Some castles have all of the classical signs for hauntings. This is the case with the gothic Charleville Castle built on Ley Lines from druid times. On the estate is a cursed tree and ghosts from those that lived and worked at Charleville Castle are still haunting grounds.
In the heart of County Offaly in Ireland, looming within the ancient embrace of a dense forest, is Charleville Castle. This gothic fortress was a place where Lord Byron was said to have hosted many parties as well as being the home for many ghosts.
In the early 17th century, a mansion stood where the castle was built, originally belonging to Thomas Moore from 1641. The castle was completed in 1812 and said to be one of the best examples of gothic revival in Ireland by the Earl of Charlesville and his wife. The castle’s story took a sinister turn in 1912 when it was forsaken, left to the echoes of forgotten footsteps for more than half a century.
Read More: Check out all of the ghost stories from Ireland
It wasn’t until 1973 that the first tentative steps toward its revival were taken by the steadfast hands of restoration of the then ruins of the once great castle. Today, The Charleville Castle Heritage Trust tends to its spectral halls and enigmatic chambers, for this castle is more than just stone and mortar—it’s a living, breathing enigma.
The Occult Earl of Charlesville
It is said that the Earl of Charlesville was dabbling in the occult, and if this is true, it might explain where he decided to build his holiday residence as the castle first was.
Built upon the convergence of ley lines, enshrouded by forests where ancient druids of pagan times once conducted mysterious rites, it is no wonder that Charleville Castle has earned the reputation of being one of Ireland’s most paranormally active haunts.
The Mysterious Ley Lines
Ley lines are straight alignments connecting various historic structures, prehistoric sites, and landmarks. This concept emerged in early 20th-century Europe, suggesting that ancient societies intentionally erected structures along these lines. Some believers argue that ley lines mark “earth energies” and even guide alien spacecraft, but archaeologists and scientists consider ley lines as pseudoarchaeology and pseudoscience.
Ley hunters practiced dowsing, numerology, and believed in a forthcoming transformative Age of Aquarius. Despite their enthusiasm, they failed to provide scientific evidence for earth energies at prehistoric sites.
Amid sustained archaeological criticism, the ley hunter community declined in the 1990s, with some proponents shifting toward landscape archaeology and folkloristics. However, belief in ley lines persists in esoteric religious groups, including some forms of modern Paganism. Archaeologists emphasize that there is no evidence of ley lines being recognized by ancient European societies and that the connections often involve structures from different historical eras. Skeptics highlight that the concept of earth energies remains unverified by science, relying on faith for its adherents.
The Mysterious King Oak Tree
Although there is no proof that it is the Ley Lines that makes the place a mystical one that brings out the paranormal, there are many that claim this is one of the reasons for the haunted rumors, as well as some other legends found on the property.
Read More: Check out all of the Haunted Castle’s from around the world
There is also a mysterious Oak Tree outside in the woods at the old estate of Charleville Castle called The King Oak. It is said to be over 800 years old and is said to be connected to the Bury family that have a long connection to the castle as the Earls of Charleville.
According to the legends, just before a male member of the family is about to die, the tree will drop a branch or get struck by lightning. In 1963 the tree was struck by lightning, splitting the main trunk from top to bottom and causing the loss of at least one branch. The tree survived but Colonel Charles Howard-Bury, the explorer and last member of the Bury family line died a few weeks afterwards.
The King Oak: At the entrance of the castle grounds, the old Oak Tree is planted with a mysterious connection to the family. //Source: Michelle/Flickr
The Ghost of Harriet at Charleville Castle
Within these eerie confines, the ghost of an eight-year-old girl named Harriet resides. In 1861, Lady Harriet Bury embarked on a fateful descent down the castle’s grand staircase, by sliding down the banister. She lost her grip and met her tragic end on the stone floor below, breaking her neck and died.
More than a century later, in the dead of night, two trustees working at Charleville Castle woke at the ghostly hour of 3 am. A spectral voice, haunting yet sweet, pierced the silence, followed by a blood-curdling scream. Fearful that an intruder had breached their sanctuary, one went to investigate. No living soul had entered the castle.
The Ghost: There are many ghosts residing in the castle if we are to take the rumours at face value. One of them is supposedly a little girl that died after falling from the stairs. //Source: Matt McKnight/Flickr
Despite the grisly nature of her passing, Harriet’s spirit seems to harbor no malice. She manifests herself from time to time, a vision in blue and white, playing on the very stairs that stole her life away. Eerie echoes of her laughter and the melodious notes of her songs have graced the ears of visitors.
It is said she is not alone though, as the spirit of her uncle, Henry Walter is also said to haunt the place. He died of influenza when he was only 7 in London. He was brought back to Ireland and buried in the family vault.
The Green Mist
For those spending the nights at Charleville Castle, reports of a sinister green mist materializing from the very fabric of a bedroom wall have left guests trembling and in the same room, one unfortunate person was mysteriously locked out, then inexplicably trapped inside, with neither key nor a person to blame.
There was also one time a man stayed in the room with his girlfriend after a party. When he turned to her, he didn’t see his tall dark haired girlfriend, but an older blonde woman.
The Octagon Room
There are tales of mysterious monks walking the house and other dark shadows lurking in the corners and in the forsaken dungeons, where tortured souls suffered in the early 19th century, manic laughter and disembodied voices continue to reverberate through the stillness.
One that stayed in the castle recalls eerie noises and an ethereal light dancing on the floor above while they stayed in the Octagon Room—yet there was no one to cast such a glow, and the area lacked electricity. Another volunteer speaks of a distinct knock upon their door at the unholy hour of 1:30 am, with the rest of the castle asleep soundly.
A Stay at the Haunted Charleville Castle
Charleville Castle remains a magnet for seekers of the supernatural, a place where psychics and paranormal enthusiasts converge, eager to unlock the castle’s darkest mysteries. Within its formidable stone walls, the past and present entwine, and the echoes of history speak of restless spirits who refuse to fade into the shadows.
Spain is known for its many haunted castles with dramatic history mixed together with a classic love story. In the Castle of Pedraza it is said that two lovers are said to wander around the battlements of the castle after the lord got jealous of them and murdered them in cold blood.
These haunted castles are shrouded in mystery and intrigue, with tales of ghostly apparitions and strange events. While some people may choose to dismiss these stories as mere folklore, others believe that these old buildings truly contain supernatural forces.
Amidst the picturesque countryside of Spain, this centuries-old fortress holds secrets that have stood the test of time. From phantom footsteps echoing through its ancient halls to mysterious apparitions that appear at midnight, the Castle of Pedraza is a place where reality and the supernatural collide.
The History and Architecture of the Castle of Pedraza
The Castle of Pedraza, located in the Segovia province of Spain, is a magnificent fortress that dates back to the 13th century. Built on a rocky outcrop overlooking the town of Pedraza, this medieval castle served as a stronghold for noble families throughout the centuries. Its strategic location made it a formidable defensive structure, protecting the town and its inhabitants from various threats.
Read more: Check out all of our ghost stories from Spain
With its imposing walls, watchtowers, and drawbridge, the Castle of Pedraza stands as a testament to the military prowess of its builders. The interior of the castle is equally impressive, with grand halls, intricate stone carvings, and ornate decorations that showcase the wealth and power of the noble families who once called this fortress home.
Legends and Ghostly Tales Surrounding the Castle of Pedraza
But who are the ones said to haunt the castle? Who is it that still wanders its halls as ghosts long after their death? One of the most enduring legends associated with the Castle of Pedraza is the tragic tale of two star-crossed lovers called Elvira and Roberto from the nearby town.
The Castle of Pedraza: The castillo de Pedraza is thought to be haunted by two lovers the lord of the castle murdered in a fit of jealousy// Source: Wikimedia
According to the local legend their love was forbidden, as she had been noticed by the lord of the castle. In some versions the lord was simply watching from afar and was jealous of the two. In other versions, he managed to marry Elvira despite her heart belonged to someone else.
Despite the dangers that awaited them, Elvira and Roberto continued their secret affair, meeting in the hidden corners of the castle under the cover of darkness. However, their love was discovered by the lord in the end, who flew into a rage and ordered their immediate execution.
Haunted by the Ghosts of the Two Lovers
The lord went on with his days, with both his love rival as well as his love out of the way. If he couldn’t have her, no one could. Soon, war was coming and he went to fight for his King with no one waiting for him at home.
When the murderer returned from the battle of Las Navas Tolosa he saw something unexpected. There on the battlements he saw the two lovers he had murdered wander in the night. Two ghosts that wouldn’t let death keep them apart.
Some say that the nobleman disappeared that night, and never returned, perhaps driven away by his own guilt. Or perhaps it was something about the ghosts, perhaps they had waited for his return after all?
The Alternative Version of the Ghost Story from the Castle of Pedraza
Another version of the story is that Roberto was a farmer’s boy that fell in love with Elvira who was chosen by the lord of the castle to be his wife. Since he had nothing to give her he decided to enter a monastery to live the rest of his life in solitude.Elvira lived the rest of her life unhappy in her marriage.
The story ended the same though. They reunited in their afterlife after a lifetime of waiting and they are haunting the castle, still searching for each other.Many claim to have felt a chilling presence or heard disembodied voices echoing through the castle’s corridors. Some even assert that they have captured photographic evidence of Isabella and Diego’s ghostly apparitions.
In conclusion, the Castle of Pedraza is not just a historical monument but a place where the past and the paranormal intertwine. Its rich history and architectural beauty are overshadowed by the ghostly legends that have captivated the imaginations of countless individuals over the centuries.
Djinns are said to haunt the Mehrauli park in Delhi, and around the mysterious mosque and tomb of Jamali Kamali, there are said to be strange hauntings going on. Who are the Djinns said to roam around the Jamali Kamali Mosque, and what do they want?
Tucked away in a quiet corner of the Mehrauli Archaeological Park in Delhi, the Jamali Kamali Mosque and Tomb has been shrouded in mystery and intrigue for centuries. The hauntingly beautiful mosque and tomb were built in the 16th century by the Sufi saint Jamali, who was believed to have miraculous powers.
History of Jamali Kamali Mosque and Tomb
Jamali Kamali Mosque and Tomb in Mehrauli, Delhi, is a historic complex that dates back to the 16th century in what has been known as “The City of Djinns”. Delhi is believed to be home to many Djinns, who reside in the city’s ancient buildings, tombs, and ruins. The complex was built by the Sufi saint Jamali in 1528-1529, who was a traveling poet known for his Persian spiritual teachings and miraculous powers in the Lodi Dynasty.
The City of Djinns: Arches of Jamali Kamali Mosque, Mehrauli, Delhi.// Source: Abhishek Khanna/ Wikimedia
Read more: Check out all of our ghost stories from India
Jamali or Shaikh Fazlu’llah was a disciple of the famous Sufi saint Nizamuddin Auliya and is believed to have been a contemporary of Mughal emperor Akbar.
The complex consists of a mosque, a tomb, and a courtyard, and was built during the reign of the Mughal Emperor Akbar.
The mosque and tomb are built in the traditional Indo-Islamic architectural style and are adorned with intricate carvings and beautiful calligraphy. The mosque has a central dome and two minarets, while the tomb is a square-shaped structure with a flat roof. The courtyard is surrounded by arched colonnades and is a peaceful oasis in the heart of Mehrauli.
After Jamali died in 1535, he was buried in the tomb.
Kamali that is buried in the tomb with him was an unknown person. We know he was male because of the symbolic pen box on his grave and that he was one of Jamali’s disciples. Historians are unsure about their relationship and have called Kamali both his brother, wife or companion. Because of how their graves are places, it also implies that they were lovers.
Legends and Myths Associated with Jamali Kamali Mosque and Tomb
Jamali Kamali Mosque and Tomb has been shrouded in mystery and intrigue for centuries. The complex is said to be haunted by the spirits of Jamali and Kamali, who are believed to have supernatural powers. There are many legends and myths associated with the complex, which add to its enigmatic appeal.
One of the most popular legends associated with Jamali Kamali Mosque and Tomb is that it was the site of a love affair between Jamali and Kamali, something that the placements of the graves have suggested.
Haunted Stories of Jamali Kamali Mosque and Tomb
Jamali Kamali Mosque and Tomb is said to be one of the most haunted places in Delhi. Many people have reported paranormal activity in the complex, including sightings of ghosts or Djinns.
People have claimed to have seen strange lights and shadows in the tomb and heard something that sounds like an animal growling at them or laughing voices.
There is also a feeling of someone standing right next to them, or thinking that someone is looking at them behind the pillars, but when going to investigate, there is nothing there.
Mehrauli Park: By daylight i is a nice and green park to spend time in. When darkness falls however, it is said that Djinns are haunting the park and especially the Jamali Kamali Mosque and Tomb seen in he background. // Source: Varun Shiv Kapur/Flickr
Perhaps worst is it for those that have felt an unknown force slapping them that leaves tiny hand marks on their faces for days. This is said to happen especially during the night when the park is supposed to be locked and no one is supposed to be there.
Who is to say who is right, as people claim that what they have heard is real, while others say the stories are just made up.
A story told through Vice claims that a woman was in the park after dark, when she felt something sinister coming after her. The following six months she woke up 3 in the morning every night and saw a hand on the glass of the ventilator placed above the door to her balcony.
This experience took a toll on her mental health until she left her job and moved to another city when the episodes stopped. Whether this was because she changed her life or because she managed to shake the djinns off, who is to say?
The Enduring Legacy of Jamali Kamali Mosque and Tomb
Jamali Kamali Mosque and Tomb is a fascinating and enigmatic landmark that has captured the imagination of people for centuries. Is it Jamali who is still haunting his own tomb? Could it be Kamali, whose name is just something given to locals as it rhymed with Jamali. What were they really to each other? A teacher and student? Lovers? Today there are more rumors than answers.
While the complex is said to be haunted, it is also a peaceful oasis in the heart of the bustling city and is a popular tourist attraction. But just to be safe, it is said you should get out of the park when you hear the call to evening prayer, The maghrib adhan, before dark, so you don’t bring any djinns with you home.
Amidst the haunted rumors about a white witch on the prowl, a native burial ground as well as an old gypsy curse on the land, the sunny Elfin Forest in California holds dark secrets.
Within the heart of North County San Diego close to Escondido, Elfin Forest remains a hidden gem, known for its picturesque landscapes and scenic trails through the shrub landscape. However, beneath the tranquil façade of this seemingly idyllic forest at the foot of the Santa Rosa Mountains lies a tapestry woven with eerie tales and haunted rumors that have captured the imaginations of locals and thrill-seekers alike.
Read more: Check out all ghost stories and haunted places in the USA
Officially known as the Elfin Forest Recreational Reserve, it encompasses over 700 acres of diverse ecosystems, including chaparral, woodland, and riparian habitats. It also used to go under the name Questhaven. There have been many tales about what you can find inside, everything from haunted asylums, strange creatures and ancient burial grounds. But how much of it is really true?
Elfin Forest: View of Escondido Creek inside of the forest which is located in the northern half of San Diego County. The forest is a popular hiking spot as well as thought to be haunted. Some go as far as saying it is cursed. // Source: Wikimedia
The area is a haven for hikers, birdwatchers, and nature enthusiasts who seek solace amidst the serene beauty of Southern California’s natural landscapes. The roads going through the area are curvy, full of twists and in some places the phone reception completely disappears.
Who knew that some of the darkest legends would be found in sunny California?
Gypsy Ghosts and Curses
There are stories that the area was inhabited by Romani people or something like them in the 19th century and well into the 20th century. There certainly is a spiritual community that has been there for a while called Harmony Grove.
According to the local legends, the original spiritual romani settlers were chased away by their neighbors, killing those that refused to follow command. According to their neighboring communities they held rituals around the forest.
Because of how they were treated and as retribution, they cursed the land and the forest. Many of the urban legends and haunted rumors stem from this belief of a gypsy curse and gave rise to the paranormal rumors hovering over Elfin Forest ever since.
The Urban Legend of the White Owl
One of the urban legends that came out of Elfin Forest is the one of the white owl. According to the stories, it is a ten-foot owl that comes out at nights, soaring above the trees and seeks those that dares enter the forest.
Giant Owls: There are many variants of urban legends concerning owls. One so is the tale of La Lechuza that comes from Mexico and has a heavy influence over California which used to be a part of it. According to the narrative, a lechuza, or owl, notably a white one, embodies a bruja, a witch transformed into this avian form. While smaller owls are associated with witches, La Lechuza stands out as a colossal owl in this folklore. Though some accounts describe it as a white owl, conflicting stories and reports also depict it as a mysterious black owl, adding an air of uncertainty to the haunting legend.
If you are in a car the owl is said to have landed on top of the car, causing it to crash and killing the passengers of the vehicle as it has the power to possess people. If you walk into the forest on foot the owl will come straight for you and kill you.
The White Witch of Elfin Forest
One of the enduring legends found within the forest is the legend of the white witch that is supposedly haunting tha area still. In some variations of the legend, she is said to have haunted the place since the gypsies stayed in the area. According to the story she was once married to a man and had a son.
The story tells that she once came home and found them both murdered. According to the legend she is still searching for their murderer. Was it when the gypsies were driven out?
In one version of the story the three of them entered the forest together to explore. The family didn’t return for three days and friends and neighbors started to become concerned. Just then, one of them returned from down the hill and it was the mother, her clothes ripped and her face covered in dirt. Total fear in her eyes.
According to her they had been attacked by a gang of men and only she had been able to escape their deadly attack. After this she was said to have started taking an interest in darker arts and planning for her revenge. One day she claimed she was ready and dressed in all white before entering the forest again. What happened after, is up to legends.
She is said to be one of the more dangerous spirits in the forests and rides a black stallion with a black cloak covering her. Some claiming to have seen her say they didn’t hear the horse galloping but was soaring through the air instead.
When entering the forest, it is said she marks the person with a spiritual tag, and if you dare enter the forest again, you will face certain death. Also if you happen to see her eyes covered in the dark cloak, they are green and are said to kill you instantly.
Tales of Witches: The many legends of owls, bruja’s white witches, ghosts and gypsy curses echoes from the trees of the forest. Some merge into the others, and one can perhaps never get to the bottom of what really happened inside of this forest.
The roads are said to be dangerous as it is said this is where she rides her stallion. She has also been accused of causing accidents when cars crash after falling into a trance causing them to drive off the road and into the shadows were she leads them.
Whether she is still haunting the forest here or not is up for debate. The Harmony Grove Spiritual Center is a psychic village found close by and were used to see her from time to time. According to them, she found peace a long time ago and she no longer makes an appearance in the forest.
Native American Ghosts
Before the Europeans took over, this land used to belong to the Northern Diegueño Natives and there is archeological evidence for their presence dating back thousands of years, with their language even dating back 9000 years.
According to the legends and speculations, they believe that Elfin Forest was a sort of meeting place for the different tribes in the area with a good energy. However, as time passed it is said that the energy lingering in the forest turned bad for some reason.
The stories concerning the Native American are many, but vague. There are as always rumors that there are ancient Native American burial grounds in the area and that a lot of the paranormal activity stems from this. It has been reported on several occasions that people have seen their spirits hanging from trees.
The reporting of these stories were told from the Harmony Grove Spiritualists. One of the members, like Corinne Pleasant (1897-1984) was a resident and told the San Diego Union paper about how they would try to come into contact with them. According to her, they could see the children of these native people running around at night.
The Lady in White
Another well-known tale centers around the “Lady in White” who is said to wander the trails of Elfin Forest. Described as a spectral figure dressed in a flowing white gown, she is believed to be the ghost of a woman who met a tragic fate in the forest. Some versions of the story suggest a love affair gone awry, while others allude to more sinister circumstances.
She is said to be following hikers inside of the forest. Encounter stories range from fleeting glimpses to chilling apparitions that vanish without a trace.
A Walk Through the Trees
Elfin Forest, with its lush landscapes and bewitching trails, captivates the hearts and minds of those who seek both natural beauty and a touch of the mysterious with its tales of ghosts, legends and spiritual communities.
Perhaps the tales are simply echoes of the past, carried through time by the rustling leaves and winding trails of this magical woodland. As visitors tread lightly through its paths, they may find themselves wondering if the whispers in the wind are just that or something more otherworldly, weaving the tales of Elfin Forest into the fabric of California’s haunted lore.
Deep down in the vaults under the St. Michan’s Church in Ireland, there is a crypt filled with coffins of mummified corpses. Some of prominent families in the local area, and some nameless that are perhaps a millennial year old.
Hidden behind Dublin’s Four Courts on Church Street, just a stone’s throw from the Jameson Distillery in Smithfield, stands St. Michan’s Church, an ancient place of worship with a history as chilling as it is rich in Dublin.
Established in 1095 as a Norse chapel, this parish church holds the distinction of being the oldest on the northside of Dublin and that has a Viking foundation. Its rebuilt exterior, dating back to 1685, conceals a treasure trove of eerie secrets that beckon to those brave enough to explore its depths.
The Mummies in the Vault
Beneath the church’s hallowed grounds, a world of the macabre unfolds. Through imposing metal doors secured by chains and down a narrow stone stairway, visitors find themselves in burial vaults that cradle the mummified remains of Dublin’s most influential families from the 17th, 18th, and 19th centuries.
Read More: Check out all of the ghost stories from Ireland
The question that lingers in the minds of all who visit St. Michan’s crypts is how these bodies have been preserved for centuries. Some attribute it to the constant dry atmosphere, others to the limestone walls, and yet others to the mysterious methane gas seeping up from the damp ground beneath. Whatever the cause, the result is a chilling tableau of history frozen in time.
St. Michan’s Church Vaults: Underneath the old church from Norman viking times, there is a burial vault filled with mummified corpses that dates back almost a millenia ago.//Source: wikimedia
Family Feuds in Death
The vaults under St. Michan’s Church was once the property of wealthy families, and this ownership extended even beyond the grave. Some coffins are elaborate, exuding opulence with gold accents and intricate designs.
Venturing inside the individual vault under St. Michan’s Church cells reveals a haunting sight: coffins stacked haphazardly, generations of families laid atop one another as in anyone’s messy cupboard or room guests are not allowed to enter.
Some of the coffins in the vault, unable to bear the weight of those above, have collapsed, leaving skeletal limbs protruding into the dim light.
Crypt’s Best-Known Residents
The vaults are home to legendary figures, including the Sheares brothers, republican revolutionaries who faced the gruesome fate of being hung, drawn, and quartered after their involvement in the Irish Rebellion of 1798.
They were arrested on the eve of The Irish Rebellion of 1798, and executed at Newgate Prison. Now their mummified bodies have an eternal rest underneath St. Michan’s Church. At least so far.
The Irish Rebels: The Sheares Brothers, Henry (1753–98), and John (1766–1798) were Irish lawyers and republicans. After witnessing revolutionary events in Paris, in 1793 they joined the Society of United Irishmen. They were arrested on the eve of the risings of 1798 and executed at Newgate Prison and buried and mummified in the vaults of St. Michan’s Church.
The Earls of Leitrim, their highly decorated coffins adorned with gold studs and ornate plaques, rest here alongside Wolfe Tone’s haunting death mask. But it is not necessarily the big names that have made St. Michan’s Church Vaults known, but rather the really old ones that no one really have a name for:
The ‘Big Four’ in St. Michan’s Church
The most conspicuous occupants of the vaults are four mummified corpses displayed without coffin lids, each covered in a layer of dusty skin. These eerie figures, known as the Unknown, the Thief, the Nun, and the Crusader, appear shockingly lifelike despite being nearly a millennium old.
The Nun as well as The Unknown, are both women that we don’t really know much about. Who they were or how they died, it is all a mystery.
The Big Four: Some of the oldest mummies found in the burial vault is dubbed the big four as they have no names attached to themselves anymore. The Unknown, the Thief, the Nun, and the Crusader is now all exposed without their lids for anyone that chooses to visit the vaults.//Source: James Walsh/Flickr
The Crusader, a giant by the standards of his time, rests with his legs broken and crossed beneath him to fit within his casket. One of his hands stretches out, fingers slightly raised, a superstition claiming that those who touch his finger will be blessed with good fortune.
In 2019 the 800 year old Crusader’s head was actually decapitated and stolen, after a man in his 20s broke in and vandalized the vaults of St. Michan’s Church.
“The Thief,” another mummy among the ‘Big Four,’ suffered a grisly fate, with his feet severed and his right forearm missing, supposedly as punishment for his crimes. While modern research has cast doubt on the authenticity of these stories, they continue to add an air of mystery to these chilling figures.
Echoes in the Darkness
But what about the rumors about the vaults being haunted? Who of these mummies are said to haunt their eternal resting place?
The Bram Stoker Connection: These burial vaults are just some of the places in Ireland htat Bram Stoker visited and found interesting. Could they have helped giving an inspiration to his writings?
Are these vaults truly inhabited by the restless spirits of the departed? Some certainly think so and since Victorian times, those daring enough to descend the vault steps have encountered the enigmatic St. Michan’s mummies.
Even Bram Stoker, the author of “Dracula,” is believed to have explored these crypts, as his family’s burial plot resides here. Some even claim that the macabre and haunted places in Ireland and its history helped him carve out the story of Dracula, perhaps more than even himself realized?
Over time, the legends and mystery keeps growing about what happened down in the crypts, in sort of the same macabre interest people have for the Catacombs in Paris for comparisons. What should be an eternal resting place for our ancestors, turns into something scary and dangerous for the living.
Could the vaults underneath the ancient church of St. Michan’s Church in Dublin be haunted by the restless ghosts of the mummies? Could there be something vampiric going on behind the closed doors? The many legends and rumours only continue to grow as time passes and the mummies stay the same.
For those who seek eerie inspiration and eccentric sightseeing, St. Michan’s Church Vaults beckon, promising a spine-tingling adventure into the unknown. If you dare to court the supernatural, venture forth into this cryptic world—a place where history and the supernatural converge in a macabre dance that continues to captivate the curious and the brave.
In the mysterious Valley of the Kings, among the tombs of Pharaohs and their Queens, it is said that some are still lingering. Visitors claim to have seen a spectral figure on horse as well as the infamous curse of the tomb of Tutankhamun still haunts the empty graves.
The Valley of the Kings in Egypt along the Nile’s western bank, is renowned for its regal tombs and the treasures they hold. However, beneath the golden sands and storied hieroglyphs lie tales of mystery and spectral encounters, making this archaeological wonder a contender for one of the most haunted places in Egypt.
The Valley of the Kings
Known in Egyptian Arabic as وادى الملوك (Wādī el-Mulūk) and in Coptic as ϫⲏⲙⲉ (Džēme), also referred to as the Valley of the Gates of the Kings (وادى ابواب الملوك Wādī Ebwāb el-Mulūk), is a historic site in Egypt ranging from the Eighteenth Dynasty to the Twentieth Dynasty of over 500 years.
The Valley of the Kings resides within the heart of the Theban Necropolis. The site comprises two main sections: the East Valley, housing the majority of royal tombs, and the West Valley, also known as the Valley of the Monkeys and the valley is known to contain 63 tombs and chambers.
Serving as the primary burial ground for major royal figures of the New Kingdom and privileged nobles, the royal tombs feature intricate decorations depicting scenes from Egyptian mythology. These artistic representations provide insights into the funerary practices and afterlife beliefs of the time.
The Temple of Ramses II: Built during the 19th Dynasty by Pharaoh Ramses II in the 13th century BCE, the temple served as a memorial to the pharaoh’s reign and a place for the worship of the deities, particularly the god Ra-Harakhty. The Ramesseum is renowned for its colossal seated statue of Ramses II. The temple complex includes a large courtyard, a hypostyle hall, and various chambers adorned with intricate reliefs depicting scenes from Ramses II’s military victories and religious ceremonies.
Despite signs of ancient looting, the Valley of the Kings offers a glimpse into the opulence and authority of Egypt’s pharaohs. Since the late 18th century, Egyptologists and archaeologists have focused their attention on this area, and ongoing exploration and conservation efforts keep the site a focal point of research.
The valley became a royal burial ground for pharaohs such as Tutankhamun, Seti I, and Ramses II, as well as queens, high priests, and other elites of the 18th, 19th, and 20th dynasties.
The discovery of Tutankhamun’s tomb in 1922 catapulted the Valley of the Kings into global fame, and in 1979, it earned recognition as a UNESCO World Heritage Site alongside the broader Theban Necropolis. Today, ongoing efforts and a new tourist center ensure that the Valley of the Kings continues to captivate visitors and scholars alike.
The Royal Burial Ground
While the Valley of the Kings is celebrated for its historical significance, it is not exempt from tales of supernatural occurrences. The allure of ancient Egyptian treasures, combined with the mystique of royal burials, has fueled stories of ghostly encounters within the hidden chambers.
There seems to be especially two ghost stories about the Valley of the Kings that seem to echo through the valley. that is the haunted story about the tomb of Tutankhamun and the pharaoh riding the fiery chariot.
The Ghost of the Pharaoh and his Fiery Chariot
At any given day there are thousands of visitors in The Valley of Kings. Visitors and archaeologists exploring the Valley have reported eerie encounters and unexplained phenomena.
The valley’s night watchmen say they have heard odd screams echoing through the desert valley as well as angry shouting. There are also mysterious footsteps and wheels clattering heard in the dead of night. These mysterious sounds are thought to come from the ghosts of the deceased kings and queens.
Some claim to have seen shadowy figures flitting through the tomb corridors, while others speak of disembodied whispers echoing within the ancient chambers in the Valley of the Kings. The presence of an otherworldly energy is said to intensify during the silent hours of the night, when the Valley rests in an eerie stillness.
Most popular though is the tale of the pharaoh in a chariot riding around in the Valley of the Kings. According to legend he rides with fiery horses and has been spotted by many night guards. Some claim it is a fiery chariot pulled by black horses.
The ghost is often also described as being short in a full Egyptian Pharaoh outfit controlling the reigns of the horses. Who this pharaoh is supposed to be, is unclear though. Could it be the story of the infamous Tutankhamun whose tomb was found in the Valley of the Kings?
The Curse of the Pharaohs
Before getting into the story about tutankhamun, we need too look a he history of the phenomenon he curse of the pharaohs.
The Curse of the Pharaohs, commonly known as the Mummy’s Curse, is a legendary curse believed to afflict those who disturb the mummies of ancient Egyptians, particularly pharaohs. This curse is said to bring bad luck, illness, or even death, indiscriminately affecting both thieves and archaeologists. While some argue that scientific explanations such as bacteria or radiation may underlie the curse, its origins trace back to cultural narratives rather than scientific evidence.
Despite stories of curses dating back to the 19th century, stories about them increased after Howard Carter’s discovery of Tutankhamun’s tomb. However, no curse was found inscribed in the pharaoh’s burial chamber, although strange rumors started about what happened to the crew present after.
The Pharaohs’ Restless Spirits
On November 4th that year a group led by the British Egyptologist Howard Carter descended the tomb of Tutankhamun in the Valley. Tut was a pharaoh believed to begin his rule as a 9 year old in 1333 BCE until his untimely death in 1323 BCE. After he was mummified and buried he stayed that way in peace for 3000 years. Until 1922 that is.
The Death Mask: Tutankhamuns mask is one of the most iconic artifacts from ancient Egypt made of gold and weighs 11 kg. It covers the head and shoulders of the Tutankhamun and is detailed with inlaid semi-precious stones and colored glass. The mask served both a protective and ritualistic purpose, believed to assist the pharaoh in the afterlife. Today, Tutankhamun’s death mask is housed in the Egyptian Museum in Cairo
Carter and his team spent the end of November excavating their way down to his tomb and burial chamber. When Carter reached the door to this room, he made a tiny hole and saw the room filled with treasures and the final resting place for the Egyptian pharaoh. And it is believed that when they opened that door, they also opened up the curse that lingered inside of the tomb.
The widely publicized belief in the curse surged after the deaths of Lord Carnarvon and others associated with the discovery of Tutankhamun’s tomb. The 5th Earl of Carnarvon was a keen amateur Egyptologist who was financing the project and joined Carter as they opened the door. He died aged 56 of blood poisoning, and so did the rumors of the curse that killed off the crew in a decade begin.
He was not the only one people thought were cursed though. Prince Ali Kamel Fahmy Bey of Egypt, shot dead by his wife in 1923. People have speculated that he actually was cursed by the mummy. So was allegedly Sir Archibald Douglas Reid, who supposedly X-rayed the mummy and died mysteriously in 1924.
Sir Lee Stack was the governor-general of the Sudan and he was assassinated in Cairo in 1924. Arthur Mace of Carter’s excavation team, said to have died of arsenic poisoning in 1928. Carter’s secretary called Richard Bethell died his bed in 1929 by smothering and his father committed suicide in 1930.
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and spiritualist interpretations further fueled the superstition and he told a reporter: “An evil elemental may have caused Lord Carnarvon’s fatal illness.”
But Howard Carter remained skeptical and called the curse ‘Tommy Rot’.. Carter himself lived until 1939, long after the curse was supposed to take him. Scientifically, the deaths attributed to the curse have been questioned, with some proposing links to toxic fungi.
Despite the sensationalized deaths linked to Tutankhamun’s curse, a study showed that six of the 26 present during the tomb’s opening lived long and healthy lives. Ancient curses, occasionally found in tombs, are rare and often directed towards protecting the tomb’s ritual purity rather than warning against intrusion. Skeptics argue against the curse’s validity, highlighting that many individuals associated with the excavation had no ill fate.
Modern Exploration and Preservation
Despite the enduring tales of haunting, the Valley of the Kings continues to be a hub of archaeological exploration more so than speculations about curses and ghosts. Researchers and Egyptologists work tirelessly to unravel the mysteries hidden within the tomb-laden cliffs, while also preserving the site’s historical and spiritual integrity.
The Valley of the Kings is a part of Egypt’s rich history and the quest for immortality pursued by its pharaohs. Yet, beneath the golden veneer of antiquity lies a tapestry woven with spectral threads. Whether fueled by ancient curses, mysterious deaths, or the ethereal energy that echoes through the tombs, the haunted mysteries of the Valley of the Kings persist, inviting those who dare to explore its depths to uncover the secrets that lie beyond the veil of time.
In a mad King’s last day, he seeks solitude in his Castle of Villaviciosa de Odón to mourn for his beloved wife in peace. It is said that ever since his death, the ghost of King Ferdinand VI of Spain has been haunting the halls of the castle.
The Castle of Villaviciosa de Odón is a place where history and haunting legends intertwine. Nestled in the heart of Spain, this ancient fortress has stood the test of time, witnessing centuries of turbulent events and whispered ghostly secrets. As you explore its ancient corridors and wander through its dimly lit rooms, prepare to be captivated by spine-chilling tales that will send shivers down your spine.
Historical Background and Legends Surrounding the Castle
Spain is known for its beautiful and majestic castles that look like they have been taken out from a fairytale, but some of them are said to be haunted by ghosts.
Read more: Check out all of our ghost stories from Spain
The Castle of Villaviciosa de Odón has a rich history that dates back to the 15th century. Originally built as a fortified residence for the Counts of Chinchón, it later served as a royal hunting lodge for King Ferdinand VI of Spain where he ended his days.
The King Went Mad in this Castle
Queen Barbara de Braganza died in 1758 after being ill for a long time. The grief-stricken King Ferdinand VI retreated to the castle to live out his final years in seclusion. It is said that the death of his wife and Queen broke his heart and legend has it that his time in the castle was plagued by madness and despair.
The Castle of Villaviciosa de Odón: It is believed that the Castle of Villaviciosa de Odón is haunted by the ghost of King Ferdinand VI that went mad after the death of his wife and died within the castle walls.
He refused to wash himself, believing that cleanliness would hasten his own demise. Night after night, he wandered the corridors of The Castle of Villaviciosa de Odón in a state of perpetual fear, unable to find solace in sleep. The castle became a prison for the tormented king, and he died the following year.
The Haunting of The Castle of Villaviciosa de Odón
After King Ferdinand VI’s death, the employee claims to have experienced many strange things they think can have a paranormal source. The Castle of Villaviciosa de Odón is renowned for its ghostly tales and urban legends. One of the most famous stories revolves around the ghost of the King himself and his ghost is said to still haunt its halls, forever trapped in his tortured state screaming and wailing for his wife.
Visitors and staff at the Castle of Villaviciosa de Odón have reported numerous paranormal activities and ghostly encounters. One of the most common phenomena is the sound of disembodied footsteps echoing through the empty halls.
King Ferdinand VI of Spain: The ghost thought to be haunting the Castle of Villaviciosa de Odón is King Ferdinand VI who died in 1759 in the castle.
Another eerie occurrence is the sighting of ghostly apparitions. Countless visitors have reported seeing shadowy figures moving through the castle, their ethereal forms flickering in and out of sight. Some claim to have felt a cold presence or a sudden drop in temperature when in the presence of these spirits, sending a chill down their spine.
The Ghostly Rumours of the Castle of Villaviciosa de Odón
The Castle of Villaviciosa de Odón is a place where history and the supernatural collide. Its ancient walls hold the echoes of bygone eras and the ghosts of those who once walked its corridors. If you dare to venture into the Castle of Villaviciosa de Odón, be prepared for an unforgettable experience.
So, if you’re looking for a unique and spine-tingling adventure, look no further than the Castle of Villaviciosa de Odón. Embark on a journey through time and immerse yourself in the haunted history that lies within its walls. Just remember, once you enter, there may be no turning back.
Smee is a short story by A.M. Burrage, telling the haunting ghost story of a group of people playing hide and seek in a house were a girl died playing the very same game.
Smee by A.M Burrage
‘No,’ said Jackson, with a deprecatory smile, ‘I’m sorry. I don’t want to upset your game. I shan’t be doing that because you’ll have plenty without me. But I’m not playing any games of hide-and-seek.’
It was Christmas Eve, and we were a party of fourteen with just the proper leavening of youth. We had dined well; it was the season for childish games, and we were all in the mood for playing them— all, that is, except Jackson. When somebody suggested hide-and-seek there was rapturous and almost unanimous approval. His was the one dissentient voice.
It was not like Jackson to spoil sport or refuse to do as others wanted. Somebody asked him if he were feeling seedy.
‘No,’ he answered, ‘I feel perfectly fit, thanks. But,’ he added with a smile which softened without retracting the flat refusal, ‘I’m not playing hide-and-seek.’
One of us asked him why not. He hesitated for some seconds before replying.
‘I sometimes go and stay at a house where a girl was killed through playing hide-and-seek in the dark. She didn’t know the house very well. There was a servants’ staircase with a door to it. When she was pursued she opened the door and jumped into what she must have thought was one of the bedrooms—and she broke her neck at the bottom of the stairs.’
We all looked concerned, and Mrs Fernley said:
‘How awful! And you were there when it happened?’
Jackson shook his head very gravely. ‘No,’ he said, ‘but I was there when something else happened. Something worse.’
‘I shouldn’t have thought anything could be worse.’
‘This was,’ said Jackson, and shuddered visibly. ‘Or so it seemed to me.’
I think he wanted to tell the story and was angling for encouragement. A few requests which may have seemed to him to lack urgency, he affected to ignore and went off at a tangent.
‘I wonder if any of you have played a game called “Smee”. It’s a great improvement on the ordinary game of hide-and-seek. The name derives from the ungrammatical colloquialism, “It’s me.” You might care to play if you’re going to play a game of that sort. Let me tell you the rules.
‘Every player is presented with a sheet of paper. All the sheets are blank except one, on which is written “Smee”. Nobody knows who is “Smee” except “Smee” himself—or herself, as the case may be. The lights are then turned out and “Smee” slips from the room and goes off to hide, and after an interval the other players go off in search, without knowing whom they are actually in search of. One player meeting another challenges with the word “Smee” and the other player, if not the one concerned, answers “Smee.”
‘The real “Smee” makes no answer when challenged, and the second player remains quietly by him. Presently they will be discovered by a third player, who, having challenged and received no answer, will link up with the first two. This goes on until all the players have formed a chain, and the last to join is marked down for a forfeit. It’s a good noisy, romping game, and in a big house it often takes a long time to complete the chain. You might care to try it; and I’ll pay my forfeit and smoke one of Tim’s excellent cigars here by the fire until you get tired of it.’
I remarked that it sounded a good game and asked Jackson if he had played it himself. ‘Yes,’ he answered; ‘I played it in the house I was telling you about.’
‘And she was there? The girl who broke—‘
‘No, no,’ Mrs Fernley interrupted. ‘He told us he wasn’t there when it happened.’
Jackson considered. ‘I don’t know if she was there or not. I’m afraid she was. I know that there were thirteen of us and there ought only to have been twelve. And I’ll swear that I didn’t know her name, or I think I should have gone clean off my head when I heard that whisper in the dark. No, you don’t catch me playing that game, or any other like it, any more. It spoiled my nerve quite a while, and I can’t afford to take long holidays. Besides, it saves a lot of trouble and inconvenience to own up at once to being a coward.’
Tim Vouce, the best of hosts, smiled around at us, and in that smile there was a meaning which is sometimes vulgarly expressed by the slow closing of an eye. ‘There’s a story coming,’ he announced. ‘There’s certainly a story of sorts,’ said Jackson, ‘but whether it’s coming or not—‘ He paused and shrugged his shoulders.
‘Well, you’re going to pay a forfeit instead of playing?’
‘Please. But have a heart and let me down lightly. It’s not just a sheer cussedness on my part.’
‘Payment in advance,’ said Tim, ‘insures honesty and promotes good feeling. You are therefore sentenced to tell the story here and now.’
And here follows Jackson’s story, unrevised by me and passed on without comment to a wider public: Some of you, I know, have run across the Sangstons. Christopher Sangston and his wife, I mean.
They’re distant connections of mine—at least, Violet Sangston is. About eight years ago they bought a house between the North and South Downs on the Surrey and Sussex border, and five years ago they invited me to come and spend Christmas with them. It was a fairly old house—I couldn’t say exactly of what period—and it certainly deserved the epithet ‘rambling.’ It wasn’t a articularly big house, but the original architect, whoever he may have been, had not concerned himself with economising in space, and at first you could get lost in it quite easily.
Well, I went down for that Christmas, assured by Violet’s letter that I knew most of my fellow-guests and that the two or three who might be strangers to me were all ‘lambs.’ Unfortunately, I’m one of the world’s workers, and couldn’t get away until Christmas Eve, although the other members of the party had assembled on the preceding day. Even then I had to cut it rather fine to be there for dinner on my first night. They were all dressing when I arrived and I had to go straight to my room and waste no time. I may even have kept dinner waiting a bit, for I was last down, and it was announced within a minute of my entering the drawing-room. There was just time to say ‘hullo’ to everybody I knew, to be briefly introduced to the two or three I didn’t know, and then I had to give my arm to Mrs Gorman.
I mention this as the reason why I didn’t catch the name of a tall, dark, handsome girl I hadn’t met before. Everything was rather hurried and I am always bad at catching people’s names. She looked cold and clever and rather forbidding, the sort of girl who gives the impression of knowing all about men and the more she knows of them the less she likes them. I felt that I wasn’t going to hit it off with this particular ‘lamb’ of Violet’s, but she looked interesting all the same, and I wondered who she was. I didn’t ask, because I was pretty sure of hearing somebody address her by name before very long. Unluckily, though, I was a long way off her at table, and as Mrs Gorman was at the top of her form that night I soon forgot to worry about who she might be. Mrs Gorman is one of the most amusing women I know, an outrageous but quite innocent flirt, with a very sprightly wit which isn’t always unkind. She can think half a dozen moves ahead in conversation just as an expert can in a game of chess. We were soon sparring, or, rather, I was ‘covering’ against the ropes, and I quite forgot to ask her in an undertone the name of the cold, proud beauty. The lady on the other side of me was a stranger, or had been until a few minutes since, and I didn’t think of seeking information in that quarter.
There was a round dozen of us, including the Sangstons themselves, and we were all young or trying to be. The Sangstons themselves were the oldest members of the party and their son Reggie, in his last year at Marlborough, must have been the youngest. When there was talk of playing games after dinner it was he who suggested ‘Smee.’ He told us how to play it just as I’ve described it to you.
His father chipped in as soon as we all understood what was going to be required of us. ‘If there are any games of that sort going on in the house,’ he said, ‘for goodness’ sake be careful of the back stairs on the first-floor landing. There’s a door to them and I’ve often meant to take it down. In the dark anybody who doesn’t know the house very well might think they were walking into a room. A girl actually did break her neck on those stairs about ten years ago when the Ainsties lived here.’ I asked how it happened.
‘Oh,’ said Sangston, ‘there was a party here one Christmas time and they were playing hide-and-seek as you propose doing. This girl was one of the hiders. She heard somebody coming, ran along the passage to get away, and opened the door of what she thought was a bedroom, evidently with the intention of hiding behind it while her pursuer went past. Unfortunately it was the door leading to the back stairs, and that staircase is as straight and almost as steep as the shaft of a pit. She was dead when they picked her up.’
We all promised for our own sakes to be careful. Mrs Gorman said that she was sure nothing could happen to her, since she was insured by three different firms, and her next-of-kin was a brother whose consistent ill-luck was a byword in the family. You see, none of us had known the unfortunate girl, and as the tragedy was ten years old there was no need to pull long faces about it. Well, we started the game almost immediately after dinner. The men allowed themselves only five minutes before joining the ladies, and then young Reggie Sangston went round and assured himself that the lights were out all over the house except in the servants’ quarters and in the drawing-room where we were assembled. We then got busy with twelve sheets of paper which he twisted into pellets and shook up between his hands before passing them round. Eleven of them were blank, and ‘Smee’ was written on the twelfth. The person drawing the latter was the one who had to hide. I looked and saw that mine was a blank. A moment later out went the electric lights, and in the darkness I heard somebody get up and creep to the door.
After a minute or so somebody gave a signal and we made a rush for the door. I for one hadn’t the least idea which of the party was ‘Smee.’ For five or ten minutes we were all rushing up and down passages and in and out rooms challenging one another and answering, ‘Smee?—Smee!’ After a bit the alarums and excursions died down, and I guessed that ‘Smee’ was found. Eventually I found a chain of people all sitting still and holding their breath on some narrow stairs leading up to a row of attics. I hastily joined it, having challenged and been answered with silence, and presently two more stragglers arrived, each racing the other to avoid being last. Sangston was one of them, indeed it was he who was marked down for a forfeit, and after a little while he remarked in an undertone, ‘I think we’re all here now, aren’t we?’
He struck a match, looked up the shaft of the staircase, and began to count. It wasn’t hard, although we just about filled the staircase, for we were sitting each a step or two above the next, and all our heads were visible. ‘…nine, ten, eleven, twelve—thirteen‘ he concluded, and then laughed. ‘Dash it all, that’s one too many!’
The match had burned out and he struck another and began to count. He got as far as twelve, and then uttered an exclamation.
‘There are thirteen people here!’ he exclaimed. ‘I haven’t counted myself yet.’
‘Oh, nonsense!’ I laughed. ‘You probably began with yourself, and now you want to count yourself twice.’
Out came his son’s electric torch, giving a brighter and steadier light and we all began to count. Of course we numbered twelve. Sangston laughed.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘I could have sworn I counted thirteen twice.’
From halfway up the stairs came Violet Sangston’s voice with a little nervous trill in it. ‘I thought there was somebody sitting two steps above me. Have you moved up, Captain Ransome?’
Ransome said that he hadn’t: he also said that he thought there was somebody sitting between Violet and himself. Just for a moment there was an uncomfortable Something in the air, a little cold ripple which touched us all. For that little moment it seemed to all of us, I think, that something odd and unpleasant had happened and was liable to happen again. Then we laughed at ourselves and at one another and were comfortable once more. There were only twelve of us, and there could only have been twelve of us, and there was no argument about it. Still laughing we trooped back to the drawingroom to begin again.
This time I was ‘Smee,’ and Violet Sangston ran me to earth while I was still looking for a hidingplace. That round didn’t last long, and we were a chain of twelve within two or three minutes.
Afterwards there was a short interval. Violet wanted a wrap fetched for her, and her husband went up to get it from her room. He was no sooner gone than Reggie pulled me by the sleeve. I saw that he was looking pale and sick.
‘Quick!’ he whispered, ‘while father’s out of the way. Take me into the smoke room and give me a brandy or a whisky or something.’
Outside the room I asked him what was the matter, but he didn’t answer at first, and I thought it better to dose him first and question him afterward. So I mixed him a pretty dark-complexioned brandy and soda which he drank at a gulp and then began to puff as if he had been running.
‘I’ve had rather a turn,’ he said to me with a sheepish grin.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘I don’t know. You were “Smee” just now, weren’t you? Well, of course I didn’t know who “Smee” was, and while mother and the others ran into the west wing and found you, I turned east. There’s a deep clothes cupboard in my bedroom — I’d marked it down as a good place to hide when it was my turn, and I had an idea that “Smee” might be there. I opened the door in the dark, felt round, and touched somebody’s hand. “Smee?” I whispered, and not getting any answer I thought I had found “Smee.”’
‘Well, I don’t know how it was, but an odd creepy feeling came over me, I can’t describe it, but I felt that something was wrong. So I turned on my electric torch and there was nobody there. Now, I swear I touched a hand, and I was filling up the doorway of the cupboard at the time, so nobody could get out and past me.’ He puffed again. ‘What do you make of it?’ he asked.
‘You imagined that you had touched a hand,’ I answered, naturally enough.
He uttered a short laugh. ‘Of course I knew you were going to say that,’ he said. ‘I must have imagined it, mustn’t I?’ He paused and swallowed. ‘I mean, it couldn’t have been anything else but imagination, could it?’
I assured him that it couldn’t, meaning what I said, and he accepted this, but rather with the philosophy of one who knows he is right but doesn’t expect to be believed. We returned together to the drawing-room where, by that time, they were all waiting for us and ready to start again.
It may have been my imagination—although I’m almost sure it wasn’t—but it seemed to me that all enthusiasm for the game had suddenly melted like a white frost in strong sunlight. If anybody had suggested another game I’m sure we should all have been grateful and abandoned ‘Smee.’ Only nobody did. Nobody seemed to like to. I for one, and I can speak for some of the others too, was oppressed with the feeling that there was something wrong. I couldn’t have said what I thought was wrong, indeed I didn’t think about it at all, but somehow all the sparkle had gone out of the fun, and hovering over my mind like a shadow was the warning of some sixth sense which told me that there was an influence in the house which was neither sane, sound nor healthy. Why did I feel like that?
Because Sangston had counted thirteen of us instead of twelve, and his son had thought he had touched somebody in an empty cupboard. No, there was more in it than just that. One would have laughed at such things in the ordinary way, and it was just that feeling of something being wrong which stopped me from laughing.
Well, we started again, and when we went in pursuit of the unknown ‘Smee,’ we were as noisy as ever, but it seemed to me that most of us were acting. Frankly, for no reason other than the one I’ve given you, we’d stopped enjoying the game. I had an instinct to hunt with the main pack, but after a few minutes, during which no ‘Smee’ had been found, my instinct to play winning games and be first if possible, set me searching on my own account. And on the first floor of the west wing following the wall which was actually the shell of the house, I blundered against a pair of human knees.
I put out my hand and touched a soft, heavy curtain. Then I knew where I was. There were tall, deeply-recessed windows with seats along the landing, and curtains over the recesses to the ground.
Somebody was sitting in a corner of this window-seat behind the curtain. Aha, I had caught ‘Smee’!
So I drew the curtain aside, stepped in, and touched the bare arm of a woman.
It was a dark night outside, and, moreover, the window was not only curtained but a blind hung down to where the bottom panes joined up with the frame. Between the curtain and the window it was as dark as the plague of Egypt. I could not have seen my hand held six inches before my face, much less the woman sitting in the corner.
‘Smee?’ I whispered.
I had no answer. ‘Smee’ when challenged does not answer. So I sat beside her, first in the field, to await the others. Then, having settled myself I leaned over to her and whispered: ‘Who is it? What’s your name, “Smee”?’
And out of the darkness beside me the whisper came back: ‘Brenda Ford.’
I didn’t know the name, but because I didn’t know it I guessed at once who she was. The tall, pale, dark girl was the only person in the house I didn’t know by name. Ergo my companion was the tall, pale, dark girl. It seemed rather intriguing to be there with her, shut in between a heavy curtain and a window, and I rather wondered whether she was enjoying the game we were all playing. Somehow she hadn’t seemed to me to be one of the romping sort. I muttered one or two commonplace questions to her and had no answer.
‘Smee’ is a game of silence. ‘Smee’ and the person or persons who have found ‘Smee’ are supposed to keep quiet to make it hard for the others. But there was nobody else about, and it occurred to me that she was playing the game a little too much to the letter. I spoke again and got no answer, and then I began to be annoyed. She was of that cold, ‘superior’ type which affects to despise men; she didn’t like me; and she was sheltering behind the rules of a game for children to be dis-courteous.
Well, if she didn’t like sitting there with me, I certainly didn’t want to be sitting there with her! I half turned from her and began to hope that we should both be discovered without much more delay.
Having discovered that I didn’t like being there alone with her, it was queer how soon I found myself hating it, and that for a reason very different from the one which had at first whetted my annoyance.
The girl I had met for the first time before dinner, and seen diagonally across the table, had a sort of cold charm about her which had attracted while it had half angered me. For the girl who was with me, imprisoned in the opaque darkness between the curtain and the window, I felt no attraction at all. It was so very much the reverse that I should have wondered at myself if, after the first shock of the discovery that she had suddenly become repellent to me, I had had room in my mind for anything besides the consciousness that her close presence was an increasing horror to me.
It came upon me just as quickly as I’ve uttered the words. My flesh suddenly shrank from her as you see a strip of gelatine shrink and wither before the heat of a fire. That feeling of something being wrong had come back to me, but multiplied to an extent which turned foreboding into actual terror. I firmly believe that I should have got up and run if I had not felt that at my first movement she would have divined my intention and compelled me to stay, by some means of which I could not bear to think. The memory of having touched her bare arm made me wince and draw in my lips. I prayed that somebody else would come along soon.
My prayer was answered. Light footfalls sounded on the landing. Somebody on the other side of the curtain brushed against my knees. The curtain was drawn aside and a woman’s hand, fumbling in the darkness, presently rested on my shoulder. ‘Smee?’ whispered a voice which I instantly recognised as Mrs Gorman’s.
Of course she received no answer. She came and settled down beside me with a rustle, and I can’t describe the sense of relief she brought me.
‘It’s Tony, isn’t it?’ she whispered.
‘Yes,’ I whispered back.
‘You’re not “Smee” are you?’
‘No, she’s on my other side.’
She reached a hand across me, and I heard one of her nails scratch the surface of a woman’s silk gown.
‘Hullo, “Smee”! How are you? Who are you? Oh, is it against the rules to talk? Never mind, Tony, we’ll break the rules. Do you know, Tony, this game is beginning to irk me a little. I hope they’re not going to run it to death by playing it all the evening. I’d like to play some game where we can all be together in the same room with a nice bright fire.’
‘Same here,’ I agreed fervently.
‘Can’t you suggest something when we go down? There’s something rather uncanny in this particular amusement. I can’t quite shed the delusion that there’s somebody in this game who oughtn’t to be in at all.’
That was just how I had been feeling, but I didn’t say so. But for my part the worst of my qualms were now gone; the arrival of Mrs Gorman had dissipated them. We sat on talking, wondering from time to time when the rest of the party would arrive. I don’t know how long elapsed before we heard a clatter of feet on the landing and young Reggie’s voice shouting, ‘Hullo! Hullo, there! anybody there?’
‘Yes,’ I answered.
‘Mrs Gorman with you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, you’re a nice pair! You’ve both forfeited. We’ve all been waiting you for hours.’
‘Why, you haven’t found “Smee” yet,’ I objected.
‘You haven’t, you mean. I happen to have been “Smee” myself.’
‘But “Smee’s” here with us,’ I cried.
‘Yes,’ agreed Mrs Gorman.
The curtain was stripped aside and in a moment we were blinking into the eye of Reggie’s electric torch. I looked at Mrs Gorman and then on my other side. Between me and the wall there was an empty space on the window seat. I stood up at once and wished I hadn’t, for I found myself sick and dizzy.
‘There was somebody there,’ I maintained, ‘because I touched her.’
‘So did I,’ said Mrs Gorman in a voice which had lost its steadiness. ‘And I don’t see how she could have got up and gone without our knowing it.’
Reggie uttered a queer, shaken laugh. He, too, had had an unpleasant experience that evening.
‘Somebody’s been playing the goat,’ he remarked. ‘Coming down?’
We were not very popular when we arrived in the drawing-room. Reggie rather tactlessly gave it out that he had found us sitting on a window-seat behind the curtain. I taxed the tall, dark girl with having pretended to be ‘Smee’ and afterwards slipping away. She denied it. After which we settled down and played other games. ‘Smee’ was done with for the evening, and I for one was glad of it.
Some long while later, during an interval, Sangston told me, if I wanted a drink, to go into the smoke room and help myself. I went, and he presently followed me. I could see that he was rather peeved with me, and the reason came out during the following minute or two. It seemed that, in his opinion, if I must sit out and flirt with Mrs Gorman—in circumstances which would have been considered highly compromising in his young days—I needn’t do it during a round game and keep everybody waiting for us.
‘But there was somebody else there,’ I protested, ‘somebody pretending to be “Smee.” I believe it was that tall, dark girl. Miss Ford, although she denied it. She even whispered her name to me.’
Sangston stared at me and nearly dropped his glass.
‘Miss Who? he shouted.
‘Brenda Ford—she told me her name was.’
Sangston put down his glass and laid a hand on my shoulder.
‘Look here, old man,’ he said, ‘I don’t mind a joke, but don’t let it go too far. We don’t want all the women in the house getting hysterical. Brenda Ford is the name of the girl who broke her neck on the stairs playing hide-and-seek here ten years ago.’
Mirroring the famous Dance Macabre mural that used to hang on the walls near the Predigerkirche in Basel, it is said that plague victims were buried in the patch of grass outside of the church. Legend has it that when the city needs it, the dead will rise from it in a macabre procession, as a warning of an oncoming disaster.
Where history whispers and shadows reign, the Rathaus in Bern is said to be haunted by a myriad of ghosts. Who are the ghosts lingering in the City Hall after dark?
The two adjoining cloisters by Basel Cathedral are said to be haunted by a couple of spectres entombed within the building. In the darkness of Basel’s Double Cloister, it is said you can hear the moaning of a man slowly suffocating and feel the unsuspected slap from a man, as mean in death as he was in life.
A lock keeper from the adjacent lock next The Portobello Bar in Dublin is said to be haunting it. Ever since his mistake cost the lives of someone crossing, he is said to be lingering in the area.
In an old sanatorium in Switzerland the ghost of Hermann is said to have been haunting for ages. But who was he when he was alive, and what was his true name before he died in the remote fortress up in the mountains? And is he still haunting the old halls where he never made his recovery?
After his master died at sea, the faithful dog was by his master’s grave, day in and day out. After dying of hunger and grief it is said that the Newfoundland dog is still seen, slipping between the graves at Glasnevin Cemetery in Dublin.
Once, the city of Bern was filled with nuns working and living inside of the city walls. According to ghost stories though, some of them remained, even after the Reformation that closed their convents down. And those stories tell about them being guilty of terrible things with terrible ends.
Seeking new land and a new life, the Salladay family went to Ohio, but brought a silent killer with them: Consumption. Falling into odd superstitions, they believed the only way to stop the disease was to stop the undead from rising from their graves.
Is Cell Number 11 in the former prison for the criminally insane haunted? The attic of the Norwegian Justice Museum in Trondheim, Norway has had many who come out, claiming so.
Now a place you can rent and stay at, the Beck House in Canada is said to be one of the more haunted places. Those who have stayed the night come back with stories of strange encounters, believed to be the ghost of the Beck family members.
Where the Nydegg Church is today, there once used to be a castle. Tales about ghosts lingering around the old Nydegg Castle and the stairs leading up to it still roams. And one of the more infamous and feared ghosts of Bern is the Burgträppe-Balzli.
Craigdarroch Castle is an iconic landmark in Victoria, Canada steeped in intriguing history and shrouded by eerie tales of hauntings. It is said to be haunted by the Dunsmuir family who built the castle, and people still claim to see the ghosts of them today.
Craigdarroch Castle that sits atop of a hill and looks over the city of Victoria in British Columbia, Canada. Some locals will even claim that this city is the most haunted one in all of British Columbia, and Craigdarroch Castle might be the most haunted place in the city.
The National Historic Site has been the subject of numerous legends and stories that makes it one of the most visited haunted places in the country. From grisly tales of hauntings to its intriguing history, discover why this castle is a must-see for all paranormal enthusiasts.
Uncover the history of Craigdarroch Castle
Constructed in 1890 with 39 rooms, Craigdarroch Castle has remained a prominent landmark in Victoria, Canada throughout its long history. Built by Scottish immigrant Robert Dunsmuir on a hill overlooking the city. And what does a Scotsman do when he acquires himself a fortune? He builds himself a castle for him and his family. The castle was home to Robert and his family until 1908, although Robert himself died before he got to see his work.
After his death his sons and their mother fought about ownership until her death in 1908 and even if the children were born of a wealthy man, there were not a lot of them who grew up to enjoy the family wealth. Architects died, one of the sons died on his honeymoon, one of the daughters died right after her father. This family looked like it was trailed by misfortune, and the only way they got to enjoy the comfort of their home was in death.
The Ghostly tales behind Craigdarroch Castle
Among the Craigdarroch Castle most interesting features are the stories of strange hauntings that have occurred there over the years. Local legends say that ghostly figures have been seen standing in the windows or deep within its many rooms, while mysterious voices and intangible presences are reported to have been sensed by some visitors.
Additionally, staff members of Craigdarroch Castle report hearing children crying throughout various parts of the building adding to its haunting allure!
The Child in the Basement
This is said to be the children of Dunsmuirs that never got the chance to grow up, especially their daughter who died right after Roebet did. But she as well as her other potentially ghost friends are still playing in the castle.
It is especially the cellar that is talked about being haunted by this child. She has been seen standing in the middle of the dark cellar, glaring at the floor, but as soon as anyone comes near, she disappears.
What is she doing in the basement one might ask, as she probably had her own room that would be much more comfortable to haunt. And the only one with the answer is the glaring child ghost in the cellar.
Ghosts Haunting the Castle
Tales of unexplainable hauntings have been circulating throughout Craigdarroch Castle since it was built in the late 1800’s. For instance there have been talks about hearing a piano playing in the dead of the night even if there is no piano in the house.
On the Grand Staircase it is said that Joan Dunsmuir, the wife of Robert, comes strolling down the stairs in her ballgown. What is particularly strange about her story is that she is never ever seen in other parts of the house she lived in for 18 years, nor is she ever seen walking up those stairs.
The story about the girl and her meeting with a ghost in the graveyard and the white cap she took from it has been retold for centuries in Iceland.
The story about the White Cap is an Icelandic ghost story from the old times, although how old is uncertain, as it is now turned into a folktale that has gone through many retellings. It tells the story about a nameless boy and girl that took something from a ghost and had to pay dearly for it.
The Ghost story was retold from its oral story in Icelandic Legends by Jón Arnason who traveled the country and collected the folktales and ghost stories in the 1800s inspired by the work the Grimm brothers did in Germany in the same area.
The Ghost and its White Cap
The little boy and girl lived close to a church in a small village in Iceland. The boy was a mischievous boy and had a habit of trying to scare the girl when he had the opportunity. But the more he tried to get a scare out of the girl, the more used she got to it, and in the end, nothing faced her anymore. And everything she saw she thought was strange, she was sure it had to be one of the boy’s tricks.
One day while they were washing clothes, the girl was sent to the churchyard by her mother. The linen they had just washed was hung up there to dry. The girl went unafraid into the graveyard and started to fill her basket with the fresh linen when she looked up and saw someone sitting on a tomb close to her. The figure was dressed in all white and she thought instinctively it had to be the boy that was up to one of his tricks, so she wasn’t afraid and figured she would call his bluff.
The girl ran up to the figure on the tomb and pulled off its cap as she said out loud that he would not be able to frighten her this time.
She then went home with the linen, but when she came back, the boy was the first one that greeted her when she reached her cottage. No way he could have reached home before she did and she started to fear the truth.
This was not the only strange thing though, as when they sorted through the linen, they found the cap that she had pulled off from the figure on the tomb. The White Cap, although white was full of mold and earth. They all then understood that it had been a ghost she had encountered, and now, the whole village was paralyzed with fear.
The Icelandic Ghost on the Tomb
The next day, the ghost was again sitting on the same tombstone like it had done the previous day, although now it was missing its White Cap. Nobody dared to approach it and had no idea as to how to rid themselves from it. Ghosts in icelandic ghost stories were often shown to act as flesh and bone that could interact with living humans, and sometimes, they were very dangerous. So they sent for help from a village close to them.
In that village there was an old man that claimed that they had to replace the white cap that the girl had taken from the girl to avoid any bad repercussions. It had to be done with everyone watching in complete silence, and it had to be the little girl that gave the cap back.
Icelandic Legends: The ghost story of the “White Cap” comes from Iceland and was retold by Jón Arnason in Icelandic Legends as he was travelling around collecting oral tales around the country.
So the whole village gathered in the churchyard, watching as the little girl approached the ghost sitting on the tombstone, not really moving, not really showing any sign of what the ghost really wanted. She placed the White Cap on its head and asked if it was satisfied now.
The ghost looked up and answered: “Yes, but are you now satisfied?” as it raised its hand and hit her and the little girl fell over and died. The ghost then sank into the grave he was sitting on and was not seen again.
An online magazine about the paranormal, haunted and macabre. We collect the ghost stories from all around the world as well as review horror and gothic media.
