Ha1l's ghostly ghost stories

[HA1L ILPALLAZZO]

As you know the night are getting longer and the days shorter, the leaves are starting to fall and the chill is returning in the air. It's almost time for when the spirits walk amongst the living on all hallows eve and it has got me in the mood to tell my faveourite ghost stories. Here's what's gonna happen, every week I'll be posting at least 3 stories on the run up to Halloween and when the night appears I will show you all some footage I found on youtube awhile back

these rules apply to this thread only

1. You may post what you thought about the stories I tell but do not fill it with spam or your own stories (it's not that I wouldn't read them but I just don't want to clatter the thread up)
2. I know people can be sceptical bout this but don't go flaming the stories by saying "I don't believe in this crap" and such, it's really annoying to other people who like reading a good story even if they belive or not.

3. When reading a story read in the dead of night with the lights off, no music playing and open your mind (I have found that people who don't believe who do this start panicing or jumping at the slightest noise wierd XD)

and here is the first story..........

[HA1L ILPALLAZZO]

Find the Lady

Long train journeys are often very boring and tiresome, especially if your on your own. The monotony is relieved somewhat if you have the opportunity to talk to a fellow traveller who feels the same about long train journeys, then you have something in common, if only moaning about the rigours of train travel, Sometimes, however, fellow passengers prefer to relax and do not wish to indulge in polite conversation, they may just want to read a newspaper or magazine.

Our story concerns a couple, Mr and Mrs Wishart, who in the autumn of 1945 had occasion to visit relatives in Newcastle, The Wisharts, who lived in North London, were not looking forward to the long train journey one little bit; being just after the war, the trains were run down, lacked essential maintenance and did not keep very good time, so the Wisharts regarded the prospect of the journey with considerable misgivings.

They had to catch the 10.30am train from kings cross, and to their amazement they found few people in the usual queue. They had bought newspapers and magazines to read on the journey and when they found an empty compartment they settled down. The windows were fairly clean - well you could see through them - the layer of dust on the woodwork was thinner than usual and the compartment was reasonably warm.

The train left Kings Cross on time and the Wisharts began to read their newspapers. Not much conversation took place as they became absorbed in thier reading; an occasional smile and a feeling of companionship was enough.

Then an application of the brakes slowed the clickety-click of the wheels on the rail joints, and Mr Wishart looked out of the window. They were running past a maze of sidings packed with every kind of rolling-stock, and the tall chimneys of brickworks dominated the skyline.
"I think this is Peterborough, dear," he remarked.
His wife consulted her watch. "on time too - that's good!"

The long train eased into Peterborough and the announcer called out the station name. A few people were waiting on the platform, and the station staff busied themselves with mail bags and other items of luggage and parcels. At last the guard blew his whistle.

The Wisharts were about to settle down to their reading once more when the corridor door slid open and an elderly lady eased her way into the compartment. The newcomer was wearing a striking black silk dress and black hat, which were very reminiscent of the Victorian age. She was carrying a wicker basket measuring 2 feet by 1 foot; it was white and to Mrs Wishart it was typical of the lady's attire. The lady smiled and sat down opposite the Wisharts, carefully placed the wicker basket on the seat next to her, then folded her arms and composed herself in relaxation.
The Wisharts resumed their reading, although Mrs Wilshart kept glancing at the old lady. She could not help admiring her dress - it was so Victorian and really out of place in 1945. The motion of the train and the clickity-click of the wheels had a somewhat soporific effect on Mr Wishart and he found himself nodding off. No conversation took place between the three people from Peterborough to Grantham. Mr Wishart slept - in fact, he snored - but the old lady was silent, obviously completely composed.

At last the train pulled into Grantham and Mrs Wishart nudged her husband. "Can you get us a cup of tea, love?" she asked. And in a whisper, looking at the old lady, "Perhaps she would like one too."

Mr Wishart opened the carriage door and asked a porter how long they had to wait and whether he had time to get a cup of tea. The porter glanced at his watch. "If you hurry, sir."

Mr Wishart hurried off to the refreshment room, was lucky enough to be served straight away and with difficulty got back to the compartment just as the guard was blowing his whistle. The old lady took one of the paper cups of tea and murmured her thanks. The Wisharts read the remaining news in thier papers and looked out of the window, but the old lady was still silent and motionless. they kept giving her a glance but her eyes were closed and she looked very serene and still.

Eventually Durham was reached and the long train drew into the ancient city. As the brakes came on and the flurry of activity again took in more passengers and luggage, the old lady stood up and moved to the door. Mr Wishart stood too and opened it for her, handing her the wicker basket, which seemed surprisingly light. The old lady stepped off the train on to the now deserted platform, turned and said, "I wish you many happy years."

Then, as Mr Wishart was about to say "Thank you", to his surprise she vanished into thin air.

Mr Wishart could not believe it. He stepped down on to the platform and looked around, but there was nowhere that she could hide - as if she would! He darted about looking to satisfy his astonishment, but the old lady had melted away.
The guard blew his whistle, so Mr Wishart climbed back into the compartment and sat down.
"Where she gone, dear?" asked his wife.
"I can't understand it - she just vanished," he gasped. then he noticed the third cup with some dregs of tea remaining in it. It hadn't been a dream. Had it?

[HA1L ILPALLAZZO]

No such things as Spooks!

the following story was told by a WRAAF private during the second world war in the Industrial town of Port Talbot Wales

It was a Stormy night. The rain had stopped, but a wind had sprung up and it was getting stronger every minute. Everything was in motion. Tattered clouds were flying across the moon, great black branches tossed against the sky, dead leaves whirled along the gutter and the six of we WRAFs, brave because we were in a group, decided to take the short cut home through the churchyard.

We joked nervously as we approached the path. Beneath wildly plunging trees the silent graves stood in rows, now in moonlight, now in shadow. Wet twigs slapped against our hair, strange dark shapes bobbed by the fence and our skirts tangled round our legs making it difficult to walk. The six of us Huddled closer together, yet each voice grew a little louder, a little more daring.

"Bet you wouldn't walk across one of those graves!"
"I would too."
"The spooks'd get you."
"Spooks!" Molly's voice rose in derision. "Don't tell me you believe in spooks?"
"Bet you wouldn't stay here all night."
"No. I've got more sense. I'd freeze to death."

I listened to them and laughed. You wouldn't have got me staying there all night either and not because of the cold. I wasn't going to let on but the place gave me the creeps. All those gloomy tombstones. They made me shudder. I glanced across at the church, a pretty stone building in daylight, but now just a black hulk against the sky, and as the moon came out again I stopped in surprise. There were people standing outside the church door. A whole family by the look of it; a man, a woman and two children, just standing there, patiently waiting. What in the world could they be doing? Surely the vicar hadn't arranged to meet them at this time of night.

"I wonder what those people are doing on a night like this," I said to the other girls.
"What people?" asked Molly.
"Those people other there."
They looked vaguely up and down the path. "Where?"
"Over there," I said pointing impatiently. "Look, Standing by the church door. A whole family."

They peered in the Direction I indicated, and then looked back at me. There was an odd pause and then suddenly, without a word being spoken, they all turned and ran. Bewildered, I stared after them. What had I said? I glanced back at the family, still waiting, their clothes strangely un ruffled in the gale. And then my heart lurched violently. Before my eyes they dissappeared. They didn't walk away, they just went out like flames in the wind. For perhaps two seconds I just stood there, my mouth open, staring at the empty space and then I hitched up my skirt and ran as fast as my sensible shoes would allow me.

[HA1L ILPALLAZZO]

The Story of Mary

Mary was a beautiful young Polish American girl with long blonde hair and blue eyes. She loved to go out in the evenings dancing. One cold winter night in 1934, she was with her boyfriend at the O. Henry Ballroom, now Willow brook Ballroom on Archer Avenue in Justice Illinois, a southern suburb of Chicago. The couple had an argument that night and Mary walked out of the ballroom determined that she would rather walk home alone than ride home with her date. She didn not walk very far up Archer Avenue when suddenly, a car skidded out of control and struck her. The driver fled the scene leaving Mary either dead or dying on the side of the cold dark road. She was already dead by the time she was found, and was buried shortly afterwards in Resurrection Cemetery, in her white dress and dancing shoes.

Several years later drivers along Archer Avenue started reporting strange encounters with a young woman in a white dress. She always appeared to be real person, until she would inexplicably vanish. Motorists passing by Resurrection Cemetery began claiming that a young woman was attempting to jump onto the running boards of their cars. When they stopped to go to her aid, she would be gone. Some even said that their car passed directly through the girl. At that point, she would turn and disappear through the cemetery gates.

The strange encounters began to move further away from the graveyard and closer to the Ballroom. She was now being reported on the nearby roadway and sometimes, inside of the ballroom itself. On many occasions, young men would meet a girl at the ballroom, dance with her and then offer her a ride home at the end of the evening. She would always accept and offer vague directions that would lead north on Archer Avenue. When the car would reach the gates of Resurrection Cemetery, the young woman would always vanish

Bewildered and shaken drivers began to appear almost routinely in nearby businesses and even at the nearby Justice, Illinois police station. They told strange and frightening stories and sometimes they were believed and sometimes they were not. Regardless, they created an even greater legend of the vanishing girl, who would go on to become Resurrection Mary.

[HA1L ILPALLAZZO]

Cemetary Gates

Last Halloween a group of teenagers got together for a Halloween party. By the middle of the night there was a house full of people, singing, dancing and drinking. Just before midnight one guy shut off the music, stood up on the table and said, "Do you people want to have some REAL fun?" Everybody all shouted, "YES!!"

"OK", he said, "We'll all go to the old cemetery, just down the street from here. We'll stick a knife in someone's grave and we'll all sit there for about thirty minutes, and wait to see what happens."

Most people said there was no way they were going to do that. Then one Goth girl stood up and said she would do it. She wore all black and said she wasn't scared. Everyone decided, they had to see this, so everyone got up and walked to the cemetery.

The Goth girl took out a six inch hunting knife and slammed it into a grave.... but this wasn't just any grave. She put the knife into the grave of a mass murderer, who had killed five people. Then the Goth girl said, "Better yet, I'll stay here for an hour. Who's brave enough to stay with me?" The rest of the crowd declined, and they walked back to the house and carried on with the party.

One hour later, at 1.00am, they stopped the party again and walked back down to the cemetery. When they arrived the Goth girl wasn't there. They all thought she was either playing games or had gone home.

They started to walk back to the party when they heard the sound of twigs crackling in the leaves behind them. They all turned around to look but there was nothing there. They continued to walk on at a slightly quicker pace now. When they came to the cemetery's gate, they saw something running extremely fast pass the gate in front of them. They were all very scared now and gathered in a big circle.

There, next to the cemetery's gate, was the Goth girl, stabbed, with her torso ripped open by her very own six inch knife. Everyone started screaming and ran off in every direction.

The next morning a few concerned parents had called the police to say that their kids didn't come home last night. After numerous calls the police went up to the house where the party was held to see what happened.

Apart from a trashed house, there was no sign of anybody. After asking a few of the neighbours, they were told that most of the kids had been seen walking into the cemetery around midnight.

When the police arrived at the cemetery it was deserted. One officer then saw a note attached to the cemetery gate. It said, "They should never have entered my territory. All I wanted was peace and quiet. I'm already dead...but now they share my pain. Happy Halloween! "

The police looked everywhere, but found nothing. Finally, after a more detailed search, they found them. Well kind of. They started to discover body parts hidden all over the cemetery. First they found hearts, then legs, then heads. All of the kids had been cut into pieces. The only body left intact was the Goth girl, the only one who had been brave enough to plunge a knife into the grave on Halloween.

[HA1L ILPALLAZZO]

Berkeley Square, London

Berkley square's ghostly past may date back to the 1830's when a young woman hurled herself to her death from an upstairs window. The house then fell into the hands of a recluse known as Mr. Myers, who it is said had gone mad with grief after his fiancee eloped with another man. He has spent a small fortune refurbishing the house to his bride's liking, and he spent the rest of his life aimlessly wandering the rooms in mourning.

The house was vacant for 2 years, then in 1880 a family known as Bentley moved in. Their daughter was engaged to an army officer called Kenfield, and they were about to marry. There was a party at the house due to the forth coming wedding there were lots of guests. During the early evening loud screams were heard from the daughters room. Mr Bentley his wife and daughter and Kenfield found the servant in a near catatonic state in the bedroom, she was paralyzed with fear and unable to speak. She died in the hospital the next day after muttering that she had seen "something horrible" in the room.

Capt. Kenfield insisted on staying in the room over night, despite his fiancee's pleas. He set a bell up and promised that he would ring the bell if he saw anything he also had a loaded pistol at his side. It was in the early hours of the morning when frantic sounds of bell ringing filled the house, followed by a loud gunshot. When the family got to the room the found Kenfeild lying on the floor, convulsing in terror, just as the servant had, his eyes were fixed on a corner of the room. The pistol was still clutched in his hand, there was a bullet hole in the corner of the room that was staring at. His words were garbled and gibberish. Kenfeild recovered, but he was never his old self again - and was never able to speak of what he saw in that room. Whatever the cause, the house was turned into a bookstore after World War II and no disturbances have plagued the owners.

Another closely related story about Berkley square concerns a curious white-faced man with a gaping mouth whose appearance is said to have terrified two fog-bound sailors who stumbled one night into the house, which had been standing empty at the time. During the night they were first disrurbed by the sound of muffled footsteps mounting the stairs. Something entered the room they were in and when one of the sailors, in a effort to escape the horror creeping towards them, fell through the window, his partner succeded in escaping and was found in a state of collapse outside by a passing policeman. His companion's dead body was found in the garden but the policeman found no trace of the horrible thing that had terrified the two tough sailors.

[HA1L ILPALLAZZO]

It was on a January evening in 1969, during a full moon, that Dr White and his wife left home at St Helen's to attend a dinner party with friends. The weather was cold and visibility was good and as they neared the top of Ashey Down, Mrs White spotted lights which suddenly appeared in the middle of a lonely part of the Downs, realising that the nearest building, a farmhouse was some miles away her husband told her that it was probably a farmer looking for his sheep.

But all around them were the lights and halfway down a long hill they came upon more lights in the fields to their right. They were so intrigued that they stopped the car and sat looking at thousands of the lights. There was a lane they remembered that led off to the right and this now looked like a proper road that seemed to have street lights and seemed to lead to a built up area that was lit up with lights of every colour imaginable. The sky was darkening and clouds drifted across the sky covering the moon, the lights remained ruling out any kind of reflection.

Being somewhat puzzled the doctor decided to examine the phenomenon more closely and started the car and drove slowly down the hill into the "road" that he knew did not exist. As they stopped and climbed out the lights vanished almost as suddenly as they had appeared and they were once again standing on a dirt track. There was no sign in the surrounding fields of any of the lights.

They decided to return to the car and make there way on to the friends at the Hare and Hounds pub which was on the crossroads on the road to Newport. But no sooner had they started moving again then the lights reappeared, the doctor and his wife could see the pub in the distance, but they noticed that it did not look the same as when they last saw it, it seemed to be bathed in a strange light, and there were lots of people scurrying around with torches.

The doctor slowed down to enquire what was going on when a tall man wearing what looked like a long jerkin with a leather belt ran straight at him, and ran straight through the front of the car as if it did not exist! Driving slowly towards the pub he started to turn into the car park when suddenly it completely vanished.

By this time the doctor and his wife were really scared and shaking they got out of the car and made their way into the Hare and Hounds. Everything inside seemed normal and the only illuminations were what were normally there and from the window they could see that everything outside was normal as well. After pausing for a short time to recover from their fright they continued on their journey to Niton where they met their friends and related the story to them.

No satisfactory reason for the illuminations could be found, some said it could be the lights of Portsmouth reflecting on the water. But nothing could explain the ghostly figure that seemed to run right through the car. Whether they had witnessed something that had happened many years ago or whether they had imagined the whole thing has yet to be proved.

[HA1L ILPALLAZZO]

The Ghost of Anne Boleyn


The ghost of Anne Boleyn is quite a unique phenomenon in the world of the paranormal. Unlike most ghost who haunt a certain locality, Anne Boleyn's ghost is said to haunt a number of different locations through out the UK. Her spirit seems to have left a permanent imprint on the fabric of her surroundings, which is perhaps down to the impact she made in life and her traumatic death as to why her ghost still persists more than 500 years after her execution.

Anne Boleyn was the second wife of King Henry VIII, with their marriage changing the course of English History. King Henry was already married to Catherine of Aragon and could not obtain a divorce from the Roman Catholic Church. In order to obtain his divorce he therefore created a reformed version of the Church, putting himself at the head - a direct challenge of authority to the Pope.

Having obtained his divorce and married Anne, the King's most important desire was for Anne to conceive a male heir. His previous queen had only given him a female heir, Princess Mary. On 7th September 1533 Anne Boleyn gave birth to a girl, Elizabeth (who was later to become Queen Elizabeth I). After her birth, the relationship between the King and Anne Boleyn deteriorated, and he began to court a new queen in Jane Seymour.

However, Anne became pregnant again, and there was a brief reconciliation, but the child was stillborn. Henry determined to get rid of Anne Boleyn and came up with a charge of treason, arresting and confining her to the Tower of London. Her execution had been scheduled for 18 May 1536 but actually took place the following day as there had been a delay while a skilled executioner was brought in from France.

Anne Boleyn is one of the most enduring ghosts at the Tower of London. Anne is buried under the chapel's altar, with her ghost being spotted there on many occasions. Anne Boleyn has also often been seen standing at the window in the Dean's Cloister at Windsor Castle.

Anne Boleyn's ghost also appears in the grounds of Blickling Hall dressed all in white, seated in a ghostly carriage that is drawn by headless horses, spurred on by a headless coachman. Anne too is headless, holding her severed head securely in her lap. On arrival at Blickling Hall the coach and driver vanish leaving the headless Anne to glide alone into Blickling Hall where she roams the corridors and rooms until daybreak.

The magnificent Blickling Hall was built during the reign of King James I, by the Holbert Family, on the ruins of the old Boleyn family property. Blickling Hall in Norfolk has recently topped a National Trust poll as the Trust's Most Haunted Building. Blickling Hall was in the possession of the Boleyn family between 1499 and 1507. There is a statue and portrait of Anne Boleyn in the Hall, the statue is inscribed "Anna Bolena born here 1507".

Her brother, Lord Rochford, also appears on the same night, he too is headless although he doesn't enjoy the comfort of a carriage, for he is dragged across the surrounding countryside by four headless horses.

Sir Thomas Boleyn, who stated his belief of Anne's guilt at her trial has not found peace in death. Every year, for a thousand years to do as penance, tradition says he is obliged to drive his spectral coach and horses over twelve bridges that lie between Wroxham and Blickling.

[HA1L ILPALLAZZO]

The Screaming Wraith

this story is from a friend of a friend

First, I just want to say that I never been a believer in the supernatural, paranormal, etc. I think that everything has a logical explanation. There is absolutely no explanation for what I'm about to share with you, and I can not stop thinking about it. Just recounting this I know I'm going to be looking over my shoulder every few seconds.

Last October (2005), I was in London visiting my Brother who lives in Hammersmith. I booked into my hotel late, around 11.00pm, and had planned on eating at the hotel restaurant, but it had closed. I decided to find a local restaurant that was still serving food. I found one nearby that was still open.

The restaurant was empty except for the manageress and me. She was very pleasant and talked a lot; she was telling me about the local tourist attractions and places to check out while I was in London and she seemed amazingly astute. In fact, she seemed almost psychic, even guessing my age almost to the day and even certain things that I was actually planning to do the next day.

At closing time, she went out to the back of the restaurant, I guess, to put some cash in the safe or something. As I was sitting there I was wondering what time I wanted to get up and go and see my brother the next day. I finished my drink that I'd already paid but I decided to wait until the manageress came back so she could lock up behind me.

After five minutes she still had not come back, so I got up and knocked on the door at the back of the restaurant where she had gone earlier. I opened the door to find the room in darkness. As my eyes adjusted to the dark I saw the woman who I had just finished talking to standing facing me, staring straight back at me from the rear of the room.

Her skin was a clammy, cracked olive colour, and her eyes were just black, I mean, no white at all. Her eyes and mouth were open really wide, and she started screaming the most spine-chilling sounds, something I couldn't understand. It sounded like a foreign language, something like Latin.

I screamed with fright. Her clothes now looked all old, and she moved too fast. The room must have been at least 15 feet deep. She then started darting from the front to the back of the room, still facing me, and from side to side, at an impossible speed. She wasn't running, just moving.

I started to back away from the door, and then she ran straight at me. I turned and ran out of the restaurant, jumped in my car. As I started the car I could see her nightmarish face in the restaurant windows, darting it seemed to every window at an impossible speed. I tore out of the parking lot as fast as I could.

I looked in my rear view mirror and nearly jumped out of my skin to see that she was sitting on the back seat of my car, still with that nightmarish expression. I swerved the car down the street in shear panic; she let out an ear-piercing scream, and then just vanished. She was there for long enough to know I didn't imagine it.

I don't know what that was that spoke to me in the restaurant that day, but I know that it wasn't a prank. I swear at night sometimes I think I see her shadow moving in the dark in my room, just staring at me. I haven't slept properly since or been back to that restaurant.

[HA1L ILPALLAZZO]

The Bells

There once was an evil priest who did not fear God or man. His duties for the church included counting the offerings and ringing the bells to summon people to Mass. But his heart was filled with greed, and he began to take advantage of the good people of his parish. The priest stole money out of the offerings to keep for himself, and when he had filled a chest full of gold, he killed a man and buried him with the chest so the murdered man's ghost would guard it. Anyone who tried to dig for the treasure would be devoured by the skeleton of the murdered man.

The evil priest planned to return to Spain with his ill-gotten treasure, but he fell ill with a fever a week before his ship was scheduled to leave. On his deathbed, the priest repented of his crime. He swore to his confessor that his soul would not rest until he returned the gold to God. The priest died before he could reveal the place where the treasure was buried. As he gasped out his last breath, he said: "Follow the bells. They will lead you to the treasure."

The Padre who attended the dying priest did not heed his words. But the sweeper who was working in the hallway at the time of the evil priest's death was struck by the notion of buried treasure. He was very poor and wanted a better life for himself and his family, so the sweeper determined to take the treasure for himself. Each night for a week, he took a shovel and dug in the monastery gardens, searching for the priests treasure. He found nothing.

One night the sweeper was awakened from his dreams by the sound of the parish bells ringing out loudly in the darkness. He leapt to his feet, fearing some emergency, and then realized that his wife and children had not stirred in their beds. Remembering the evil priest's last words, the sweeper felt sure that the mysterious ringing of the bells was for his ears alone, to lead him to the treasure.

Taking his shovel, the sweeper followed the sound of the church bells up and up into the hills. He was gasping for breath when he reached the source of the sound. He was on a wide ledge overlooking the valley. Two trees guarded the spot, and it was beside these trees that the glowing, ghostly church bells hovered. Taking his shovel, the poor sweeper dug a deep hole among the roots of the trees. After several moments, his shovel hit something hard! Eagerly, he swept the dirt away from the object and found a small chest. He hauled it out of the ditch with trembling hands, placed it on a rock, and broke the lock with the edge of his shovel. when he opened it, piles of yellow gold met his dazzled eyes. He gathered up a handful of coins, reveling in the weight of so much money. The coins were cool to his touch, and he felt the smoothness of the metal as he rubbed the coins between his fingers. And that was when he heard the moaning...

Looking up, the sweeper saw the skeleton of the murdered man whom the evil priest had buried with the treasure. It was rising out of the pit under the trees, eye sockets glowing with blue flames. "Mine," the skeleton intoned, stretching its bony arms toward the sweeper. "Mine!"

The sweeper screamed in terror and leapt away from the box of treasure, dropping the coins that he held in his hands. He ran down the hill as fast as he could go, the skeleton in hot pursuit. Behind him, the bells began to ring again as he fled for his life from the ledge.

The sweeper kept running long after the sounds of pursuit ceased, and did not stop until he reached his home. It was only then that he realized he had left his shovel back with the buried treasure on top of the hill. it was an expensive shovel and he could not afford to lose it.

Waiting until daylight, the sweeper went reluctantly back up into the hills to retrieve it. When he reached the ledge, there was no sign of the skeleton, the chest of money, or the hole he had dug the night before. He found his shovel at the top of a tall tree whose first branches began nearly twenty feet above his head. The skeleton must have placed it there after it chased him down the hill, he decided grimly, knowing that there was no way he could retrieve it.

Turning sadly away, the sweeper's eye was caught by a gleam in the bushes near the rock where he had placed the treasure chest the night before. Carefully, keeping his eye on the place where the skeleton lay buried, the sweeper felt around the rock until his hand closed on two gold coins that the ghost had missed. Casually he put the coins in his pocket and hurried from the ledge. When he got home, the sweeper put the coins into a sock and hid it under the floorboard for safekeeping.

The sweeper never went back to the ledge to retrieve the evil priest's buried treasure, though sometimes he was still awakened by the mysterious sound of the bells. He knew it would take someone more pious than himself to banish the ghost of the murdered man and reclaim the money for God. But he did use the gold coins to send his eldest son to school, and with the left-over change, he bought himself a new shovel.

[exckilla]

Interesting ghost stories.

[HA1L ILPALLAZZO]

The Ghost of Bradley Fold west

Signal Boxes are emotive places and are often the locations for the paranormal. Perhaps because of their remote and lonely situations they become the ideal setting for ghostly phenomena.

The signal box at Bradley Fold West, situated between Bolten and Bury, was a small but important unit miles from anywhere controlling the up and down main lines and both goods loops. It had a cross-over, a set of catch points and four block instruments, two for permissive block working and the other two for absolute block for the mainlines, therefore, was vital to the smooth operation of this busy line.

Jack Rothera, an ex-Navy man, had wished from his boyhood days to work on the railway. After his demobilisation from the Navy he was accepted by the railway authorities to train as a signalman. his first training began at Bradley Fold West and he soon realised what a wholly essential facet absolute concentration and alertness was about. One slip or lapse and a terrible accident would never be far away. Jack enjoyed his early training and displayed the sort of ability much sought after by the Signal and Telegraph Department. Johnnie Warburton used to work turn-about with him and they enjoyed each others company. Johnnie also excelled at his job and adapted at the same rate as his friend.

Life for Jack soon settled into an interesting routine and nothing untoward happened to disturb the smooth operation of his signal box. Johnnie Warburton renewed his aquaintance with Jack when they were designated to work alternate shifts. It was a happy working relationship and each had complete trust in the others abilities - until Johnnie's happy-go-lucky attitude changed to an unusually quiet and sombre mood. Before long, Johnnie vowed that he would leave the signal box forever.

Jack was puzzled at Johnnie's sudden change in behavior and although initially he reasoned that his colleague must be troubled with a domestic problem, he could not forget Johnnies parting words that he intended to leave the box for good. What puzzled Jack was that he himself was very happy at Bradley Fold West and he had settled into the routine and managed the duties witout any problems. What could have upset Johnnie? Jack speculated that perhaps there had been some interferance by a superior, or that vandals may have seen the lonely outpost as a target for action. Jack had experienced broken windows an other similar nuisances, but nothing else. After much thought and reasoning, however, Jack reached no satisfactory conclusion regarding Johnnie's unhappiness. Nevertheless, he was not prepared to take chances, so he checked and rechecked the security of the box and the store-room below incase vandals from a nearby village might be intending to pay him an unwelcome visit.

A few days later Jack took over the shift at 9pm. At 1.47am he recieved the bell signal from Rose Hill Junction enquiring if the line was clear for the 2am target train, an express parcels and newspaper train. As all was clear, Jack turned the block over to line clear. Some 2 1/2 minutes later he received the bell code indicating that the train was entering the section. He turned the block over to 'train on line', warned it on to Bradley Fold Station and pulled his signals off. The train could now be heard coming up the bank. It was going like the wind, as it always did, and in seconds it had passed the baox exactly on time, rushing onto Bradley Fold No 3 signal. Having put his signals to danger, and cleared back to Rose Hill Junction that the train was out of section, Jack prepared to book the train's passage in the train register boook. As he did so, he heard footsteps passing under the bridge and over the point catwalk and continuing under the box. Remembering Johnnies warning, Jack concluded that the prowler had come in search of the coal which was stored in bags under the box. grabbing his torch, he raced down the steps and shone the light into the dark corners but there was no one to be seen.

The strange occurance was uppermost in Jacks mind the following night and he determined to catch the intruder if he returned. As on the previous night, the mail train roared past the sgnal box at the usual time and Jack again heard footsteps in the still night walking under the box. Taking a heavy poker in one hand and a torch in the other, he charged down the steps, feeling certain that the intruder had entered the storeroom. He shone his torch, but as before, no one was there. Feeling frightened, he scurried back up the stairs and sank bewildered into his armchair. Jack was convinced that the uninvited visitor was a light fingered local looking for free coal. The thought that he might be dealing with the supernatural did not enter his mind.

Next day Jack pondered the mystery of the unexplained footsteps and laid plans to catch the intruder. On commencing the night shift, a sinester, inexplicable atmosphere was evident. Jack felt edgy but convinced himself that his nerves were playing tricks on him. He heard strange clicking noises at the windows and footsteps coming up the steps. Flinging open the door, he shone his torch, but nothing stirred. Returning to his chair, he sat and waited. Now he heard a low whistling sound which seemed to come from the rear of the box. With his poker and torch he sought out the noise. He found nothing.

An hour later he opened the door and shone his torch. Although the fresh night air was welcome, Jack was again aware of an unusual feeling of dread and foreboding. He had never been afraid or apprehensive before, but now he realised that something was amiss. He closed the door and opened the sliding window in the front of the box looking across the tracks, the clear air showing the gleaming metals of the line. Looking right then left he saw the signals with their warning lights reassuring him of their presence. Suddenly he felt that he was being watched. Turning around quickly he saw a shadow moving across the ceiling light. He pinched himself and warmed his hands on the fire, shuddering against the extremes of the cold night air and the warmth of the signal box. What was that shadow and the feeling of being watched? He looked forward to the end of his shift.

As the mail train thundered past and disappeared into the distance he heard the familiar sound of footsteps. Rushing down the staircase, he turned the corner to the store-room which was fitted with a safety lock requiring four turns of the key. Nobody was there, but the air was heavy with a sense of foreboding. Then an agonising cry rent the still night. Jack hastened to the front of the box shining his torch across the tracks. To his horror, he discerned a recumberant shape at the side of the line. He ran towards it fearing the worst, but to his amazement the figure faded and disappeared as he neared the line side. Baffled and frightened, Jack now understood the significance of Johnnies Warburton's warning. But what was the agonising cry and the figure that resembled a body lying by the lineside? Had someone been killed by the mail train? The footsteps, the mysterious whistling noises, the shadows, and why had he been witness to these events? In a state of nervous confusion, Jack was unable to answer these bewildering questions.

Jack walked slowly back up the stairs numb and shivering. It had turned cold now, but the air remained still. Huddling by the fire he waited impatiently for daylight and his relief. By now jack was determined to reliquish his night-shift duties. The thought of undergoing such traumatic experiances was unthinkable.

Years later, Jack was told that some time before his tenure of Bradley Fold West signal box a man from a nearby village was killed on the line. According to reliable sources, but unknown to Jack, at least three other signalmen had experianced the same chain of events, but all had kept their frightening experiances to themselves to avoid the ridicule of their work mates.

[Lord Il]

Re: The Bells

I couldn't help to chuckle at the sweeper's determination to get back his shovel in light of what happened to him. It must have been VERY valuable.


Good stuff, HA1L.

[HA1L ILPALLAZZO]

The Graveyard

In late afternoon under a blustery November sky, Joseph arrived at the graveyard in his blue Chevy sedan. Partnered by a light wind, autumn leaves danced a ballet under billowing dark clouds, pregnant with rain. Joseph parked his car and opened his door, stepping out onto the pavement and around to the trunk.

The graveyard was draped in an eerie stillness like a thick carpet of sleep. Ripping through the silence screeched the ornery "Caw!" of a raven perched high atop a nearby tree. It's raw greeting startled Joseph who looked upward to locate its source. Detected, the crow flapped sluggishly, launching itself lazily from its current location, then floated across the yard to another perch.

Inserting his key into the trunk lock, Joseph sprung the latch and lifted the lid. Inside, his gear lay neatly packed. He carefully lifted the tripod, placed it on the pavement and rested it against the bumper. He lifted two cases containing cameras, one for still shots and the other for video, and draped their cords around his neck. He grabbed a leather gear bag, shifted it to his left hand and pushed the trunk lid down. As he turned around, he picked up the tripod, balanced it over his shoulder and headed out across the lawn. The grass crunched beneath his shoes as he surveyed the yard, looking for a place to set up.

The headstones gleamed chalk-like across the lawn like bony specters. He stopped occasionally to study the more intriguing ones before moving on. He located a bench under a thicket of trees, and after a few moments of contemplation, decided this was as good a place as any. Placing his bag on the bench, he set up his tripod and mounted his video camera. After a few adjustments he was ready to begin shooting.

A damp wind stirred and Joseph turned up his collar to block it out. Then he strode to the bench. As he opened his digital camera case, he pondered his newfound passion for the supernatural.

It began only a year earlier when a towel-wrapped Joseph had come face-to-face with an apparition at his bathroom door. Joseph was exiting his shower, scrubbing his wet hair with a towel when he encountered a boy, drenched and trembling, standing there looking very traumatized and disoriented. Instinctively, Joseph had gone to the boy's aid by extending his hand in a gesture of help. The boy vanished instantly leaving behind a bewildered Joseph, empty-handed and completely creeped-out.

After that, Joseph became fascinated with ghosts and developed those fascinations into a hobby of searching for and gathering paranormal evidence. He didn't particularly believe that cemeteries were the best place to encounter spirits. He figured spirits had more interesting places to hang out than a gloomy, boring cemetery. But Joseph had come across a recent internet broadcast that this particular cemetery was the resting place of several prominent figures and had also been the site of recent vandalism by tourists. These insolent occurrences had reportedly agitated the inhabitants, causing an upsurge in anomalous activity. The broadcast whet his curiosity and the fact that it was only 40 minutes from home compelled Joseph's visit. He wanted to gather some video footage and photos, see what he came up with, and take it from there.

Starting in the east corner, he worked the video camera, scanning the graveyard slowly around to the west. He was mindful to pick up as much detail in different areas as possible and panned the camera back and forth several times in order to ensure that he picked up any structure of interest in the yard. Then, finding a position that displayed the most unobstructed view of the cemetery, he left the camera rolling on its own. Then he grabbed his digital camera and set out across the grass for stills of select headstones.

He strode to the oldest part of the cemetery. Bordered by ancient trees, it was situated along the east wall and underneath he found one of the cemetery's oldest graves. Its modest headstone was weathered and worn, and after 250 years, its inscription barely legible.

After several adjustments to his camera settings, he started clicking shots getting as many different angles as he could. From here, he moved down the row to get the other graves in a similar fashion.

Overhead, the blustery sky grew dark and Joseph figured he had only about twenty minutes before the clouds began to dump its contents. He moved quickly out towards the center and across to the other side, making any needed adjustments to the camera settings and snapping more photos. The ornery crow returned and cawed another announcement.

"I better get going," thought Joseph and he started back into the direction of the bench. Pushing his luck, Joseph turned and held his camera in front of him. He aimed it randomly across the lawn and snapped a shot with his index finger. The crow sounded once more, this time with grave urgency. Joseph turned to view it, still holding his camera in his outstretched hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something stir in the camera's LCD. He turned back to the screen to view the image head on, but all he saw was an eastern view of the cemetery.

The air grew heavy and Joseph knew rain was imminent. He returned to his video camera, its red indicator light signaling that it was still running. Joseph turned again, extended his right arm and attempted just a couple more shots before the clouds let loose. He aimed the camera randomly across the grass and snapped another shot.

Then he turned his head slightly to the left, but kept one eye on the screen. As he suspected, he saw a white figure crawling ominously across the lawn. But this time he noticed . . . it was headed in his direction!

Joseph dropped his arm and visually inspected the area he was shooting without looking through the LCD. There was no white figure visible, only the graveyard: very still and very, very quiet.

Lifting his arm and returning the camera to its previous position and using a sideways glance, he watched through the LCD as the white figure crept slowly and insidiously across the grass. It seemed that despite the labored crawl, it was much closer than before and Joseph calculated that every time he lowered the camera, the figure traveled 100 yards instantaneously!

The rain began as a light sprinkle, and Joseph raced to his video camera panning it over into position attempting to pick up the image of the white figure. When the figure didn't appear, Joseph's jaw dropped in amazement.

Lifting his digital camera and viewing once again out of the corner of his eye, he relocated the specter. It had moved much closer and this time Joseph was able to pick up details in its form.

It was creeping along on its belly, arms bent at elbows dragging itself forward, the lower half of its body limp and useless. In jerky, unnatural motions, its head lurched from side to side. Its ghastly face was a horror to behold. Two hollow sockets glared at Joseph across the distance while its tongue lolled in its mouth, slack jawed and hungry. As Joseph studied its face, the glaring countenance told him he was being apprehended with careful determination—and malice.

Terrified, Joseph dropped the camera and began tearing down his equipment. The air filled with the dank odor of mold and rot giving Joseph knowledge that the specter was upon him, probably no more than just a few feet away. He tried to dismount the video camera but was so frightened that his trembling hands betrayed him. Clumsily, he knocked his video gear over, its red indicator light fading to black as it hit the ground.

He grabbed the digital camera and held it up once more. He found the entity and discovered that it was nearly upon him, creeping relentlessly in pursuit. He had no choice but to leave his gear behind. He dropped his camera in the grass and fled, running mindlessly towards his car, a projectile of utter fear.

The sprinkle of rain intensified and the grass grew wet under Joseph's feet. The crow cawed laughingly in the trees, and the smell of mold became heavier and more intense. He was only 50 feet from his car when he slipped on the slick grass, flying headlong into a monument, striking his head on the stone. The crow cawed one last time and the drizzle of rain became a torrent. Joseph lay on the grass, unconscious and bleeding. He wasn't found until the next day.

Three days later, Joseph sat upright in his hospital bed, head wrapped in a turban of bandages. His equipment had been retrieved, but the video camera was ruined.

By some miracle, his digital camera survived the torrential rains and he held it now in his hands, attempting to review the photos on its memory card. He searched for evidence of the malevolence that had pursued him. He scrolled through the images 100 times, scrutinizing the headstones, the trees and the random shots of the lawn. He found no evidence of the entity in any of the photos. Eventually he came to realize and accept that the ghost was only visible through his LCD.

Sadly, he had no evidence of his encounter, save a nasty concussion and ruined gear. The only witness an ornery old crow.

He had no intention on ever going back to that graveyard

. . . at least not alone.

[HA1L ILPALLAZZO]

heheheheh I know it is abit late by a day but this is what you were waiting for. this video shows some people walking down an old railway embankment which is said to be haunted. Just watch it
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iZKboveSu6M