floated before the astonished man. Within a few seconds, the apparition disappeared, leaving the man in a quiet state of bewilderment. The next day, the man told a friend of his sighting who knew of the old legend. The man believed he witnessed Walter Calverley. Since the modernization of Calverley Village and its old hall, the ghost seems far less active.

Recently, the landmark trust opened one of the wings of the hall for accommodation for those who may wish to be thrown out of bed. But what happened to Philippa and Henry Calverley, you may ask? Philippa remarried four years after her husband's execution. She had three children in her second marriage and died in 1613. The "brat at nurse" Henry lived to have major financial problems of his own, dying in January 1652.

His eldest son, Walter, took some sound advice and married a rich girl, Julia Blackett, and became Sir Walter Calverley, First Baronet. Situated in the scenic Derbyshire countryside, Chaddington Hall is one of the lesser-known stately homes, mainly because it has remained a private residence for over 300 years. Of course, the hall has ghosts, or at least Christmas ghosts.

The first reported ghost came from the winter of 1947 and was told by Bill Furness, a local farmer. Furness had been called to the hall to deal with a sick mayor, whom he moved from the snowy fields to the warmth of the hall's stables. Several times the mayor bolted from the stables and acted as if she was unnerved.

Furness carried on struggling, and once again she bolted. Suddenly he realized he had a helper. "Whoa!" called a man's voice from the entrance. "Whoa!" Furness went to retrieve the mare, and when he finally got to the door, he realized there was no sign of any man and no footprints in the snow. The next day Bill talked to the owner of Traddington Hall, Lt. Colonel Smalley, who related the story of a terrible murder that took place in the stables.

A long time ago, two brothers ran a small Hessian factory in the stables, and everything seemed to be going well. But then they began to quarrel. One day, Isaac was found in the cellar with his throat cut, murdered by his brother. Since then, Isaac has haunted the hall and its stables and Smalley believed Furness had encountered him. Four murdered Isaac is one ghost of Taddington Hall who appears at Christmas and on winter nights.

Another is that of a previous owner who, returning from Bakewell Market worse for drink, died at the bottom of Bakewell Hill. His ghost repeatedly haunts the hall at dusk on Mondays, and especially on Christmas Eve. Now sitting in the shadow of one of England's largest power stations, at one time the riverside, sprawling hamlet of Long Drax was home to one of the earliest religious settlements in the British Isles.

The settlements of religious communities housed monks, priests and lay brothers or commoners who worked on the abbey lands but followed the discipline. Significant buried remains of the Drax Priory have been discovered across Long Drax, but mainly on the land partly occupied by Drax Abbey Farm. Founded in the 1130s, Drax Priory was founded by William Painele on the advice of the Archbishop of York.

The Canons dedicated the Priory to St. Nicholas, Santa Claus, and William also gave a mill, a parish church, and other land to the St. Augustines. Within a couple hundred years, the Priory began to struggle. The nearby River Ouse is a tidal river that often floods. Not only that, but the Priory was frequently invaded by the Scots and other enemies.

By 1535, during the dissolution of the monasteries, there were only 10 canons and 29 servants and boys, with the priory valued at just over £92. With a relatively short inhabitancy, why is the village so haunted by the monks? Christmas 1922 saw a blaze of publicity when the Clark family reported their haunted cupboard

Situated over half a mile away from the Drax Priory ruins, Baxter Hall Farm became the scene of an intense, if not short, Christmas haunting. The Pall Mall Gazette reported, "Various descriptions of its appearance are given, but it is generally agreed that it takes the form of a tall and restless shade, doubtless revisiting the scene of its former trials." Mrs. Ernest Clark told reporters how she and her elder children had seen a dark, shadowy form in their bedroom.

One of the witnesses, Annie, who was described as a bright, intelligent girl of 16, told how she had seen the figure emerge from the cupboard, walk around her bed before vanishing through the wall. When quizzed by the journalists if she saw a shadow from the moon, Annie replied that if it was a shadow cast by the moon, it would not have traveled around the room.

Backing this story was another witness, Signalman Taylor, who also saw a dark figure close to Baxter Hall Farm around 2:00 in the morning as he was passing to go to work. He turned his flash lamp in its direction, where it promptly vanished. While many newspapers briefly printed the initial sighting, the Daily Mirror decided to research the story for whatever reason. After discussing the matter with villagers of Long Drax, the journalist uncovered the story of an impassable tunnel

"During excavations some years ago, this was discovered, and it is said each time the search party reached a certain point in the tunnel, the candles they carried were blown out. This occurred more than once, rumor alleges, and the party gave up exploring the passage." It was alleged that Drack's Priory Farm and Baxter Old Hall were linked by this tunnel, even though there is half a mile between them both.

To add further strangeness to the story, the locals claimed that Long Drax was haunted by a man without a head, a black figure flapping bat-like wings, and a man hanging from a gallows and medieval women. The Yorkshire Post also wrote about the traditions of the Christmas hauntings. "...For a good many years, ghosts have been in the air in Drax. At one time, the ghosts of the monks of Abbey used to come at Christmas time at intervals and parade along Avenue of Trees in the neighborhood."

"Miss Clark, who lives at the farm, is certain that she saw a spectral figure stalk around her bedroom on three nights in succession. Others talk of shadowy women, winged creatures and headless women." A special correspondent was dispatched to Baxter Old Hall a few days after the initial story and delivered a very unusual and condescending report, writing:

Last night, when the wind was winding down the dark lanes and the bats were in the belfry of the village church, it seemed possible to believe anything. Even the story of a local raconteur, who says he has seen 50 spectres marching in columns of four toward Drax Priory. The whole district is haunted. Transparent owls hoot at the children. Medieval women laugh in the faces of old men, and headless spectres lounge about the hedgerows in their nightshirts.

If I were more familiar with the Yorkshire dialect, there is doubt that I should be able to recount many more happenings. Unfortunately, I was unable to understand a word he said, though I gathered from his manner they were extremely funny ghost stories." The journalist goes to describe his night of ghost hunting, spending several hours in the Baxter Hall farm waiting for the monk to appear, but heard and saw nothing. When he ventured outside, he claimed to have fallen in a ditch.

Disappointingly, this is the last report of the Clark family's experience at the old hall. Still, if we review the initial sightings, there were three members of the family who saw the initial ghost: the signalman and the local raconteur, plus other villagers. While the journalists tried to downplay the stories of the area, there's no doubt that there is an aspect of truth to the sightings.

On the outskirts of the Yorkshire city of Sheffield, Dronfield is an ancient town sandwiched between Sheffield and the Peak District. The name Dronfield means "land infested with drones" — that's male bees. A very strange name indeed.

Interestingly, the town was featured in the Domesday Book of 1086, but its history dates to the Bronze Age and possibly even further. Christmas 1903 did not go well for a young couple who went to live in Dronfield. While the house is not named, it's said to have had a mysterious hole in the cellar. Dark, deep, and uncovered, apparently it was an ancient well that the house had built on top of.

But a while the couple lived in wedded bliss. And just before Christmas, something horrifying took place. The couple was looking after two young girls, daughters of friends, and took them around Dronefield for the day. And later that night, the girls slept at the house. The young couple had not fitted all their rooms with beds, so the young husband slept on the sofa downstairs, the room above the cellar, and the wife and children slept upstairs.

In the darkest hour of the night, the young wife awoke. At the same time, unknown to her, her husband woke. Footsteps could be clearly heard on the stairs. Slowly, they approached the room. The wife could hardly breathe in terror. She pulled her blankets closer but still stared at the door. The steps came nearer, past her room and entered another bedroom.

Relaxed, thinking it must be her husband fetching another blanket, she listened as the footsteps returned from the room and went downstairs. At the same time, the husband thought he heard his wife wandering around, maybe fetching something from the kitchen for the children. The next morning, the couple discovered that neither had been walking around in the middle of the night.

This was the first experience they had of the Drawn Field Ghost, and both believed that they had heard the footsteps of some restless spirit, maybe a former occupant. Either way, the footsteps signaled the beginning of a terrifying series of experiences. The focus seemed to be the room above the cellar, in a particular corner,

Late at night, mysterious knockings or slow muffled bangs could be heard as if someone was in the wall, patiently and persistently trying to hammer their way out. The sounds would sometimes increase in volume, but are always slow and consistent. They continued night after night, and the young couple could not find any source inside or outside the house.

Terrified, the couple took to sleeping with the oil lamps burning, believing somehow this would provide protection against the ghostly lodger. A few nights before Christmas Day, the wife awoke in the night realizing the oil lamp had been turned off and the bedroom was in pitch blackness. She tried to scream, but the fear held her tight. She could tell the ghost was now in the bedroom.

She endured the uncertainty and suspense as long as she could, and in desperation sprung out of bed, grabbed the matches, and struck a light. It was as she feared.

As the feeble light illuminated the room, she looked around and there, looking at her full in the face and pointing to her, was the ghost. A hideous sight slinking in the corner of the room. She saw a skeleton with deep, dark eye sockets but seemingly full of life. She was held in speechless terror, frozen to the spot just a few feet from her sleeping husband.

The match began to burn itself down, and as it did, the apparition silently but purposely turned to the door and disappeared as the darkness enveloped the room. The wife lurched to the bed, grabbing her husband, who woke abruptly and lit the gaslight in the room. The ghost had gone. The couple left the house in the middle of the night. The harrowing experience was enough to force them to leave, and they returned to Sheffield.

There is no explanation of why the experiences happened, but the trigger seems to be when the friends' daughters came to stay. Like the stories of the Enfield and Battersea poltergeists, the story seems centered on young females. Since we don't know the age of the young wife, was she somehow key to the activity?

The newspapers of the day believed the well was somehow related to the hauntings, writing: "Why the house had been built over an old well, or why the well had never been filled in and why the hole was always left uncovered, we cannot say. We do not suggest the ghost or ghosts refused to allow the well to be covered, and that as often as covers were placed on it they immediately disappeared, leaving not a trace behind."

More true-life ghost stories and holiday haunts coming up when Weird Darkness returns. Hey Weirdos! Our next Weirdo Watch Party is Saturday, January 18th and sci-fi film host and all-around nice guy Jukesua is back with another terrible B-movie. This one from the infamously inept Roger Corman. From 1958 it's "War of the Satellites." "And yet you propose to follow this tenth failure with another attempt?"

Using more of your volunteers? An unknown force declares war against planet Earth when the United Nations disobeys warnings to cease and desist in its attempts at assembling the first satellite in the atmosphere. We are obviously in the grip of a force stronger than we can oppose. It's a movie eight weeks in the making, and it shows on every frame of film. See the last few seconds with a wire holding up a planet.

See the satellites spinning in different directions every time you see them. See shadows somehow being cast onto the backdrop that is supposed to be outer space. You'll even see actors wearing the same clothes day after day after day because...

Who knows? War of the Satellites! Join us online as we all watch the film together on January 18th at 7pm Pacific, 8pm Mountain, 9pm Central, 10pm Eastern on the Monster Channel page at WeirdDarkness.com. The Weirdo Watch Party is always free to watch – just tune in at showtime and watch the movie with me and other Weirdo family members.

and even join in the chat during the film for more fun. We're always cracking jokes during the movie, usually at the actor's or director's expense, but hey, it's all worthy of criticism. It's Jukesua presenting Roger Corman's War of the Satellites from 1958.

You can see a trailer for the film now, and watch horror hosts and B-movies for free, anytime on the Monster Channel page at WeirdDarkness.com. That's WeirdDarkness.com slash TV, and we'll see you Saturday, January 18th for our Weirdo Watch Party!

Yeah.

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On the outskirts of Blackburn is a 700-year-old country manor recently converted to a modern hotel with an indoor pool, fitness center, and spa, yet still kept its ghost. Duncan Howe Hall appears in history around the late 1200s. There likely stood a small medieval manor house until 1332, when it became the property of the

The Talbot and Derrishton families were major landowners in the area, and they were in continuous dispute over Waddington Hall, Holt Hall, and Cowhill. These property disputes came to a head in 1581 when Sir Thomas Talbot sold his lands, including Duncan Hall, to Thomas Walmsley, a Catholic. Thomas wanted to leave his mark, and he rebuilt Duncan Hall Hall and created a Catholic chapel on its grounds.

Duncan Hall luckily missed any military damage caused by the battles during the Civil War of 1640-1652. However, it did require 10,000 pounds of repairs due to the parliamentarians who were based there during that time and seemed to have a jolly rollicking time. Around 1742, Duncan Hall and its estate passed into the hands of the Peter family, who would hold the house for 200 years until 1947.

Strangely, it's from the relatively quiet times of the Peter family that a ghost is said to haunt the hall. It was a local tradition that no one should pass by the hall at midnight on Christmas Eve, as it was thought that a ghost, or "Bogart" as they were called, would appear in the form of a young woman dressed in a white sheet. She could be seen walking from the house, along the trees, and to the site of an old bridge, and then disappears.

As with many ghost stories, the origin of the haunting has no fixed date, but is set when the Peter family were at their greatest strengths. A young French lady called Lucette was the children's governess, and she was in love with a young officer. The officer used Lucette and never intended to marry her, always promising that they would be married someday.

One day, Lucette confronted the officer, for she was now pregnant, and demanded that he marry her so that she could have the child with no shame. The officer was furious and claimed that she had been unfaithful, leaving her at Duncan Hall. Lucette was in a predicament. She could not stay at the house as an unmarried pregnant governess, and neither could she return home to France, as this would bring great shame to the family.

Something snapped inside Lucette, and the Peters could sense the light had been blown out in this pretty young woman. She took to walking the Deer Park late at night, wandering to the spots where she would meet her lover and finally the bridge where they first kissed. She realized she was doomed and threw herself into the rushing torrents below. She sealed her fate to eternally wander the house and grounds of Duncan Hall on the night of her death, Christmas Eve.

Elliot O'Donnell was, for many years, Britain's leading ghost hunter. An author of over 50 books, he also wrote dozens of articles for newspapers and magazines. Sadly, he died in 1965, but his legacy continues with many ghost hunters influenced by his works.

In 1920, Eliot wrote about an alleged experience in Dublin when, as he drove down Gloucester Street, he encountered a ghostly dog, saying: "I was invited to a large old-fashioned house, reported to be haunted. I was given the haunted chamber to sleep in, but nothing occurred till two or three days before Christmas when I was in the boot room downstairs. Looking up, suddenly I saw before me a hideous old woman of stunted growth, with wild, bloodshot eyes and matted hair.

"Terrified out of my wits, I seized a boot and hurled it at her. The aim was true, but it had no effect, for the boot passed right through her body, and she still stood there leering. Then slowly she disappeared. I saw her on two or three more occasions, but the other guests were skeptical and ridiculed my story." On Christmas Eve, there was a wake to celebrate Mr. O'Donnell's ghost.

Elliot continues the story, saying, "The dancing was at its height, when suddenly there came a loud knocking, and turning to the door we saw the old hag again, who beckoned us. We followed her to an upstairs room where a terrible sight met our gaze. Upon the floor lay the form of a singularly beautiful girl, and over her stood a man garbed in cavalier dress, his sword dripping with blood. Then came a tremendous crash and everything disappeared.

"Only about half of us saw the apparition, but all heard the crash, for which no one was able to account. There was no more dancing that Christmas Eve." Many claim that Eliot enhanced the truth of some of his stories – perhaps the one that I just told you. Or was Eliot a medium of some kind? He certainly admitted later in life that he thought he had the gift of second sight.

Ghost stories can be pretty dark, and this is no exception. It was Christmas 1934, and journalist Bill Lockwood was sent to investigate a highly unusual death of a family. He wrote, "I was involved in a real ghost story back in 1934. It's all very well to say that the old, red-bricked house is no more.

The Germans blasted it out of existence in the Blitz of 1944, so the haunted house is no longer and has since been replaced by a block of luxury apartments. I was asked to report on the mysterious death of a family. They'd been out for their Christmas Eve celebration, mother, father and their grown-up son and two daughters. Their maid had left them their supper and gone home, leaving a Merry Christmas message and saying she would be in good time in the morning.

When the maid returned to the house on Christmas morning, she found the family sprawled over the supper table, all dead. Bill was sent to the house as he lived not too far away and was the closest journalist to get the scoop. By the time we had got the details Christmas Day 1934 was anything but a happy, restful one for us, I discovered that the family had died in a suicide pact."

Since I lived quite close by, I saw that the year after year it stood empty, and I noticed that time took down the curtains. Decay made the shutters rattle on windy nights as I passed, and the owls from Streatham Common seemed to like the place. As the years passed and the place got more neglected, the memory of that tragedy faded. Soon the "To Let" board was replaced by one "For Sale," and then one day that went too.

Neighbors heard that the Marchby family would be returning from South Africa to live in the home. Within a few hours of the family moving in, I was on the doorstep again. I thought there may be a story about South Africa. Hugo Marchby, the head of the family, showed me into the room on the right. The very room where years ago I had described that first tragedy. I met his wife and presently there were the girls, Yolanda and Edis.

Things were looking much the same as they did with previously, and when they told me that Denny, their son, had gone to London, I gave a silent "whew" but whispered not a word. It was just like that other family, dead around the table in that very room so many years ago. Only now there was no table, and the room was now a lounge. All I hoped was that people would never tell them what I knew and dare not tell them. But somebody did.

Yes, they got to know all right. And the ghost story begins here. For the Marchbys, the house was already haunted, as it had been for all those years, although I saw no ghost. They did. What happened next still shakes me today. Something unnatural took place without a doubt.

"Within a few weeks, I saw the family change. The girls looked fearsome to return home. They looked troubled. Edith was the first to die, nobody knew what happened. But she babbled that she had seen something the night before. I went to the crematorium with her sister Yolanda. Aside from the grieving, she had concerns about the house. She blamed it for her sister's death. Not many months later, Yolanda went out of her mind.

and never knew what became of her. And then the mother died. For the boy, Denny, there was another end. And the bomb that fell on the house that fateful November night in 1944 killed him and his father. It's funny how things happen like that on our doorstep, and we think nothing of them until we piece the bits of the jigsaw together at Christmas. When the wind blows eerily, the fire sparks up and dies down again. It's nearly time for bed.

Many books detail the ghost of Beaulieu and its famous National Motor Museum. Set in the New Forest National Park, the Beaulieu estate includes the village of Buckler's Hard, Palace House, and Beaulieu Abbey. Originally a gatehouse to Beaulieu Abbey founded by King John in 1204, the house is haunted by black monks, rambling nuns, and a myriad of characters throughout history.

In 1952, the National Motor Museum was opened by estate owner Lord Montague, and at its helm as curator was Charles Beatty. In a candid interview, Charles said that his marriage to novelist Joan Grant broke down due to the interactions of "the ghost of Abbott Hugh," the resident ghost of the estate.

Interestingly, Joan became famous while living at Beaulieu for her book "The Winged Pharaoh," which for 20 years she kept secret that she had "channeled" the material during meditation and séances. Beaulieu's Christmas ghosts seem a communicative lot,

Between 1886 and 1939, the last vicar of Beaulieu, Reverend Robert Powles, claims that the ghosts were an everyday part of his life. Often he was known to make comments to parishioners such as, "Brother Simon was here again last night. I heard his boots squeak." By the 1930s, the vicar began to organize special midnight masses for the ghosts on Christmas Eve.

Lord Montague's eldest sister, Elizabeth Varley, knew Reverend Powells and once said of him, "He always appeared perfectly sane, and seemed to be on good terms with the ghosts whom he saw and spoke to regularly." Looking back at the activities of the Reverend Powells, did he really witness ghosts daily, and did anybody else see them with him? And the final question: Was the chapel full of ghosts on his midnight Masses on Christmas Eve?

The New Inn and the A57 road between Sheffield and Manchester provide an excellent introduction to the hauntings of this incredibly active "window area" known for its UFO, ghost and strange encounters. In the early days, the New Inn was a farmhouse licensed in the mid-1800s to a Robert Turner,

Many ramblers and travelers on the way to the Derbyshire Hills and beyond would stop at the inn. One such traveler became its landlord, Samuel Swan. He was a well-known personality in the area and reputedly the strongest man in Cheshire. Locals claimed he was a giant with a huge chest, and he could grasp a pint pot and crush it in his grip.

By 1960, the area was transformed by the construction of the Hattersley Estate, and the new inn changed from a country inn to a local pub for hundreds of inhabitants. Sadly, in the 1960s, the inn had the gruesome distinction of looking onto the house on Whartlebrook Avenue, now demolished, which was the scene of the infamous Moores murders.

In the 1920s, the A57, or the Manchester to Sheffield Road, became known to have a haunted spot on a stretch of road with the new inn at its center. Sadly, over a two-year period from 1928 to 1930, there were dozens of accidents on this stretch, often with the same underlying theme: that the accident was caused by a phantom lorry reversing onto the road. Not only that, but most accidents happened near Christmas.

During the inquest into the death of Charles Ridgeway, who died due to injuries he received in an accident while riding in a motorcycle sidecar driven by his cousin Albert Collinson, several witnesses were asked to provide evidence. Collinson claimed that while traveling near the new inn, he suddenly saw a large vehicle backing out of a side lane but remembered nothing more. And yet another witness declared they saw no other vehicle.

The coroner implied there was something curious about the road and the manner of the accidents happening. The new inn and its hauntings were also brought to the spotlight by locals discussing the strangeness in the area. It was claimed that cars left stranded outside the new inn had been known to start suddenly off down the road ten minutes after the engines had been stopped. The then-landlord, William Gatton, also admitted the area was indeed haunted and that he and his neighbors had heard voices for the last six years.

One of the neighbors, Mrs. Simister, became so terrified of hearing heavy footsteps during the night that she had to leave her bungalow. She often woke, screaming when she heard the footsteps and heard men talking amongst themselves. Things came to a head in February 1930 during the Charles Ridgeway Inquest when the coroner asked members of the jury to investigate the spot where the phantom lorry had appeared. They were quickly joined by packs of journalists and then a crowd of spiritualists.

One newspaper wrote, "Mr. W. Baten, the well-known spiritualist, tried again to induce some psychic manifestation. Near the spot where a series of fatal accidents have occurred, Mr. Baten broke a hawthorn twig and remained silent. The twig did not move, but the party shivered with the cold." It is a shame that in the 1930s the journalists did not vigil in the New Inn itself.

The pub boasts a ghost in the shape of an old woman known as Mary. She was reputedly a cleaner at the inn in the last century and is sometimes heard scrubbing the floors in the toilets and, according to one landlord, walks the corridors swishing her skirt. Sadly, in August 2012, the new inn was demolished to make way for a new housing development. Will the phantom Laurie and Mary make themselves known to the new tenants?

A highly active poltergeist became the undoing of four miners when they investigated a haunted farmhouse in Briarley, West Yorkshire. It was Christmas, 1902, and Farmer Laybourne's house had become well-known in the area for being haunted.

The spectre was said to reside in the wash house, and for a long time the dolly tubs and other washing appliances were witnessed jumping around and being thrown to the floor. Clothes leapt about the warehouse and even seemed flying up the chimney. On one occasion the wash tub was found overturned, and after it had been put back, a little while later the mysterious force once again overturned the tub.

In the main house, items of furniture and ornaments had been seen dancing around, while the cushions were thrust into the fireplace several times. It was only a matter of time that the family moved out. And sure enough, a few days after Christmas, they left. However, Farber Laybourne and his farm servant stood their ground. Soon the fame of the ghost spread throughout the district, with large crowds visiting the haunted house with the hope of either laying the ghost or even witnessing its incredible feats.

After a few days, the crowds had reached such a size that Laybourne applied for police protection. Sadly, the police did not catch the ghost, but four minors were caught eating Mr. Laybourne's supper. The four men had been found ghost-seeking while drinking copious amounts of alcohol and being comfortably ensconced in the kitchen eating Laybourne's supper. The men were brought before the West Riding Bench at Barnsley, charged with being found on the premises of Mr. Laybourne and eating a couple of chops and a cutlet.

Although the miners claimed they had no intention of damaging the house, they claimed they were frightened to stay at Laybourne's house. "I do not believe in ghosts," said one of the defendants, "and I went to stay until midnight, but instead of the ghost it was the constable who came." Each of the men was fined 40 shillings and costs. And no further mention of Laybourne's poltergeist can be found. Strangeness can linger in a town like the early morning frost of autumn.

In 1883, a quiet and religious township was enveloped in mystery and terror. Mexico, Missouri gained its name to capitalize on the popularity of Texas joining the Union, and in the 1880s it was a small, thriving settlement of around 6,000 inhabitants. On the eve of Thanksgiving, 1883, a portent of the coming strangeness appeared to two gentlefolks in the neighborhood around Hopewell Church, a few miles west of Mexico.

Mr. Cyrus Haggart and his wife, who was traveling on Thanksgiving Eve, were the first to encounter the supernatural being. Returning from the church that night, they were surprised by the monster's peering with its cat-like eyes into their buggy and leaning against it, almost crushing the vehicle. The couple took many weeks to recover from their experience, claiming that they had seen an 8-foot to 10-foot lean monster man wearing a long cloak with his head bowed in an abstracted way.

The monster was claimed to have had small, glittering eyes resembling a cat or some wild beast. Little did the residents around Hopewell Church realize that the monster's appearance would come again in the following months. Just before Christmas, John Creasy, a well-respected resident who fought as a soldier under General Grant in the Civil War, encountered the beast. Returning from Mexico in the late afternoon, he had a good view of the strange being who was about 50 yards ahead of him.

Walking in a leisurely way along the middle of the road, almost knee-deep in mud, John described the entity as wearing a long, flowing black cloak and walking with his head lowered. All at once, the monster disappeared in the thick woods as mysteriously as he came upon the scene.

Creasy told local newspapers that even though he had fought in the Civil War for the first time in his life, he was really frightened, and it took all he could to control his horse. So great was its fear of the object. Further sightings of this incredible monster were recorded, but the folk of Hopewell Church could not decide if they had experienced a strange creature or a ghost.

With this in mind, a large party gathered, led by Bob White, a local politician, and Jake Merkle, a farmer, as well as being joined by several journalists. They took to hunting down the creature. A local tracker claimed that the monster lived in the hills behind the farm of a Philip Brown, and so the hunt set out to find this terrifying creature.

It was written, "...it was supposed that the habitation of the monster was pretty definitely known, and little doubt existed that the wild man or whatever the thing may be had a home in a cave in the hills, but recently discovered that this was proved a mistake. The cave was searched thoroughly, but no evidence was found that it had been made a home by anything but wild animals which are plentiful in the woods of the region."

A few days later, Anton Bradshaw was returning from town late when he saw it sitting bolt upright on the fence in front of Hopewell Church, with its head bowed, apparently meditating. With quick thinking, Anton turned his horse's head and ran back to shelter at a neighbor's home. After this sighting, Hopewell Church and its school were abandoned because of the fear of the monster, and even armed farmers refused to venture outside at night.

Over Christmas 1883, there are several reports of sightings, including the aforementioned Bob White mistaking a shadow for a ghost at Hopewell Church and fainting in front of a large crowd. In January 1884, the son of John Creasy contacted the Mexico Weekly Ledger that had discovered a large coat.

While hunting deer near Hopewell Church, he believed he had found the coat of the wild man. It was alleged to have been made up by many skins: bear, buffalo, elephant, kangaroo and tiger. Whether this was an embellishment of John Jr. or the newspaper is unclear. It seems that the wild man sightings stopped for a few months, and there certainly are no reports in any local newspapers, just vignettes that something local was happening.

Local hunting parties organized by wealthy benefactors and organizations continued to look for the wild man, but no apparent result. Then, on August 28, 1884, the Mexico Weekly Ledger published a small news item: "We understand that John Creasy has bought the haunted hill immediately west of Philip Brown's residence." One of the greatest annoyances of being a paranormal researcher of old newspapers and documents is the lack of ability to see what was really happening.

What was the haunted hill? Was it linked to the cave behind Philip Brown's farm? And how did it relate to the wild man? The next stage of activity was just about to start. The newspaper article read, headline, Numerous wrecks on a road near where a ghost was rudely investigated. Story.

Out in what is known as the "Ghost District" west of Mexico, Missouri, it would seem a faded hill over which traverses the main country road. In a conversation this morning with a well-known farmer who resides in the vicinity, Philip Brown, he stated that within the past year there has been no less than 50 disastrous runways on this particular hill and that old fragments of wagons and buggies can be seen lying around in all directions.

Several persons too have been injured, the result of teams of horses becoming frightened and tearing at breakneck speed down the narrow, perpendicular space. Who or what was causing these crashes, and why did they start after the wild man sightings? As with many cases of the paranormal, sometimes the activity can change format or develop over time. The Haunted Hill continued to claim many victims.

Two young ladies, the Mrs. Stevens, were thrown out their buggy on Haunted Hill, one of them sustaining a severe ankle fracture. In this instance, the buggy was smashed. One earlier witness to the wild man, Anton Bradshaw and his family, were returned home when their two workhorses took fright and ran away, luckily injuring no one but literally demolishing the vehicle. Poor Isaac Reed was another who experienced the terror of Haunted Hill.

He passed close to the hill and let his horse drink from the ford on the way home. Suddenly his horse gave a fearful lunge, bucking and tearing around a fearful rate, and it was some time before the animal could be calmed. What the horse saw or heard, Mr. Reed did not discover, and not long after this episode, his horse lay for an hour in a death-like stupor, only to recover. Haunted Hill took on almost poltergeist-level activity,

Mr. Childress, a respectable farmer, had his wagon upset by a mysterious power that dumped his provisions into the creek at the foot of the hill and was swept away. Mr. Childress was able to rescue his horses who, like Isaac Reeds, went mad. The wild man also returned to the vicinity of Hopewell Church just a few days before Christmas 1884.

"A well-known gentleman of this city driving over the road at nightfall encountered an apparition gigantic in height, ethereal in substance, long-cloped and booted, which approached and rested familiarly on the box of its buggy," the newspaper wrote. "It kept pace with a rapid and in this case an exceedingly terrified horse, and then disappeared. How or whence the gentleman was, perhaps in no condition to discover."

Local newspapers reported that the haunted hill should not be traveled at night. "It should not even be contemplated," wrote journalists.

Some newspapers blamed the ghost for the accidents on the hill and even created incredible descriptions of his alleged appearance. He is mounted on a pale horse. He is a gigantic figure, clad in pure white, apparently floating in the air. He is a grisly skeleton, surmounted by a ghastly death's head in the shape of an especially horrible grinning skull.

"The Haunted Hill is situated two miles west of Mexico, Missouri, in the Ghost District, which derived its name last fall from a strange creature roaming at large, it is said, through the wood of the locality, frightening the inhabitants nearly out of their wits, and which mystery never was fathomed, although day after day and night after night hunting parties were out scouring the thickly wooded, sparsely settled neighborhood.

The Haunted Hill, as they call it, is merely a sequence to the appearance of the mysterious personage of last fall. A singular event can cause a series of both paranormal and unusual human activity within a small area. As you can see with the neighborhood of Hopewell Church, the wild man sightings were a catalyst to continued unusual activity, sparking the Haunted Hill where numerous horse-related accidents took place, but also strange human encounters, such as this story.

Last Sunday evening, Jimmy Jess, who lives right in the heart of the Ghost District, was returning home, and when near the haunted hill, he was met by three unknown men who made him dismount from his horse. All three men then got on the animal and went up the haunted hill at breakneck speed. After a diligent search, they found the horse to the rear of Philip Brown's residence. Once again, the mysterious slips into the dark.

The reports of unusual activities disappear from the newspapers. However, there are further insights into the Haunted Hill and the hauntings three years later. The Mexico Weekly Ledger once again covered the story in December 1888. "Is Haunted Hill Deserted? History of the Famous Hill and its Mystery. Story."

For years, the hill was known to be haunted. With the coming of the first frost in September, great moanings and wailings would emanate from the mysterious hill, and belated travelers would at night hear terrible noises and witness blood-curdling sightings in the strip of woods that cover the wonderful place.

"Strong men of courage frequently equipped themselves with weapons and armor and would endeavor to drive home their haunts, the mysterious being that made Haunted Hill their nightly rendezvous. But it was always in vain. The parties always returned empty-handed." The journalist continues that rather than a series of small encounters, that "year after year the ghosts held high carnival with the coming of frost and until late the next year the hill was a place of terror."

The article then mentions John Creasy, who's mentioned several times in the articles over the five years of reporting the wild man and Haunted Hill. After looking into the area around Hopewell Church, John seems to have owned the land directly at the back of the church and no doubt would have been highly affected by the wild man's actions.

It was written, "It was about three years ago, and John, who then lived in the Ghost District, who took a band of ghost hunters up Haunted Hill but returned back in the morning unrewarded. All the fall and winter passed, and there were no supernatural manifestations. The delightful mystery surrounding the Haunted Hill and Ghost Hollow still existed but grew no deeper. Another winter came, and no more ghosts. Only the legend remained." And like many true-life stories, that is the end of this particular story.

A few things I note is that many of the witnesses of the wild man were armed farmers. If this was some sort of persistent hoax, then whoever was the perpetrator or perpetrators would have been risking being injured or killed. Several times, armed gangs went hunting for the wild man. If a hoaxer was behind it, I can only imagine what these gangs would have done if they had discovered them.

That's one of the reasons why I believe this is a very genuine and unusual case, especially when the activity begins at the Haunted Hill. Like the wild man sightings, witnesses to the Haunted Hill experiences included politicians, well-respected gentlemen and armed farmers,

Usually, in cases from the 1800s, there's a strong skeptical streak that'll insinuate that the ghost case is fake. While some blame is thrown in the direction of John Creasy, I doubt this to be the case. Reviewing where the sightings and Haunted Hill experience took place, we're not talking about a built-up area, just a few farms scattered over five miles square. Furthermore, we can see that some of the witnesses and their families owned the land in the area.

Suppose the son or a family relative was discovered to be behind this reoccurring five-year mystery. In that case, this close-knit, church-going community would have been literally shattered. Again, who would have risked this with a simple prank? Out of the high-weirdness cases I've been sharing tonight, all the U.S.-based ghost stories are very unusual, but not if we compare it with the high-strangeness cases of Bigfoot, UFOs, and hauntings.

From 1973 through 1974 in Pennsylvania, ufologist Stan Gordon was swamped with countless UFO sightings with high strangeness. Remote farms claimed to have seen UFOs in Bigfoot. A multitude of descriptions and experiences. Some claimed men in black visitations, poltergeist activity, and even strange animal deaths. And like the Missouri Wildman and the Haunted Hill, the cases suddenly stopped without explanation.

So was the wild man a ghost? A Bigfoot or something else? Did he trigger the Haunted Hill sightings? For sure, we will never know. And as the Mexico Weekly Ledger wrote, no more ghosts, only the legend remained. If you want more Christmas creeps, keep listening. More true ghost stories from the holiday season coming up!

We all dream, but for some people, what should be a time for their bodies and minds to rest turns into a nightmare from which they cannot escape. Our next Weird Darkness live stream is Saturday night, December 28th on the Weird Darkness YouTube channel, and during the live broadcast I'll share some of these chilling nighttime stories.

Tales of shadow people, sleep paralysis, and demons who stalk their victims in that place between dreams and reality. I'll share true tales of prophetic dreams, some joyful, some not. Sleepwalking incidents that are both amusing and disturbing. I'll also share real stories of night terrors so horrifying that sleep

became something to fear and dread for those victimized by the night. You might not want to sleep after joining our next live-screen. It's Saturday, December 28th at 5pm Pacific, 6pm Mountain, 7pm Central, 8pm Eastern. On the lighter side, I'll also be responding to comments and questions live on the air and doing a giveaway of some Weird Darkness merch.

Prepare yourself for our next live-screen for chilling tales of what some people must endure in an attempt to get some sleep. Find the details on the live-screen page at WeirdDarkness.com. "Lights are going up, snow is falling down, there's a feeling of goodwill around town. It could only mean one thing..." "McRib is here!"

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Our results speak for themselves. And always remember this, everybody is a somebody and nobody is a nobody. Visit ForThePeople.com to learn about our firm. Morgan & Morgan, For The People. Injured? Visit ForThePeople.com for an office near you. For over 150 years, an old woman's ghost haunts the village of Stoke Pogues in South Buckinghamshire.

In the middle of the village is a large old house, now used as the infant school that was once a shop. The house had the reputation of being haunted for many years by the restless spirit of Nanny Smith, who, based on the local tradition, was murdered there.

She was the proprietor of what we would now call a general store, a place where you could buy anything you wanted at any time you wanted. The shop was very successful, and it also became well known in the neighborhood that Nanny Smith had received a great deal of money through an inheritance. On Christmas morning in 1849, Nanny's servant girl came to take down the shutters and open the shop. However, when she opened the door, she discovered her mistress's dead body lying across the floor in a pool of blood.

Her skull fractured as if hit by something incredibly heavy and blunt. Suspicion fell on a shoemaker who lived on the same street, and after intense pressure from his wife, he admitted his guilt. He had broken into her house to find the inheritance money, but she discovered him searching through her documents. In the heat of the burglary, he hit poor Nanny's head with his shoemaker's hammer, smashing her skull and sending her to the floor.

The mystery of the lost money was never cleared up, and the house became the scene of a nocturnal haunting on Christmas Eve. Strange stories still linger about the old woman's ghost, seen standing in the windows or walking across the street. In the late 1800s, her ghost had "moved" to Haunted Bend in nearby Plough Lane after a series of sightings by several villagers.

Strangely, in 1898, two old women mistook an old donkey walking around in a neighboring field as the ghost of Nanny Smith, thinking that the donkey's twitching tail was Nanny's arm. A spectral visitor came to the home of Reverend Brock on December 26, 1908. The tail is guaranteed to send a shiver down your spine.

Reverend Brock was the acting vicar of East Rudham near Kings Lynn, Norfolk. East Rudham is a quaint and ancient village not known for paranormal activity. However, an incredible story took place a few days before Christmas at the old rectory in the village. The time approached four in the afternoon, and the winter's sun was slowly setting across the rectory's lawn. Suddenly, the housekeeper shouted to Reverend Brock, "'Come and see, Dr. Astley!'

Brock did not believe his housekeeper as Dr. Astley was the vicar of the parish but had left to go overseas. The Reverend met his housekeeper in the study and looked out the window across the lawn but saw nothing. "You're looking in the wrong direction," exclaimed the housekeeper. Brock turned to his right and saw a clergyman with a white collar gleaming in the gathering darkness. He instantly thought it must be a reflection of himself. However, this was impossible from the position he was situated.

The vision presented itself as a clergyman sitting at a table or desk with books before him. The "ghost" wore a gold chain across his waistcoat, exactly how Dr. Astley wore his. Brock took four or five views before rushing outside to the supposed wall against which the figure was sitting. When he reached the wall, he discovered that the ghost had been sitting in a small outlet or alcove. The housekeeper remarked that it was where Dr. Astley would sit in summer to read.

Dr. Asli, the vicar of East Rudham, left the village on December 10. Unbeknownst to Brock and the housekeeper, Dr. Asli and his wife had been killed in a railway accident in Algiers. This was only confirmed weeks after the sighting of the vicar on the lawn.

Butler's Green, a small village that sits on the old coaching road between Cuckfield and Haywards Heath, Sussex, seems to be the epicenter of paranormal activity that has lasted for hundreds of years. Sporadic hauntings across the mid-Sussex landscape are seemingly linked by the rout of a stampede of phantom horses that appear on moonlit nights between Christmas and the New Year.

According to Hubert Bates, watchmaker, butlers, from 1938, "They do not appear every year, but at irregular and sometimes long intervals, but always on a moonlight night. They are said to favor a misty moon where there is a tang in the night wind, and just enough to curdle the air into a beautiful white rhyme. I cannot imagine anything more terrifying than hearing the thundering sound of horses' hooves on a small, unlit country lane in the middle of the night."

The fear that you would be about to be trampled by a real stampede and the real-life danger it brings to discover that it was a ghost herd or team of horses? Pre-1900s, wandering down ancient Copyhold Lane on a moonlit night would not be helped by streetlights. And the calming light of the moon would not provide help on a muddy track surrounded by tall hedges.

the fear that you could encounter the riderless horses would have kept most villagers safely in their homes over the Christmas holidays. Digging through the country of Sussex's long history and folklore from the early 18th century, the ghostly horses are said to have made their ghastly route across the countryside on or around New Year's Eve. At the same time, some sources claim only a moonlit night during this time.

What is known is where the horses start their run, just a few miles from Butler's Green in the village of Anstey, an ancient village with hints of prehistoric lineage. A local hill, Mount Nody, is believed to have been named after the Celtic deity Nodens, coincidentally or not the god of hunting and dogs. The ghostly horses run across the meadow from the nearby village of Anstey and down the old bridle path.

Hubert Bates, watchmaker and teacher, was known locally for knowing Cuckfield's history and folklore. He wrote many letters to the Mid-Sussex Times, and in these letters he inadvertently preserved traditions and stories from Mid-Sussex. He wrote extensively about the riderless horses, and he believed the horses began their gallop just outside Anstey Farm. A fine old period Sussex farmhouse, its interior is rich in oak and possibly dates to the Tudors.

The old farmhouse is said to be haunted by an exhausted-looking male figure who walks the bridle path, probing the hedge with a rake in search of, local folklore says, of a lost deed hidden centuries ago in a hole by the roadside. If you ever encounter this frustrated ghost who continues his search long after his death, he's dressed in dark clothing with a leather satchel slung around his shoulders. And yet, just a few feet away, the stampede begins.

To travel from Anstey to Butler's Green using a car and the new bypass would take four minutes. But cross-country, on a horse at full pelt, it must have taken around 10 to 15 minutes to travel the 2.2 miles between locations. Down the old bridle path the horses go, thundering through furnace wood, they turn sharply onto Cuppyhold Lane.

A "copyhold" is a very old term, meaning that the land was owned by the manor, and that manor in this case was Butler's Greenhouse, the destination of the horses at the end of this Romanesque straight country lane. The route of the horses is unusually physical and grounded. Across Europe there are countless tales and folkloric stories of the "wild hunt," but usually they are aerial and not as grounded as these thundering mares.

The Wild Hunt historically occurs in the folklore of Northern Europe and usually includes a chase led by a mythological figure escorted by a ghostly group of humans, horses, and dogs. Gwyn Ap Nudd, who bears similarities to the aforementioned Notans, has several Welsh and Gloucestershire stories of running wild hunts across the skies of Glastonbury and other locations. Is there some link to these stories and Butler's Green?

"On to Copperwood Lane, on to Cuckfield Road, then they turn and gallop madly up the road to Butler's Green." And so they reached their destination, Butler's Green House. The initial house was built around the 14th century and then repeatedly modified and expanded from this point. The house looks like several buildings from Elizabethan all the way through to Georgia, and around the 1600s the main house was built for the old Sussex family, the Baudelaires.

Over time, Butler's Greenhouse became Butler's Green. There is scant information about its inhabitants before the Butler family, but its most famous ghost, aside from the phantom horses, is the Grey Lady. The Grey Lady of Butler's Greenhouse seems to have links with the riderless horses, so I'll share the story. There are numerous references to this tragic ghost, many dating back to the 19th and 18th centuries.

The story is often repeated or even applied by storytellers around Britain to a Grey Lady Ghost. Many years ago, when she was alive, the Grey Lady was married to a man of wild talents. He was a gambler, violent and passionate, but overall he was extremely jealous. During one of these temper tantrums, he stabbed his wife, who was trying to protect their child. She ran out the house in her bloodstained grey dress, carrying her baby in sheer terror, looking for help.

She passed through the big, old estate gates, and then it's believed that she drowned herself and her baby in the pond next to the old lime tree terrace. No one knows for sure whether she was drowned at the hands of the violent husband or a tragic accident as the blood drained away from her, causing her to fall. However, within a few years, it became apparent that the old estate gates were haunted, and that the Grey Lady had placed a curse on them.

If anyone should ever pass through the gates, a death would occur in the household within the year. So concerned locals locked and chained those gates, and the owners of Butler's Green House arranged for another entrance. The Grey Ladies often reported to haunt the grounds occasionally. In 1942, a young musician saw the ghost and told her story to the Mid-Sussex Times, saying, "It was a brilliantly moonlit night, and I approached Butler's Green about eight o'clock,

As I reached Butler's greenhouse, a figure, which I took to be a nun she wore a medieval grey costume, passed right in front of my front wheel and made for the direction of the pond. I tried to dodge her and she was not there. Getting off my cycle, I walked to the edge of the pond and stared down at it. I could see nothing.

Later, when I reached Cuckfield, I told my experience to two friends. They told me that I had seen the butler's green ghost. It was the first time I had heard about the ghost, so the story could not have influenced me and made me fancy I saw the figure. I was so frightened when told about the ghost I could not travel down the road again unless accompanied.

Curiously enough, the late Mr. Simmons had a similar experience about the same time on a summer's night. While walking to Cuckfield, he saw what he thought was a nun in gray proceeding from the house toward the pond, and on the way back he saw her returning. She appeared to pass right through the fence. The newspaper claimed the ghost had not been seen for many a year, and no living person has ever seen the old gates to Butler's Greenhouse unlocked.

Like the laying ghost of Anstey, is there a connection to the phantom horses or each other? On the last stroke of midnight, on a moonlit night between Christmas and the New Year, a ghostly troop of grey riderless horses appear. They enter literally through the old estate gates and rush to the old stables, and there they scrape the brick paving, paw on the gravel, and whinny in the most unearthly manner.

If at this moment a person opens the stable doors, the phantom horses pass in and no more is seen or heard of them. But if they fail to awaken and not open the doors, then the horses turn around frantically, run through the old gates, down the Cuckfield Road and disappear into Copyhold Lane and so return to Anstey.

But this comes with a dire warning: the failure to allow the horses in means that, before another New Year's Eve has passed, a blight falls on some unfortunate individual sleeping that night at Butler's Green. Hubert concluded, "No one knows what frightful tragedy lies behind this weird visitation, but the seriousness of the crime is evident by all the horses being riderless." A real ghost story never has a conclusion.

That's the nature of the paranormal. There's no doubt that the riderless horses were known and experienced for hundreds of years in the area. The stories passed on from generation to generation. But could the stories of this ride be much older, linked to the Wild Hunt? To encounter the Wild Hunt was a presage to an unfortunate event such as war, disease, or even your own death. But also, there are stories that you could be abducted by the Wild Hunt.

While the riderless horses and the people of Butler's Green rely on someone opening the stable doors to remain safe, there's that fear that the horses will return to Anstey and a death will occur in the village. There seems to be a link here, at least in its origin, but what intrigues me more is that at the beginning and the end of the route are ghost stories. Britain and many other countries have invisible lines linking paranormal and unusual activity.

Some call them ley lines. But this seems all too easy. Maybe it's just as simple as an area being clustered with activity over time. Here with Butler's Green, we have two different aged ghost stories, linked by possibly an older, mythological ghost story. Whatever your thoughts are for this story, we cannot dismiss that statistically, on paper, these three stories shouldn't be linked. So is there a darker origin story that we are simply unaware of?

A weird Christmas tale comes from the little county Tyrone town of Newton Stewart in Northern Ireland. The town is overlooked by hills named Bessie Belle and Mary Grey after two Perthshire gentleman daughters. And Bessie Belle and Mary Grey, they wore twar bonny lasses, they biggit a bower on yon burn bray, and they keetit ower we're ashes.

A local ballad says that in 1666, girls built themselves a small bower to avoid catching the plague that ravished across the country. The girls were supplied by a local boy who had fallen in love with them, and sadly the lad caught the plague and gave it to the girls. All three sickened and died, so the hills were named after the Twabani Lassies. When Scottish migrants reached Staunton, Virginia, two hills were named after the girls. Others exist in New Zealand,

The Newton Stewart Hills are said to be very weird and an uneasy place to visit, with some claiming to have seen the shadowy, wispy white figures of the two girls wandering the hills. If Newton Stewart wasn't strange enough, in the 1800s the town inhabitants were well known for believing in supernatural visitations. One Christmas, the town had a special visitor, possibly one of royal lineage. Situated near the old corn market is Newton Stewart Castle on Town Hall Street.

Only the south and north walls still stand, but the castle's archways were used as the town marketplace in the 19th century. Interestingly, Newton Stewart Castle has also the distinction of being the site of a significant Bronze Age discovery, an intact double-cist grave and capstone. In 1906, the locals were shocked by the appearance of a glowing ghost wearing a suit of chainmail.

On the Saturday night before Christmas, townsfolk encountered a strange apparition standing at the Cornmarket Gate, one of the castle's old arches. The party of people were naturally perturbed by the encounter, and one of the witnesses addressed the ghostly knight and asked what he wanted. The spectre deigned not to reply and promptly disappeared.

Soon the story of the strange happenings spread like wildfire across town. Many scoffed at the sightings. But a day later, the skeptics soon changed their minds. At midnight on Sunday, a great ringing of bells was distinctly heard across the district, and several persons looking out to discover the cause of the unwanted sounds saw to their amazement the male-clad figure standing at the entrance of the castle, but this time with a bright light shining all around it.

Once again, curious inhabitants set out to interview the "ghostly" knight, and before they could reach the spot, he had disappeared. His final appearance came a day later, when the knight was seen again visiting the arches of the castle. And with that, the ghost of 1906 disappeared. Literally. And was never reported again. Was it a hoax? Or maybe a genuine ghost visiting on an important anniversary?

Nobody knows for sure. However, 92 years later, two archaeologists discovered two cremated skeletons — one adult, the other believed to be a teenager — on the spot where the ghost appeared. Rather than being a knight, was the ghost an Iron Age warrior? Mary, Queen of Scots, seems to haunt several locations across England and Scotland, one of which is situated on the Fife Coast, the picturesque Wymas Castle.

The construction of the present castle dates to 1421, when Sir John Wymas replaced an earlier one destroyed by the Duke of Rothesay in 1402. The castle is the ancient seat of the Earls of Wymas and the Clan Wymas, historically the castle's best known as the meeting place of Mary Queen of Scots and her future husband, Lord Darnley, in 1565.

The Green Lady has been seen numerous times over the last 200 years, and there's always been the conjecture that she is Mary, Queen of Scots. During the 1800s, a famed Scots minister was leaving the castle after a party on Christmas Eve. As he reached the end of the drive, he paused and looked back to get a view of the castle in the snow by night. As he observed the sight, he saw the Green Lady flittering around the walls.

He told his companion to look, and they both saw the lady disappear, walking slowly round to the side of the castle which faces the sea. As with many mansions and castles across Britain, the castle was sequestered as a hospital during the First World War. During this time, many people lay claim to witnessing the Green Lady. One nurse had a very good sighting.

While returning to the castle to complete her shift, the nurse was passed by a lady in a green cloak in one of the passages. Wondering who the unauthorized visitor could be, she followed the lady and attempted to catch up with her. When she reached the corner of the passage, the visitor had disappeared. This sad Christmas ghost story comes from Greenhill Lane, near Alfredton, Derbyshire. A night of ghost stories turned to one of manslaughter in a story that sent a shock and controversy around the country.

Just a few days before Christmas, 1856, Robert Mitchell, a 15-year-old agricultural worker, visited the farmhouse of Mr. Day to chat with his friends, Isaac Hudson and Jack Percival. He spent a couple of hours with the two boys and their masters, Mr. and Mrs. Day, telling tales about some ghostly knocks that they had been frightened with. During the chat, Percival and Hudson arranged, unknown to Mitchell, that they would play a trick and scare Mitchell once he left.

It was agreed that Percival would play the ghost and took a white tablecloth to put over himself and planned not to stand too far from the house when Mitchell left. About half past seven, Percival told Hudson he was ready to leave. So, Percival hid in the yard waiting for Hudson to bring out Mitchell 15 minutes later, carrying the white tablecloth under his arm. Hudson did as planned and took Mitchell outside, saying that he would walk with Mitchell to the next farmhouse as the lane was haunted.

As they got 120 yards from the house, Hudson saw Percival dressed in the white tablecloth. Jokingly, Hudson reshooted, "Look, Robert! What's that?" Robert replied, "Nothing comes along." As Hudson and Mitchell approached Percival, Hudson feigned a scream and "the ghost" walked across the land and to a stile. Mitchell shouted, "Jack!" There was no answer. Mitchell shouted again, "Jack!" Again, no reply. But this time, Percival made a groan,

Mitchell shouted out, "Is it Jack?" and again Percival gave out a ghostly moan. Percival then ran off and Robert walked home, where he was in a terrified state. During the inquest, it was reported he was all of a tremble, looked white and stared wildly on being interrogated by his father related what had occurred. Though he did not believe it to be Percival and he could not remember how he got home, Robert Mitchell then deteriorated and refused to eat and went to bed.

The next day, he began vomiting and complained of a pain in his throat. Through the following day, he became worse and raved in his bed about what had happened, sadly dying the evening after. During an inquest into the death, Mr. Belcher, a surgeon, believed that Mitchell had died of extreme nervous excitement, and his death resulted from exhaustion from the shock to the nervous system caused by the ghost's sighting.

The coroner asked his jury for a verdict, and they said that because Percival had caused his friend's death, the verdict was manslaughter. Less than a year later, a court agreed not to sentence Percival for his part in Mitchell's death, where usually Percival would have been expecting to be transported overseas or imprisoned with hard labor. There are many tales of the mistletoe bride ghost story in the United Kingdom,

And since the story is so widespread and known, I'm purposely leaving it out of tonight's ghost stories. In the 1800s, there was another well-known Christmas bride ghost story, though, and I'll share its grisly details. Carindelet is a very old neighborhood in the extreme southeastern portion of St. Louis, Missouri. Carindelet is a very old neighborhood in the extreme southeastern portion of St. Louis, Missouri.

Carondelet is famous for its rich cultural history that dates back to 1767 when the French man Clement de Lourdes de Grey built the first house in the area. Originally called Delors Village, over time it became Catilines Prairie, then Louisbourg, probably after Louis XVI, the King of France. Later, Traguet, wanting to renew his military commission, tried to flatter the Governor General of Louisiana, Baron de Carondelet, and named his village after him.

Traquette received his commission in return. In 1832, Carindale was incorporated and then later annexed to St. Louis in 1870. A local journalist described the area, saying, "...a strong undercurrent of superstition pervades the public mind."

Carindale is a peculiar prolific field for ghosts. The superstition was imbued into the popular mind by the remnants of the old original Spanish and French settlers, who generated their traditions and elaborated them, and then passed them down by the unwritten method until very old ruin of which there are many, and every nook or corner has its specific legend. The St. Louis Globe Democrat in 1888.

The journalist clearly understands the cultural melting pot. However, he dismisses the case as pure folklore. The ghost's first appearance was July 1888. The baseball team Carindale Unions were practicing in Carindale Park when the captain, Dennis O'Keefe, spied an unusual spectator perched in a tree nearby. He noticed that it was a female and was wearing a white, flowing nightdress just before dusk.

"The case struck me as being remarkable. I finally asked Fred Duckett, the shortstop, who she was, and then Billy Westerman, the right fielder. Both looked at her and said they didn't know who it could be, at the same time directing at the attending of the rest and the bystanders to her." The spectre was described by several witnesses as having a pretty face with long, sweeping locks of chestnut brown hair. Witnesses thought it was unusual that a young woman should be outside so late without an escort.

The pitcher thought that she was waving her hands in front of her face, so he promptly sent her a high right curve. But instead of catching it, it seemed to pass right through her head. The boys looked at each other and ran to investigate. Within a few feet of the tree, she disappeared in a flash, and nothing could be seen of her. The case takes a strange turn, even for a ghost story.

Dennis told newspapers, "Three of us had gathered beneath the railroad bridge at Lowborough Avenue when suddenly she rushed right between us with a series of horrible shrieks and left a wave of chill, cold air which made us shudder, disappearing apparently in the abutments of solid masonry which the structure rests." At this point, I understand if you doubt Dennis' second part of the story, but it was verified by Deputy Sheriff Tucker.

The ghost had been seen three times in total, with a penchant of appearing around 8:30 in the evening. Tucker was so convinced that he told reporters he would take an oath in court that it was a ghost. And secondly, it followed the same route every appearance. And then the story goes cold... until Christmas time.

"The people of Carindale are in a state of terror over the appearance of a genuine ghost," said the newspaper. "The ghost is a figure, a well-developed female, with a flowing, snowy white gown, sleeveless. Two luminous eyes appear in startling relief, but yet between them, however, is a great crevice, clothed in the skull as discernible, which seems to divide and spread out the upper half of the head into two lobes, and from which a current of bright red blood appears to flow, dyeing the white garment in irregular crimson streaks."

One witness, Frank Strother, told reporters he knew something strange was happening in the area when dogs made a strange noise every Sunday morning. At about 1 o'clock in the morning, dogs would suddenly, rapidly run around his house, backwards and forwards, barking and snapping as if an intruder were nearby. For over an hour, the dogs would prolong their actions, gradually disappearing one at a time, sneaking away.

Frank's neighbors noted that there were always fewer dogs joining the rabble over the last few appearances. Strangely, local sheriffs were asked to investigate the great number of dogs that had died in the neighborhood. Each corpse found was said to bore the impress of a slight feminine hand. Strangely, the hair had fallen away and the skin burnt to a crisp. Once the neighbor's dog disappeared, only Struthers' own dog stood between the house and the specter.

Sadly, and chillingly, Strother and his neighbors were powerless as they heard the dog combating the unearthly visitor savagely, and the ghost slapping it repeatedly. And with such force, the wax could be heard echoing between the houses. Kirandale was so terrified, a glimpse of the figure was seen as a warning sign, and people would run to their homes for security. One woman witnessed the ghost when it peered over her shoulder while hanging out clothes on the washing line.

Even though it was daylight, the witness clearly saw the horrid apparition, bedabbled in blood, watching. I'm not quite finished. I've got more true Christmas ghost stories and hauntings up next on Weird Darkness. Hey Weirdos! If you enjoy what you're hearing from me in the Weird Darkness Podcast throughout the year, may I ask for a Christmas gift from you? It's an easy one, and it's free to give.

This month, just invite two or three people you know to give Weird Darkness a listen. That is truly the greatest gift you could ever give to me. Letting your family, friends, co-workers, neighbors, and others know about the podcast is incredibly valuable to me, my bride Robin, and our cat, Miss Mocha Monster. That's it – tell someone about the show!

Drop a link to Weird Darkness in your social media. Maybe send a text to a few folks to wish them a very scary Christmas with a link to the show in that text. It doesn't matter how you do it, but it does make a huge impact when you do. From all of us here at Marlar Manor, thank you, and Merry Christmas.

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We'll be right back.

Our results speak for themselves. And always remember this, everybody is a somebody and nobody is a nobody. Visit ForThePeople.com to learn about our firm. Morgan & Morgan, For The People. Injured? Visit ForThePeople.com for an office near you. I've often wondered why a haunting stops or dissolves into time.

Famous ghost stories such as 50 Berkeley Square or Godolphin House have an alleged history of hauntings, yet nothing over the last 70 years. Do ghosts run out of energy? Or is there something else at work? Circleville in Ohio, probably best known for its Circleville Pumpkin Show, which sounds great, is built on Native American land. In fact, its name refers to the original layout of the town, which was laid out in the circle of a Hopewell tradition earthwork.

In the center of the innermost circle was built the county courthouse, the location of our next chilling story. The Christmas ghost of Circleville is lost in time, and thorough research in Circleville's hauntings suggests the ghost is no longer active, or maybe no longer reported? Either way, the ghost story seemingly has an ancient origin.

Looking at the map of GW Wittich, we can clearly see the county courthouse in the center of the circle where once stood a large central prehistoric mound surrounded by a series of earthworks. The mound was around 15 feet in height and 60 feet in diameter. When excavated before the construction of the courthouse, the mound was found to contain several burials and artifacts.

On the top of this mound, there was an altar, as historians believed it to be, and many locals believed that its destruction caused the ghost. In 1840, there were several reports of hauntings since the courthouse's construction, which was only 30 years old. However, a tradition had set in, and the townsfolk believed that a ghost would appear every Christmas. The appearance of the ghost was very real to the early settlers who built their homes on and around those ancient walls and earthworks.

One reporter told of the tradition of a ghost standing on court in Main Street, but only on midnight Christmas Eve, and this belief lasted until the end of the century. But the enchanting stories of this Christmas ghost disappeared with the original courthouse when it was rebuilt in 1846, and there are no records of his appearance since then.

While the trail of this Christmas ghost disappears, or does it, Cameron Jones, a resident of Mound Street just a block away from the courthouse, believes that activity in his home increases at Christmas. Yet when I contacted him, he was unaware of the obscure references from 1840 that I discovered in my searches. Writing in the Scioto Post, Cameron described, "...the activity always picks up and reaches a peak around the holidays."

There was the time last December when three ornaments flew off the Christmas tree at once, landing halfway across the room. A few nights later, he was in the upstairs hallway and heard his name being called from downstairs, dogs hearing it too. Knowing no one else was there, the dogs ran downstairs to see who it was. Of course, no one was there.

A couple of years ago, he says, it was my nephew's first Christmas, and there were kids' toys wrapped up under the tree. More than once, the toys started playing music, also singing and moving on their own. It was crazy. This past Christmas was no different. I went downstairs to find the vacuum cleaner on and running all by itself. Loud screeches and yells echoing throughout the house late at night. These will make your blood run cold, and there's never any explanation.

One night shortly before Christmas, my mom had an experience in her room that really frightened her. She woke up to find the Amazon Alexa device in her bathroom was playing Christmas music. These devices only respond to a person's voice, so Alexa heard a request to start playing Christmas music, and it did. She got up, turned off the music, and after she calmed down a bit, laid back down and the music started again.

This story is highly unusual. The ancient origins, the tradition of the ghost appearing at Christmas, and the seemingly related to the experiences of Cameron and his family. Did the ghost of the old courthouse move home? And what's the link with Christmas? Like all real good ghost stories, this remains a mystery. Can ghosts heal the sick? A little village in Norfolk, England has a very unusual ghost with seemingly ancient origins.

In the Domesday Book, Warstead is called Werdesteda or Ordestead and was in the ownership of nearby St. Bennet's Abbey after being given as a gift by King Canute. The abbots would be known for offering respite and healing to those who needed it, and of course preaching to the local towns and villages. Death wandered into Warstead in the 13th century, and no amount of prayers would stop its progress.

Over the next 300 years, in the guise of the Black Death, families would be decimated both financially and personally, with some even turning to cannibalism to survive. The first outbreak in Norfolk was in 1349, the year after Warstead's church, St. Mary's, was first founded. Over the next year, hundreds of thousands of people died across the country, and Warstead was no different.

Two-thirds of the country's clergymen and over half the population died. Out of the devastation of the Black Death, Warstead rose out of the ashes to become a center of Norfolk's wool and cloth trade. The building of St. Mary's Church continued in the 1350s and was extended over the next 100 years as it became more affluent. For the next 500 years, the village grew in population with St. Mary's as its spiritual and physical center.

Then the Industrial Revolution curved this growth as social mobility and the satanic weaving mills were able to source cheaper materials. There's only one ghost that haunts Warstead, and that's enough for this small village. Depending on who you speak to, they believe she's capable of scaring people to death or being a kind spirit and healing those that need it. Visitors to Warstead and St. Mary's at Yuletide may not be aware of this long and varied haunting.

The only clue, maybe the pub opposite the church, is now called in tribute to the village's ghost "The White Lady." But back in the 1830s, many villagers knew of the story of the White Lady who would appear at midnight on Christmas Eve at St. Mary's Church.

According to one story, at the turn of the 18th century, filled with Christmas cheer or plenty of booze, a man boasted that he would challenge the White Lady. He said he would climb to the top of the church's belfry and kiss her if she appeared. So off he went. When he failed to reappear, the local townsfolk searched for him. The poor man was found cowering in the belfry, shaking. He told his friends, "I've seen her! I've seen her!" and then promptly died.

Over the next hundred years, the legend of the White Lady seemed to drift out of fashion and was resigned to the history books. But did the White Lady return in 1975? A young couple named the Berthelotts and their son visited Warstead in 1975, and after a visit to St. Mary's Church, Mrs. Berthelotts' life would be changed for the rest of her life. That day, the Berthelotts had taken the journey to the village from their home in Essex to gain a little respite.

Diane Berthelot had been struggling with ill health, firstly with her gallbladder, and then on that hot summer's day she was taking antibiotics for an ear infection. She felt overwhelmed by her symptoms. Peter, her husband, took the family for a trip to the idyllic village. After an hour of walking around the village, Diane understandably could not cope with the heat of the summer's day, so went inside the church to escape the heat.

At that moment, struggling with her symptoms, Diane said a prayer to help her recovery while her husband and son explored the old church. Unaware that her husband was taking photographs of the church and herself, she began to feel a peace and warmth as if her prayer had been acknowledged. The Berthelotts left Warstead later that day, feeling more optimistic, and Diane felt as if she had turned the corner of her illness. Several months later, the family decided to have a slideshow of the holiday photographs taken over the summer.

They hadn't seen the photographs since they were taken, and when the slide of Diane appeared, Barbara, a friend, pointed out that someone was sitting behind Diane. In the photograph, which you can find online I'll also place it on the Weird Darkness website and link to it here in the show notes, Mrs. Berthelot sits, head slightly bowed as she rests on the church pew. Behind her is a figure in white, seemingly wearing a shawl and an old-fashioned bonnet.

The figure seems to be sitting behind Diane with her unaware of this figure.

Diane told the Express newspaper, "When we saw the white figure sitting behind me on the projector screen, we just stood there with our mouths open. My feet started to tingle. This sensation eventually engulfed the whole of me. It was a pleasant, comforting feeling," her husband added. "I've been walking around the church looking at various things. I came back, saw Diane sitting there and took the photo. I couldn't see anyone behind her, but it's so clear on the image, it's incredible."

The next summer, the Berthelotts returned to the Warstead Church and showed the photograph to Reverend Pettit, the then-vicar of the church. He explained the legend of the White Lady and that in more recent times she wasn't viewed as something to be feared but a healer of those in sickness. Interestingly, for many years Mrs. Berthelot still experienced the same calming, tingling sensations whenever she looked at the photograph, but that feeling has since subsided.

Max Darbyshire, who lives in Warstead, wrote to one website about the White Lady, saying, "I used to live in Warstead, an interesting little rural village. The White Lady of Warstead is very popular and has been seen by many people, including the local vicar. I remember as a child that a fish-and-chip van would pull up in the village square by the church on a Friday night, and the man running it would often talk about how he once saw the White Lady while he was closing up shop."

He said she moved between the gravestones and walked through the large doors of the church. He then claimed that a white light seemed to emanate from the windows.

Another time, a friend of mine was drinking with a couple of friends in the graveyard. Don't judge, rural England can be extremely boring for teenagers. When he claimed the gravestone he was seated against seemed to lurch behind him. Upon spinning around, there was a woman in a white dress and bonnet staring down at him with a stern face. All three of them ran out of the graveyard and didn't return that night. Most of us see ghosts and ghost stories as being something to fear.

Whatever you feel about the photograph or the sightings of the white lady, Diane's experience touched her for the positive for the rest of her life. Thanks for listening! If you like the show, please share it with someone you know who loves the paranormal or strange stories, true crime, monsters, or unsolved mysteries like you do! You can email me and follow me on social media through the Weird Darkness website,

WeirdDarkness.com is also where you can listen to free audiobooks I've narrated, get the email newsletter, visit the store for creepy and cool Weird Darkness merchandise. Plus, it's where you can find the Hope in the Darkness page if you or someone you know is struggling with depression, addiction, or thoughts of harming yourself or others. While on the site, you can also click on "Tell Your Story" to share your own true paranormal or creepy tale. You can find all of that and more at WeirdDarkness.com.

All stories used in Weird Darkness are purported to be true unless stated otherwise, and you can find links to the authors, stories, and sources I used in the episode description as well as on the website at WeirdDarkness.com. Weird Darkness is a registered trademark. Copyright Weird Darkness. And now that we're coming out of the dark, I'll leave you with a little light…

Luke 1:35, "And the angel answered and said unto her, The Holy Ghost shall come upon thee, and the power of the Highest shall overshadow thee. Therefore also that holy thing which shall be born of thee shall be called the Son of God." And a final thought.

"It is required of every man," the ghost returned, "that the spirit within him should walk abroad among his fellow men, and travel far and wide; and if that spirit goes not forth in life, it is condemned to do so after death. It is doomed to wander through the world, 'Oh, woe is me!' and witness what it cannot share, but might have shared on earth and turned to happiness." The Ghost of Jacob Marley, A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens.

I'm Darren Marlar. Thanks for joining me in the Weird Darkness. It could only mean

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