| THE MURDER, THE CHILDREN & THE DOG |
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| Testwood House... It's famed for it's hauntings. The house itself has been many things over the years - including a hunting lodge for Henry VIII and offices for well-known sherry-shippers. It's empty now... has been for a while. So I decided to take a visit with Craig*, my husband. It was pitch black when we arrived - save for the weak lights coming from peoples homes. Torches on, Craig and I started to walk around. Firstly, I wanted to see the dogs grave. We found a little stone marker near the side-driveway... a sad and tiny rock with the dogs name engraved upon it. I bent down to touch the stone, when Craig and I were both startled by a haunting eerie screech. Peacocks, we thought. The sound they make is one of the most spine-chilling I have heard... especially when I'm stood in the middle of ghost-central in the dark, with tendrils of mist snaking round my chilled body. |
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| * ALL NAMES HAVE BEEN CHANGED |
| We decided to make our way round to the back of the large house... striding across the front lawns and ignoring the more distinct pathway that led down the right side of the building into darkness and grappling trees. The left side of the house was flanked by residential properties... a much more easier and less scarey way to go. Our flashlights were bright - creating light pathways through the dark and mist. But even the brightness couldn't scratch away at the atmosphere... it was as though something was waiting. Just as we rounded the back of the house, I noticed a door, set back in the wall. A smalldoor, with a metal grille on the inside (seen through a small window), and a small round handle on the outside. I touched the handle... it was icy cold. And though it was misty and definately a cold night... this door handle felt colder than it should have. I felt sick. I stepped back to the comfort of Craig, and stared intently at the metal grille on the inside of the door. There was breath on the inside of the window. A slight misting of the glass as though someone were stood close to the door breathing in and out.... the mist grew and shrank... but there was no face to be seen peering at us. Just the breath. Then came the voices... so close to us. "c'mon boy... " Then a dog bark..a yappy little little-dog bark....and laughter. It sounded like several people... with a dog or two. The voices were so close - and yet muffled. From the few words I could make out, it sounded like people going on a shooting trip. Grouse or pheasant, perhaps? Then the call from the peacocks again. I was more than spooked. Rooted to the spot, I listened as the voices came near and then passed us by. But we didn't see a single soul. Just Craig and I stood in the dark. Alone. And the weird thing... there were no peacocks either. Just the sounds. And then the door rattled. It was automatic that Craig and I both turned to lok at the door. It wasn't moving... but you could hear the rattling sound as though it were. Then... the face appeared. Pressed up against the window in the door. A pale, sad face .. with a hand next to it, making imprints on the window in the misty breathing marks there. The face turned to peer behind it, as though someone had called the child from inside the house. Then giggling from inside... children laughing. Time to get home. We ran to the car. I had heard and seen enough. As we turned the corner to the grand front of the house, I looked up to the main gates where we had come in. It seemed a thousand moments had passed since we had arrived here. "Who's that?" asked Craig, pointing up the driveway. Swirled with mist, a tall gaunt figure stood in the drive... And as the mist gathered round the figure, Craig and I raised our torches to shine light on the man... and he just wasn't there. We both knew what we had seen. A man in a tophat, standing there. It was an indistinct figure - especially with the mist blurring the view a little. But he had been there. As we got to the car and wrenched open the doors, we thought we heard one last eerie sound. Wheels and hooves on gravel... ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Opposite Testwood House, across the main road is a little street called Cooks Lane. Craig and I have visited this little area too. It reputedly got its name from being where the body of the cook (from Testwood House) was dumped after being murdered. The murderer is said to have connections with a man in a tophat...a tall, thin man. Ghosts of two children are said to haunt the house - and laughter has been heard by others, as well as a face seen pressed up against a door with a window. A coach and four have been heard on the driveway, but rarely seen. And a barking dog has been heard in the house and the grounds. Seems as though Craig and I had about everything thrown at us that night! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ |
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