Deserted. short story

Cold black the night.Curtains ,shutters all shut tight as the watch man goes by as curfew is called. The hour of 9 stokes at night deep winter the visitor who will stay over unwanted by human need. The bell clanging in the north wind blasts the town streets empty as the watchman walks the dutiful strides around he becomes aware of the lady in the narrows between the castle wall and row of dwellings. He calls out his Curfew hour loud and clear but the form remains facing him as his steps approach  the form remains.

The night is silent but as day break appears over the castle turrets the watchman is found mumbling and gibbering about nothing anyone could deal with. He was unable to stand his breath not drunkard nor any evidence that he had had a drop of drink in him. The man a time honoured servant of the Governors watch. He was taken off to the doctors office and all ran back to normal day work. In fact no one felt the need even to know what had transpired as all too busy with life in general to bother of anothers needs.


It was later in the day that Doctor Alberto Demarco sat with his sleeping watchman after drugging him out of crazy nonsense at last. He was puzzled as to two things his patient had let out. The woman in white and the place that the watchman said he came by her.

The night was fast coming in but he knew this watch must be taken by another. He left the mam sleeping and went to alert that town guard. On his way back his mind turned to the alleyway down the cobbled street towards the gates to the postern end of town. He paced slowly down to the narrow between the garderobe tower and the row of servants cottages on the town wall. For some time he examined the walls. Stone after stone but no hidden walkways or escapes did he locate. But as he turned about there to his face she stood. . He shocked and terrified of the closeness of her eyes to his fell backwards in swoon . The second watchman raised his burning torch over him. He was quite dead. The scare had caused his heart to stop.  Just who she was had not been thought of.

Years went by the events forgotten but for one retied old town watchman he knew why and who she was. It seems many years before a man had left his wife with child and returned to the army until as his duty had been as doctor to the regiment. War with Padua had taken his unit over the lines where he had been captured. For some year and a week the doctor had been forced to deal with the enemy injured.  One moonless night he managed to spook the horses and so vanish down the hill to safety.

He however did not return to his girlfriend and was offered a job near Rome where he married a butchers daughter called  Julia. His life took him to  a new house and his own practice in the town of  Grossetto near the coast.

We go back in time to a lonely pregnant woman and her fate as unmarried mother taken in by the Church. Her baby girl christened Sofia taken for adoption but sold by the nuns to an Arab trader. The mother put to work in laundry washing blankets and cloth all day every day slipping on soapy floors between each tank of hot water .Ankles burned by flames from under the tanks that fired the water to near scalding hot. Red and shrilled her fingers and after six years of hard labour in order to pay for her keep she perished and died aged 23.

We move now to the child. Traded aged 7 to a Persian silk trader she traveled the old silk roads on camel trains helping the traders family as slave. This led to her visiting England in 1837 and London gave her all the chances to break away and hide as a prostitute by night a silk dealer by day after stealing the cloth from traders without them knowing. She had watched and taken note of how measurements can increase or decrease depending on buying or selling . Her time in a Traders train had given her an edge in business. In London city fine Chinese silks had a market among the well to do titled women and men that peacock walked, avoiding puddles and lakes of mud, from one theater or knocking shop to another. In this trade she prospered. Then caught read handed thieving silk she was hanged in the city stock yard after being so judged in court.Her body buried in Saint Clements fields and that would have been the end of my tale , if not for the silk road.

Our girl had in her mouth a coin between her teeth and had been taken down by her lover pimp half dead. The coffin filled with builders bricks and she brought around by nursing went on to leave the city and take ship with her savings as a Lady in silks and Satins. The Captain took her on board and they sailed to Italy her birth place. Over ten years she discovered what had happened to her mother and swore vengeance on her father who had a deserter had caused all her sorrow for now she was suffering venereal diseases from past clients. She knew she had but little time so went her way to find the man she blamed. For two years she went from town to town but no one had heard of a doctor called Peri his real name. Then one day in the hot sunshine she had a fall over a stone in the cobbled street of the same town that Doctor Alberto and his family lived. She was taken into his surgery and given a daft to sleep then her ankle pulled back into joint.


He had no idea who she was but he was amazed and told her he had loved a girl once in his youth that looked so much like her, that moment started her investigation.  She paid his bill and left . Over the next week or so she pieced it all together whilst watching him from her rented room window. She watch his wife and children, now grown, visit them. They had what her mother had wished for with him. But then her plotting and anguish caught up with her. Heart broken but  before she died  swore to avenge her mother in front of the nurse and her husband,  the town watchman.


This concludes my investigation but there is often no smoke with out fire,  is there?

copyright Kevin Parr Bt 2020

The record found.

The summer winds blew into the the old crowded room of books, that in the care  of one Domingo Tremarco, monk of Padua, felt soft on his brow.

The great work had absorbed him since the suggestion of Pope Julius  had moved the cleric to sort out his library. This Pope was known for his lazy rich life  and his  ways of idle hours. It was June 1549 and the old monk had almost completed his task.  Six more books and all would be indexed ready for the Popes inspection. Proud of this more so than pleasing anyone it felt good in this mans most tidy of minds.

Six books and the last one fell open to a page recorded on punishment. It caught easily the eye of the monk. The date he knew as his own birthday but the year two years prior. Somehow he just had to read it. Open fully on the desk top the monk, head down, grew pale. The great arched roof lights blackened now by nights dead shades. Did this account carry truth? He read on head bent and alone.


For some silent time had passed before Domingo sat up with wider eyes and sorrow. The tallow candles almost at end of burn. Flickering in and out  but his mind was far from the light. For now he knew the fate of one Thomaso Parisi monk and cleric in this same library. Once,long ago this man had fallen for the love of one Contessa De Gordino the young daughter of the Popes cousin Duke of  Lombardi. Banker to the Vatican.  His love became known as she too loved he and so as of old the Pope came to know.

For the girl she was hurriedly married to a noble twice her age and who cruelly mastered her every move.  Domingo now knew what had occurred  and the fate recorded he read with grief. This Pope had had Thomaso walled up in the cellars below the library a room no bigger than a coffin in measure . No more was told by the script who wrote this as fact as recorder.

The old monk was now alert to the ways of this old Pope as mad without mercy. The candles replaced he went on. What could he do that would not endanger himself against the most powerful man in this world who claimed to be the voice of Gods wishes.  Silently he filed the last books but undid the index of that last book to hide it well in ranks below shelf. He alone knowing of this new index. With noting left to complete he asked to be returned to his duties as monk.  This was swiftly granted and no more would have been brought to light if not for fate.

Not happy just to drop his knowledge in the deep well of fact that was his mind. He found time to search the cellars below his last work place .Over three months he found the place and had kept it safe until time allowed him to think. In time the chance came to remodel the cellars to house more books of Vatican records. To his amazement he was voted into the job of caretaker recorder.


Slowly with a  metal  fork from the refectory  table  he scratched away around the stone blocks until at length he was able to remove just one stone block. With burning flame from waxen torch Domingo was able to detect a human hand in claw like bones. Hurriedly now he effected his wish to see the skeleton that some 60 years had lain unseen or detected in the silence of a library.

When the builders arrived all had been set back in place and the bones hidden from sight. The builders set about making a room with windows at the rear across the Popes gardens. The wall was not under ground as all other walls were. Once achieved the shelving went up at speed.

It gave Domingo just four days to bury with sanctity the remains of the sad monk who had tried so hard to dig himself free his fingers clawed but had clearly starved to death.

All then was over and he prayed for the soul of his former job holder.  All was moving towards the death of this Pope and all devotion to his soul was demanded. Domingo fained illness and remained out of it.


He from his desk looked across the gardens and there  was the sight of a man in habit hold the lovely maiden close. His sinews stiffened, his voice a breaking scream like gasp. For he knew now what was true and mercy had been granted as all vapor fell to the earth below their feet. The vision melted away before his eyes. A mere vapor hung like silk in the breeze and vanished.


He gasped and his fingers touched the cross that hung around his neck. He lifted it slowly to his lips to kiss it when the news that the Pope was dead was being announced.  The Monk knew God was at his side as the guilty would be punished he had no more to do but keep books as they should be kept. One more look to see the garden .It was all as it should be and peace had reached his mind. What will be will be, he thought. He walked into history un noticed un aware of  but the Pope will be forever known. What sins on earth one commits will be recorded for judgement they say and i do so believe that of all of life is but a test. We see it as distance but it is but a flash in time we have to prove who we really are and find what is lost to us namely God. That is the test that is meant in recorded scripture. Who ever wrote it did meet God in person without doubt. I know this now.


End of story. Yours always Sir Kevin.

Copyright Kevin Parr Bt 2019.


The Lady called. short story

It was April 1902. London was full of travelers and the warm sun had brought out many pale people to revel in the glory of that day. None as pale as the body on the Coroners slab.

” My verdict is drained of all blood and liquid. Dry as the bones inside him. ” Barked the man who knew the dead so well.

‘So, murdered was he Jacob.? ”

‘ Unless he drained himself,Id say yes. Over to you now Inspector .”

The body belonged to one Phillip Pardo a doctor in Sherpards Bush area of that said city.

Three days later a body came to light in the Thames river . Drained of blood stabbed in the heart .In the water just 2 hours. Found by a boatman who hit it with his oar.

Over six weeks 3 more copses were found by police .The last one, Mister James King a silversmith in Oxford Street aged just 34.

“Right ,we know two bodies found in that house so as it backs on to the river one must say that it is the certain place to start today .”

The sixteen policemen saw that Inspector Carl Davies meant every word. Suddenly the station was empty of voices. The Coroner sat down next to Davies.

‘A rare do this then. Seems to me its someone who sells blood to hospitals.”

‘Checked all last week. Not one without an alibi. Could it it be more than one person.A gang .Such as that case I did years ago. ”

‘You mean the Gitting case . Oh! not as cruel .Didnt she boil them alive?” Gasped the Coroner.

‘Sickened me. Case I will not forget. Poor sods, just kids. Mental; she was the Devil they called her.Dead and burned these many years.”

Over at number 134 Cherry lane the house empty save for a mirror more suited in a dress shop reflected the light into the eyes of the incomers. After a search lasting four hours only the fact that the back door led through a small yard onto the river. It was clear that at least one body was set into the water there.  His wallet was  found flung into the coal heap onside the small  brick shed. Not only that but the small foot imprint of a womans foot in the coal dust. A cast in plaster of Paris was made and all returned to the police station to write  all up as record.

‘ So mister Pardo was just leaving work after being paid a wage. Yet nothing was stolen from his slip is right for the amount in his wallet.”Said the Inspector.

Time was not on police side as the top lot wanted results and newspapers told of incompetence on police part.

All connected with Cherry Lane had been rounded up and one by one released that is until Davies came to an elderly woman who interested him so much. The lady was Italian around 60 with lively blue eyes that fixed him to the chair. She gave her name as Mrs Silvia De Natas  and left the Inspector powerless to speak for some minutes afterwards.

‘ I feel rather silly but that woman is not right. “declared Davies and all looked up.

‘ We saw her this morning but she was ill she told us .We thought her over 80. ” Cried the second officer. Nodding of heads in agreement gave birth to the Inspector sorting her name out in his head.

“Silvia, De Natas is Satan backwards. what the hells going on. Harding go and fetch her back she cant have gone far.

Davies waited until way after dark but PC Harding did not return. Next morning his lifeless remains lay on the Coroners table drained on blood, whiter than snow, his face and hands.

‘My God Jacob”  ,cried the Inspector taking off his hat and coat.

“Yes you may say that. Poor young fellow was found slumped over a barrel of best bitter beer outside of the Bird in Hand Arms public house at 5am this morning. Still in uniform.

“Right all you lot, armed .Come with me and find that old woman for somehow she is wrapped up in this. ”

A thin blue line of men marched across the city and into that house in Cherry lane. Deserted but on the floor near the cellar door lay a policemans wooden batton.  On closer inspection his note book in the dust. No sign of a struggle and not a drop of blood to be found.

‘Find that old maid she is around here someplace. For hours they torn the place apart then behind a wall of sliding panels they found a young lady naked in a bath of what looked like milk in a bathroom of marble pillars. Out came Davies pistol but she stood up naked and asked for a towel. As beautiful as anyone had seen she smiled. ‘So why are you all here in my house?’ Her lips just pouting.

‘ And who are you pray tell?: demanded Davies.

She sat down half covered transfixing the eyes of policeman. Davies not so taken in. He saw her blue eyes and felt them hold him but could not as he was so aware.


“I tell you that I know you now. Years ago in Italy a beauty called Bedricca Rappuceni attracted victims into her fathers gardens .A walled affair indeed. Her father took their souls in order that he could be young for ever. ”

“It is but a story dear Inspector. ” she was playing with his mind and he knew it .His eyes looking at the fireplace not at her.

“Do you kill the innocent to be young. If souls are your thing Satan why drain them of blood. ”

” So maybe you think you have found me out. Pray sit down with me”

‘Oh! not likely. Only that you are not her daughter you are she whom I interviewed yesterday who looked 60. My men told me when they saw you 80 was their guess. Rejuvenate each killing do you. 18 now at most today”

He turned back to her to an empty chair and a towel on the floor. Not one policeman took their eyes off her but she had gone from the room in full view not seen.


The case was never written down nor did they ever see this woman ever again but in his mind Davies knew her real name was -death . It was not his time to go. No more this story tells. Other than that Davies died a natural death in 1927 but his son knew that death had entered his fathers  room. The fear on the old mans face told him she was there with them.


Short story again. Sir Kevin says thank you for bothering to read it.

Copyright 2019 Kevin Parr Bt






Was Edward Teach as bad as history paints him?

For those who know he was Blackbeard the most famous pirate in British history still how much do we known? Was he really a pirate?

The man was born in Bristol England around end of the year 1680. He most likely attended Naval College in London as otherwise how did a 20 year old handle a ship as he could in truth.

The first real clue to what went on in his mind was naming his flag ship, “The Queen Annes Revenge”


Blackbeards flag ship The Queen Annes Revenge afloat after rebuild but perhaps with much license to be historic  true.


As a British Navy man he went  not noticed in his duties even so. At end of Queen Anne war he joined with Benjamin Hornigold in selling captured shipping. A trade that many entered. Hornigold in 1717 gave as pay a captured vessel for him to make his own way in life. Seems the two men parted friendly. Naming this big war ship as said in the Queens name is paramount in his job as spy and raider for gold for Queen to enjoy.  He may ,or may not have had Royal permission. That question is kept secret for obvious reasons if so. I do not believe it was more than secret even so,unlike the open fact that long before Elizabethan sailors did it in the open.

To be a privateer he needed a loyal crew. To keep them loyal he had to pay them well. He hit on the idea of being ruthless in leadership if just a little mental to set the fear in them. He had tapers for the gunpowder in his guns tied into his black beard and kept them smouldering ready to use on his best deck guns. What he did in truth was set a fire of fear within the crew. They began to serve him with respect and loyalty to a man. He became the most feared seaman in history of this world but was he really a pirate or more a Queens man.

Blackbeard soon set a record in fighting crews of captured ships and was even pardoned by the Royal ambassador and Consul one Governor Charles Eden who on Royal pardon parchment handed it to Black beard and crew and after they ran a ground on sandbanks  near his house in New Wold. He even had rooms in the Bonner House and as it was 1718 he tried to settle down and reject the sea as a free man. Queen Anne was dead he had no more the heart to carry on in her name. Gov.Eden, a gentleman, too was dead and now the replacement Virginian Alexander Spotwood took office  he saw Blackbeard as a pirate in his waters and sent two sloops of armed militia out to The Queen Annes Revenge at night. The crew at sleep and the night watch drunk or missing caused a fight with pistol and Cutlass.

Blackbeard killed a few of his assailants but was shot five times and still forced the fight to him. Almost exhausted they cut him down and severed his head .This they fixed by ropes against the ships figure head. A wood carved figure of the British Queen as what these murderous settlers thought of the British is echoed in this singular action.

No record tells of what became of the body of Blackbeard .It is most likely it was thrown over into the crocodile  infested inlet.


It was murder of a Royal graciously  pardoned group of men . Spotwood walked away freely with it. Then all called his victim a pirate.

The mystery of his ship came to be in 1996 when in 20 feet of water in what is now Fort Macon State Park in Oracoke Cove it came to light. North Carolina territory so did Spotwood even have Jurisdiction over raid in another state than his?

We have many ghostly tales of Blackbeard in sightings in Archbell Point lights are said to be seen in storms and have come to be known ,for tourist trap, Blackbeards lights.  All Blackbeards crew died in that last fight and as over half of them were English one says it was murder deep and evil by a coward who crept in under cover of night to a pardoned crew and leader.  It would be interesting to see how much went back into Royal English coffers from Blackbeards privateering? I expect no trace will be found. That will not mean it never came to be.

He had not been seen in this light because of Spotwoods cover up until now. I do this to clear the name of a loyal soul who served well his Queen. To call him pirate is to bring in Drake and Raleigh and Frobisher and many many more and call them pirates too. That my readers is to change history now. Blackbeard played a part in our history and why pardon a real pirate with Royal papers should then be seen what Teach really did. Drake was a man who navigated the world going anticlockwise because he could. Raleigh fought the Spanish who had stolen gold from the Inca and Maya natives of South America and then handed much of back to Queen Elizabeth 1 to help her in war. Blackbeard served another loved Queen of England and in our hearts we would so again for Elizabeth 11 and England. I think what ever Teach did, he always had loyalty to his Queen.

Thank you for loyalty to my blog, yours always Sir Kevin.

Copyright Kevin Parr Bt 2019 Nov 24th.

The Lodge at Chaloise.

It was the end of the Empire. France had fallen, The Army of Boneparte had been so  soundly beaten and the battlefield of Waterloo was in the hands of that Sepoy General Wellington and his Prussian allies. The words of Napoleon to his Aide before both men ran to escape from the oncoming Prussian troop pouring on to the end results of a raging battle. The 72 year old leader ready to eat the French had been held up in the forests fighting Marshal Salte and his French troops.

It was true summer in the month of June 18th of the year 1815 Rain had caused a mighty deluge below the feet of so many troops. For the few who had survived the death fields now fled down rain wet mud of the battlefield across the Belgium county lanes away from the smell of smoking guns, The twisted bodies screaming, deformed soldiers laying like so much carnage strewn across the rolling landscape of Waterloo. The worse battle ever recorded for loss of an army entire. France had failed and her army now destroyed. It was as much as one man could cope with. His tattered uniform his badges given him by the Emperor    proudly  pinned to his swelled chest. Now all hope had passed and the rain continued relentless and unforgiving.

index.jpg The British charge at Waterloo.

Anton Lacron was of the French Imperial Guard Chasseur a Cheval whilst his injured comrade was one of Bonepartes  Horse Hussars. They had only the hope to cross the fields and reach the border with France  with no real idea of the vast distance on foot they slogged onward in silence .Head down battering off the wind and rains under blood soaked shell torn helmets that once was seen as the victors army all over raped Europe.

It was late in the next days  afternoon when they reached doggedly the lake and ruined lodge at Chaloise estates. Deserted now by the passages of time, the two men arrived at the open door and moved swiftly within the darkened interior. it was dank and hollow sounding ,their voices looming back to them. No dumb as dogs they slowly advanced in their need for shelter.

Once inside they wrapped the uniforms tight buttoned around them and with loaded arms slept soundly for some hours out of the rain and weather. It was in the break of morning, the sun beaming through the wooden window shutters the broken glass panes,that Anton awoke. He rose stiffly  and pulled back the old painted shutters to see the sun as big as an balloon and as bright as an orange shine in to light up  the space into shadows of old furniture and portraits of rich nobles between the pure gold light on the warming sunshine. Dancing shadowy light across the floor.Tracery of power long gone.


He shouted his friend who  was up and in much pain. The Cavalry trooper was unable to travel and both men carried hunger in their bellies that growled for food as that of a wounded dog.

It was soon decided to rest up and Anton to hunt and bring back bandages and meat. For Charles had too much blood from his shoulder which had in the night warmly soaked the  blue majestic  tunic  red/ black.   Anton  picked up the rifle with its fitted bayonet and slipped carefully into the undergrowth of gardens once the pride of Louis 14th Minister and master of the Sword Marcel De Valios.  He with his family and servants had loved the place that the King had offered and so led his life in service and retired to his gardens. At the loss at battle his King was captured by the victorious English armies and Duke de Valos had died in that field defending his King.

index French lines at  Waterloo.  Reenactment for movie Waterloo. 1960s

Before long his luck and skill with weapons  saw Anton  shoot a fine deer Hind and he sat in the long grass skinning her. In bandages he cut with the razor sharp bayonet into long strips . By binding the cut meat in the skin hanging it  on his back so heavily he managed by slow steps  to return to  his associate.

He dressed the wounds and used the soft skin to stem the flow of blood. By smashing down the shutters a fire was now secured.  The meat sizzling on a make shift spit the two men relaxed a shadow fell over them. There as large as life a swords man pointed his rapier at Anton then slowly vaporized before his dazzled eyes.  For all that night he kept the fire a aglow but in the wake of morning he saw his friends dead lifeless body next to him. The fire ashes glowing and a Rapier at his throat cut off his breathing .. he looked but into the dazzling sunshine that now loomed over the sill and saw his killer in blue silks just before the vision melted back into the woodworks of his once fine house. Coughing the blood chocked by the flow he closed his heavy eye lids and died in the effort to live.


French Imperial Guard, Waterloo 1815.  Left dead to almost a man. Last action near end of battle, Napoleon had escaped the field. The French would not surrender faced the British cannons and still refused . Some 100 men died instantly as the last roar of the guns brought the end of the battle.


It was 12 days later that a simple woodman found the bodies of two French soldiers and having gone through the pockets for all he could find, buried them in the back field and told no one, as the Belgium hated the French and besides they had been beaten and no longer a treat.

In his pocket he shuck out a fine gold pocket watch and six coins. It had been a profitable morning  and the man went on his way unaware he was been watched by long dead eyes. A cold stir that chilled him even so. From that day to this the lodge remains much as it was the day long ago. But Oh! a cold clear eye observes all events  .Valois family will not go near the ruins of the once stately lodge of Chaloise lake. If you have sense; nor will you.



Thank you for reading  this story hope you like it.

Yours sir K

Copyright Kevin Parr Bt December 20th 2019


The open window case.

He had inherited Broomfield manor from his uncle on his mothers side of the family. Once a prosperous and mighty Vicarage  owned by many of his mothers relations but he did not know the full story until now.

For Jeffrey Wolstenholme this day would mark his future in black ink. He signed the lawyers papers and took charge of the key. A great metal weight in his pocket he set off with no more than a take your leave to the lawyers plea to go home and leave Broom House to its fate and the weeds.

Wolstenholme was not that short of man to take note of a warning. He was today the real master of the estate. His booted foot reached the hollowed worn stone step with gusto. his pocket deep and his mind on repair as the key slowly clicked the door open. Inside he was to find rats and upturned furnishings a ruined wood floor full of rat holes and no more upstairs than filth and grim of many years of deserting owners.

He gazed at the damages but then the great hall fire place in solid Italian marble and higher than his 6 foot frame was in good repair. He kindled what was left of the floor boards and set the fire that soon smoked out the whole lower floors .A crows nest he thought. On the beams of the floor minus boards he tripped back outside for air into the man who stood ready to enter. A big block of man.

Jim Tanner he was a village handy man of ever a man could it was Jim. The two men talked on the subject of living in the mess.Seems the new owner being the only man to try spending on what was really a by gone relic of the past.

Wolstenholme was a man who wanted his inherited home as it was. He had only heard of the ways of it from his mother as a boy. He had not even known the uncle who left it yo him or anything about him other than he was a bishop and old when he was younger.

The price agreed a team of builders and Jim in charge set to on the roof and some inside flooring out the lower rooms. The staircase found under the fallen plaster of the rain soaked ceiling was in good repair built in English oak and with many ornate carved figures to hold the heavy banisters that curved right around both top and bottom of its great magnitude of bearing. On seeing for the first time uncovered gave much hope to the new owner that soon he could move in and live in the manner that suited him.


Some weeks later that was possible but work still went on in parts of the great house. The bed set up and fires all cleaned it was the first night in the new abode. The builders left for that day and would return next morning as usual.

Silence fell and sleep soon came over him, wrapped so well, and the bedroom fire a glow. He had slept for some hours but suddenly woken by screams he took the loaded pistol off the side table and ran to the bedroom door, but it was firmly locked.

From the window the moon was up and he could hear the lady scream and in the moonlight as the dark clouds shifted like stormy seas, he saw her face looking up at him with blackened unhuman eyes ,like sockets of madness the face came nearer and he backed up in horror for that face he knew well.


Next morning the builders found Wolstenholme huddled next to the great fireplace in the hall. He was senseless and raving much as a mad man would.  The builders called the doctor and carried on with work.

Doctor Browning was the man who took him at the station to find his way home to where ever that was.  No good would come in owning such a place. Now that same Doctor shook his head as he was told the tale of the previous night. He had made it clear but Wolstenholme had spent so much on the house he would not move. Doctor then administered a draft to make him sleep and rest as otherwise he had recovered much from his malady in the telling of the story.

The Doctor knew much more but Wolstenholme was so adamant he would not leave what good was it warning him of what he knew as pure evil.

The evening alone in his candle lit room he waited with loaded gun over his knee. No ghost of his dead aunt would give him more than he could give out.

The fire flickered in the grate the wind blew hard at the windows the gun trigger clicked back and again came that awful deathly scream. He did not move a muscle his eyes trained on the windows. He sat in the armchair waiting,waiting.  The pistol finger twitching sweat on the brow he waited.

It was 6am the builders ready to make tea and start soon found the owner dead.His eyes open stirring hard at an open window. His face of ashen white his clutched fingers over a discharged pistol and the whole room colder than ice. The police called, announced death by misadventure and case closed the 23 year old Wolstenholme buried in the family crypt some day later but no mourners but builders who worked and had been owed much by him.


Years went by the house again taken by Government and sold to one of their own . Six weeks later his funeral caused concern that an historian came to delve into the house history. Seems one lady Carla Bronley had died of mysterious ways in her new husbands vicarage. He died in war with Napoleon soon after .Then her body was never found having been walled up in that said house. She was murdered by poison it was suspected. Then the next owner died and his young wife partied wildly after that. Again murder was suspected but no one then would dare to accuse a land owner in her mansion of such a crime. On checking deeper it was found his Wolstenholmes uncle had spent only one night in the house and died in his Rectory in Kent many years later .It explained the state of the house not  what killed two men. The good Doctor would tell that evil lived inside that house and no more would he say. in 2001 the house burned to the ground by lightening but the spirit of violence may not have gone. According to people  who live near by ,the evil eye is on that place and screams are often heard at night.