“The Story of Chugoro” by Lafcadio Hearn, published in 1900, is a haunting tale rooted in Japanese folklore. The story recounts the eerie experiences of Chugoro, a man who mysteriously vanishes for several days, only to return with a strange tale of being seduced by a beautiful woman who turns out to be a frog and a vampire-like spirit. Through vivid descriptions and a delicate exploration of supernatural themes, Hearn delves into the chilling consequences of human encounters with the spirit world. “The Story of Chugoro” exemplifies Hearn’s ability to weave cultural folklore into compelling and atmospheric prose, offering readers a glimpse into the rich tapestry of Japanese myths and legends. His most famous works are retellings of Japanese and Chinese folktales, in particular those of a ghostly or macabre nature.
The Story of Chugoro by Lafcadio Hearn (1900)
Along time ago there lived, in the Koishi-kawa quarter of Yedo, a hatamoto named Suzuki, whose yashiki was situated on the bank of the Yedogawa, not far from the bridge called Naka-no-hashi. And among the retainers of this Suzuki there was an ashigaru named Chūgorō. Chūgorō was a handsome lad, very amiable and clever, and much liked by his comrades.
For several years Chūgorō remained in the service of Suzuki, conducting himself so well that no fault was found with him. But at last the other ashigaru discovered that Chūgorō was in the habit of leaving the yashiki every night, by way of the garden, and staying out until a little before dawn. At first they said nothing to him about this strange behaviour; for his absences did not interfere with any regular duty, and were supposed to be caused by some love-affair. But after a time he began to look pale and weak; and his comrades, suspecting some serious folly, decided to interfere. Therefore, one evening, just as he was about to steal away from the house, an elderly retainer called him aside, and said:—
“Chūgorō, my lad, we know that you go out every night and stay away until early morning; and we have observed that you are looking unwell. We fear that you are keeping bad company, and injuring your health. And unless you can give a good reason for your conduct, we shall think that it is our duty to report this matter to the Chief Officer. In any case, since we are your comrades and friends, it is but right that we should know why you go out at night, contrary to the custom of this house.”
Chūgorō appeared to be very much embarrassed and alarmed by these words. But after a short silence he passed into the garden, followed by his comrade. When the two found themselves well out of hearing of the rest, Chūgorō stopped, and said:—
“I will now tell you everything; but I must entreat you to keep my secret. If you repeat what I tell you, some great misfortune may befall me.
“It was in the early part of last spring—about five months ago—that I first began to go out at night, on account of a love-affair. One evening, when I was returning to the yashiki after a visit to my parents, I saw a woman standing by the riverside, not far from the main gateway. She was dressed like a person of high rank; and I thought it strange that a woman so finely dressed should be standing there alone at such an hour. But I did not think that I had any right to question her; and I was about to pass her by, without speaking, when she stepped forward and pulled me by the sleeve. Then I saw that she was very young and handsome. ‘Will you not walk with me as far as the bridge?’ she said; ‘I have something to tell you.’ Her voice was very soft and pleasant; and she smiled as she spoke; and her smile was hard to resist. So I walked with her toward the bridge; and on the way she told me that she had often seen me going in and out of the yashiki, and had taken a fancy to me. ‘I wish to have you for my husband,’ she said;—’if you can like me, we shall be able to make each other very happy.’ I did not know how to answer her; but I thought her very charming. As we neared the bridge, she pulled my sleeve again, and led me down the bank to the very edge of the river. ‘Come in with me,’ she whispered, and pulled me toward the water. It is deep there, as you know; and I became all at once afraid of her, and tried to turn back. She smiled, and caught me by the wrist, and said, ‘Oh, you must never be afraid with me!’ And, somehow, at the touch of her hand, I became more helpless than a child. I felt like a person in a dream who tries to run, and cannot move hand or foot. Into the deep water she stepped, and drew me with her; and I neither saw nor heard nor felt anything more until I found myself walking beside her through what seemed to be a great palace, full of light. I was neither wet nor cold: everything around me was dry and warm and beautiful. I could not understand where I was, nor how I had come there. The woman led me by the hand: we passed through room after room,—through ever so many rooms, all empty, but very fine,—until we entered into a guest-room of a thousand mats. Before a great alcove, at the farther end, lights were burning, and cushions laid as for a feast; but I saw no guests. She led me to the place of honour, by the alcove, and seated herself in front of me, and said: ‘This is my home: do you think that you could be happy with me here?’ As she asked the question she smiled; and I thought that her smile was more beautiful than anything else in the world; and out of my heart I answered, ‘Yes….’ In the same moment I remembered the story of Urashima; and I imagined that she might be the daughter of a god; but I feared to ask her any questions…. Presently maid-servants came in, bearing rice-wine and many dishes, which they set before us. Then she who sat before me said: ‘To-night shall be our bridal night, because you like me; and this is our wedding-feast.’ We pledged ourselves to each other for the time of seven existences; and after the banquet we were conducted to a bridal chamber, which had been prepared for us.
“It was yet early in the morning when she awoke me, and said: ‘My dear one, you are now indeed my husband. But for reasons which I cannot tell you, and which you must not ask, it is necessary that our marriage remain secret. To keep you here until daybreak would cost both of us our lives. Therefore do not, I beg of you, feel displeased because I must now send you back to the house of your lord. You can come to me to-night again, and every night hereafter, at the same hour that we first met. Wait always for me by the bridge; and you will not have to wait long. But remember, above all things, that our marriage must be a secret, and that, if you talk about it, we shall probably be separated forever.’
“I promised to obey her in all things,—remembering the fate of Urashima,—and she conducted me through many rooms, all empty and beautiful, to the entrance. There she again took me by the wrist, and everything suddenly became dark, and I knew nothing more until I found myself standing alone on the river bank, close to the Naka-no-hashi. When I got back to the yashiki, the temple bells had not yet begun to ring.
“In the evening I went again to the bridge, at the hour she had named, and I found her waiting for me. She took me with her, as before, into the deep water, and into the wonderful place where we had passed our bridal night. And every night, since then, I have met and parted from her in the same way. To-night she will certainly be waiting for me, and I would rather die than disappoint her: therefore I must go…. But let me again entreat you, my friend, never to speak to any one about what I have told you.”
*
The elder ashigaru was surprised and alarmed by this story. He felt that Chūgorō had told him the truth; and the truth suggested unpleasant possibilities. Probably the whole experience was an illusion, and an illusion produced by some evil power for a malevolent end. Nevertheless, if really bewitched, the lad was rather to be pitied than blamed; and any forcible interference would be likely to result in mischief. So the ashigaru answered kindly:—
“I shall never speak of what you have told me—never, at least, while you remain alive and well. Go and meet the woman; but—beware of her! I fear that you are being deceived by some wicked spirit.”
Chūgorō only smiled at the old man’s warning, and hastened away. Several hours later he reentered the yashiki, with a strangely dejected look. “Did you meet her?” whispered his comrade. “No,” replied Chūgorō; “she was not there. For the first time, she was not there. I think that she will never meet me again. I did wrong to tell you;—I was very foolish to break my promise….” The other vainly tried to console him. Chūgorō lay down, and spoke no word more. He was trembling from head to foot, as if he had caught a chill.
*
When the temple bells announced the hour of dawn, Chūgorō tried to get up, and fell back senseless. He was evidently sick,—deathly sick. A Chinese physician was summoned.
“Why, the man has no blood!” exclaimed the doctor, after a careful examination;—”there is nothing but water in his veins! It will be very difficult to save him…. What maleficence is this?”
*
Everything was done that could be done to save Chūgorō’s life—but in vain. He died as the sun went down. Then his comrade related the whole story.
“Ah! I might have suspected as much!” exclaimed the doctor…. “No power could have saved him. He was not the first whom she destroyed.”
“Who is she?—or what is she?” the ashigaru asked,—”a Fox-Woman?”
“No; she has been haunting this river from ancient time. She loves the blood of the young….”
“A Serpent-Woman?—A Dragon-Woman?”
“No, no! If you were to see her under that bridge by daylight, she would appear to you a very loathsome creature.”
Now a part of the museums in Drammen, Norway, Austad Estate used to be the home of the rich and powerful. Some say though its eternal resident is the ghost of The Lady in Black, who may or may not have been killed by her husband.
Thought to come back from beyond the grave, the restless spirit known as Hortdan in Turkey walks the line between being a tragic ghost and a bloodthirsty vampire.
In the Alpine foothills in Bavaria, strange boulders mark the landscape. Many legends linger over these mysterious stones, some claiming it was the Devil himself who placed it there.
Said to be cursed forever after mistreating his prisoners, the jailer in Bern’s former prison tower, Käfitier is said to be haunted by the ghost of a monstrous calf.
For decades, parents have told their children to be home before dark in Lafayette, Colorado. The reason being that local lore tells of a vampire rising from his grave in the cemetery. But who exactly was the man behind the story, buried under the tombstone?
Buried in the same place as the Danish kings and queens, a legend about one of the smaller graves haunts the Roskilde Cathedral. It is said that a horse was buried here before any people, and it haunts the graveyard as the three legged helhest, an omen of death.
As a place of dubious drug testing and the place where most lobotomies were done, the Lier Hospital and former asylum was left with a haunted rumor lingering in the decaying walls. Although most of the buildings are now torn down, it is still remembered as one of Norway’s most haunted places.
The Danish ghostly horse spirit Helhest is said to roam around St. Canute’s Cathedral in Odense, Denmark. It is believed seeing the three legged horse is an omen of imminent death.
According to old legends and Danish folklore, there are stories of three legged horses haunting the churches and graveyards in the country. in Saint Olaf’s Church, the spirit of the helhest is said to be the omen of death.
Could it be that the oldest church in Oslo also has the oldest haunting? From legends about a dragon’s den underneath the structure and the ghostly silhouette haunting, the Gamle Aker Church perhaps has more activity than what meets the naked eye.
During a time when Bulgaria was under the Ottoman Empire, there was talk about a vampire haunting the streets of Veliko Tarnovo. The rumours got so bad, that the Islamic rulers had to turn to pagan belief to rid themselves of the bloodthirsty creatures.
The ghosts of two women allegedly murdered at the New Market in Kolkata is said to be haunting the area. As does the former police commissioner and the one that built the market.
Since its inception in the late 19th century, the historic marketplace New Market in Kolkata has been full of life and activity, attracting locals and tourists alike with its eclectic array of shops, stalls, and vendors with almost 3000 different shops.
Even after several huge fires the market has bounced back and offers everything from From traditional textiles and exquisite jewelry, local cheese only found in the market to delectable street food and aromatic spices.
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The local lore of this place is that you can find everything at the New Market, perhaps even a ghost or two if we are to believe the stories.
New Market: This market is celebrated for its wide range of products, catering to virtually every need and preference. From clothing and accessories to electronics, household items, spices, and fresh produce, New Market offers a plethora of shopping options. //Source: Rajarshi MITRA/Wikimedia
The History of New Market
The New Market was first known as Sir Stuart Hogg Market and comes from the English colonists. By the 1850s, the British had a strong holding over large areas in the city then called Calcutta.
Because the colonists didn’t want to mingle with the native Indians at the local Bazaars they decided to build one for themselves. In 1874, the market opened to the English residents and held a big colonial sway well into the 1900s. And it is from this time that the ghost stories emerged.
The Ghosts of the Murdered Women
According to local lore, New Market is haunted by more than one ghost. The most prominent reports about the haunting at the market is about women that were murdered close to the market.
How many women that haunts the market is uncertain. Most people talk about two separate ghosts although sources vary. Although one can be sure that throughout the years there have most likely been murdered more than three women there.
The women are also said to be Anglo-Indian and are often connected with the string of murders in 1868 that had at least five victims.
Their restless spirits are said to wander the corridors of the marketplace, forever trapped between the realms of the living and the dead. It is said that they appear sometimes in a narrow lane next to the clock tower by the market.
People at the market claim they have heard the voices of the women, crying out for help. When they went to help them though, there was no one there.
New Market: The ghost of the two murdered women have been said to appear right by the clock tower. // Source: Sudipta Mallick/Wikimedia
The Ghost of Hogg
The murdered women is not the only one said to haunt the New Market though. The man that the market was once named after, Commissioner S.S Hogg is said to have appeared among the stalls and stores, refusing to leave the market he helped build.
He was both the Police Commissioner of Calcutta were he established the Detective Departed as well as a chairman for the Calcutta Municipal Corporation.
Through his time working as a policeman, he was involved with many murders that happened throughout the city. Perhaps also with the alleged killing of the women in New Market. Perhaps the ghosts haunting the market are connected to the string of murders from 1868, targeting white women in the streets not far from the market and close to the police station.
Especially the murder of the Anglo-Indian sex worker Rose Brown that was found on Amherst Street north of the market changed the way the police worked as the first case where they used photographic evidence. Another five women were killed that year, and it looks like they never found the killer.
In the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, a ghostly lantern is said to haunt the Norton Creek Trail. It is said that the helpful light, guiding lost hikers to safety is the ghost of a farmer who died years ago when looking for his lost daughter.
The eerie beauty of the Fontana area you will find the Norton Creek Trail that holds a chilling legend that has both fascinated and frightened locals and visitors for generations. Not only does the area hold over 200 known cemeteries along the trail, it is also said that the area is haunted. As you tread along this path, you might witness a ghostly light floating in the woods, an ethereal glow that has become the cornerstone of a haunting tale.
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Norton Creek Trail, nestled within the stunning expanse of Great Smoky Mountains National Park, offers hikers a serene yet eerie journey through lush forests and along the rippling Norton Creek. While the trail is known for its natural beauty, it is also shrouded in local folklore
The Legend of the Ghost Farmer
The story begins with a dedicated farmer, a man of the land whose life was irrevocably shattered when his beloved daughter disappeared into the dense, shadowy forests surrounding Norton Creek.
What happened when the daughter went missing, no one ever found out. Perhaps she just wandered into the woods and got lost, perhaps she had an accident on her way og encountered an animal. Perhaps it was something worse, rooted in deep folklore from the natives.
According to the stories, he was one of the European settlers and didn’t know about the stories about the notorious Spearfinger lurking in the woods according to the Cherokee tribes and most likely took his daughter.
Desperate to find her, the farmer ventured into the night, carrying only a lantern to light his way. He never returned, and most likely died, perhaps finally being reunited with his daughter in the afterlife.
Although, there are those claiming that his spirit remains in the same woods he disappeared, endlessly searching for his lost child.
The Legend of Spearfinger
But what took his daughter? Was she only lost in the woods, or something more ominous. Some stories claim that it was Spearfinger, a fearsome figure in Cherokee legend who took her. She is a monstrous being known for her stone-like skin and a long, razor-sharp finger made of obsidian, which she uses to cut out and consume the livers of her victims.
Disguising herself as an old woman, Spearfinger would prey on unsuspecting children, luring them with her seemingly benign appearance before revealing her true, terrifying form. Then she would kill them and eat their liver.
Those who have encountered the spectral light on Norton Creek Trail describe it as a beacon of hope in an otherwise foreboding landscape and the ghost of the farmer is said to lead people back on their path.
If you find yourself lost or in need of guidance, the farmer’s ghostly lantern is said to lead you back to safety, guiding you to the trailhead where you can return to the world of the living. The light flickers and moves with an uncanny intelligence, as if driven by the farmer’s undying hope and paternal love.
In the misty mornings on Saturday, some talk about seeing the ghost of one of the former horses of the The Royal Calcutta Turf Club, still racing, long after losing the title of being the Queen of Track.
The club is a horse racing organization founded back during the British Raj in 1847. It became the forefront runner for all horses racing on the subcontinent that decided the rules of the game as well as hosting polo matches. The races at Royal Calcutta Turf Club were seen as the most important events to socialize and always opened by the Viceroy of India.
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Today, the Royal Calcutta Turf Club is still in operation as a private club and holds races in Kolkata Race Course in Maidan with most races held on Saturdays.
The Ghost Haunting the Royal Calcutta Turf Club
Legend has it that within the grounds of the Turf Club, there is a ghost roaming the old tracks. The ghost is not human though, but rather a white horse that was once known as the Queen of Tracks.
The tale traces back to the heyday of George Williams in the 1930s when there were high stakes and a lot of money to be made at the races at the Royal Calcutta Turf Club.
The Royal Calcutta Turf Club: Royal Calcutta Turf Club Race Stands on Viceroy’s Cup Day in 1910.// Wikimedia
Williams was a man consumed by an insatiable passion for horse racing. Williams, a regular patron of the Turf Club and owner of several horses, was known for his prized possession: a magnificent white stallion named Pride. Or was Pride really a stallion, sources varies, calling the horse she as well at times.
Pride was no ordinary horse; he was a symbol of Williams’ glory days at the racetrack, winning him race after race with unmatched speed and grace. According to the legend, Williams loved his horse more than anything, including his own family and spent all of his time in the stables.
However, as time wore on, Pride’s once-mighty strides faltered, and he began to show signs of age and weakness. Despite his diminishing prowess, Williams remained fiercely loyal to his equine companion, refusing to retire him from the track. It is said that in the final match of the Annual Calcutta Derby, the horse lost and Williams also lost a fortune that day.
Tragedy struck one fateful day when Pride was discovered lifeless on the racecourse. According to the story, the horse was found with bullet wounds in the head and it was believed that Williams had killed the horse as it was no longer winning races, as the tradition was. Some even said the horse was killed in drunken frustration by Williams when he lost his money.
Sir William’s White Horse Haunting the Track
It was not the last race for Pride though if we are to believe the stories. Locals whispered of seeing a ghostly apparition – a glowing white horse – galloping across the racecourse on moonlit Saturday nights, its ethereal presence a haunting reminder of Pride’s untimely demise.
The locals know of this spirit as “William Saheb er Sada Ghora” – or “Sir William’s white horse.”
The Lady of the Lake said to haunt the Lake Crescent in Olympic National Park. The ghost said to linger in the water is said to be the spirit of Hallie Latham Illingworth, who was murdered and dumped at the bottom of the lake.
Within the mist-shrouded landscapes of Olympic National Park in Washington lies Crescent Lake, a serene body of water with a haunting secret that transcends its natural beauty. The spectral narrative of the Lady in the Lake, rooted in a tragic tale from a horrible murder that was left floating and unsolved until the lake itself revealed it, casts an eerie spell over this enchanting wilderness.
Lake Crescent: The lake in the Olympic National Park is said to be haunted by a ghost they call the Lady of the Lake. // Source: Dave Lichterman/Flickr
Lake Crescent
The 12 mile long lake on the northwestern part of the park is said to be a stunning destination, but with haunted depths. There are many mysteries about the dark waters of the lake, often thought to be 1000 ft in popular belief. Some of them have been cleared up, like the true depth is actually 596 feet.
The tales about Lake Crescent are old, like when the Klallam Tribes 10 000 year old oral story told about how they were fighting against the Quileute people and the Mount Storm Mountain got angry and threw a boulder at them to stop their fighting, splitting the valley in two, forming both Lake Southerland and Lake Crescent.
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According to legend, the lake never gave up on those that died back then and ever since, and for many generations the natives didn’t want to go near the lake. Although there actually is some truth to the story, there really was an earthquake at the time of battle that split the valley, is there also some truth to the legend about the lake holding on to its dead?
In 1929 a couple driving along the lake went missing and the case remained a mystery for decades. That was until 2002 when they found their 1927 Chevrolet under the surface of the lake. Although still, no bodies have shown up.
But the most famous story is about the Lady of the Lake and the stories behind the true mystery of Hallie Latham Illingworth, the dead the lake gave back.
The Death of Hallie Latham Illingworth
Hallie Latham Illingworth: Thought to be the spirit haunting Lake Crescent.
In 1937, the Lake Crescent Lodge and Tavern was a gathering place for those seeking respite amid the park’s breathtaking lakes. It was here that Hallie Latham Illingworth, a beloved waitress, lived and worked. Originally from Kentucky, she had found herself ensnared in the tumultuous web of her marriage to Mr. Monty Illingworth, a beer truck driver. Her latest of her three marriages.
Unlucky in love, she had moved in search of a better life, but only found her early end of it. Both heavy drinkers, they often fought and the fights often ended violently. She would often show up to work with bruises, broken teeth and told her coworkers about how he choked her.
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On December 22, 1937, Hallie at the age of 35 mysteriously vanished, just five months after they had married. Mr. Illingworth, quick to deflect blame, asserted that she had eloped with another man, a sailor from Alaska.
Three long years passed before the secrets hidden beneath Crescent Lake surfaced. Monty had already gone to Long Beach in California with his new wife, whom he married the year after. She was the former roommates of Hallies sister and it was said they had gotten together before she disappeared.
Lake Crescent Lodge: The place where Hallie Latham Illingworth used to work and also thought to be haunted by her ghost.
The Soap Corpse in Lake Crescent
But Hallie had not disappeared, not forever. She was dead, and closer than anyone had thought. In 1940, the lifeless body of Hallie Illingworth washed ashore in the near freezing water temperatures and was discovered by two fishermen.
Investigations showed how she had been tied to rocks before being dropped in the lake rolled up in a blanket. But as the ropes decomposed, her body floated up to the surface.
There were several strange things about this case, least of all how her body and particularly her waxy and soapy skin had been preserved all these years although her features had faded. This almost perfectly preserved body because of the cold waters and minerals of salt and calcium in the water known as saponification or Ivory soap even showed evidence of being beaten and strangled.
Her name was not identified until 14 months after the discovery as there were more than one woman gone missing in these parts the last few years and the public named her corpse the Lady of the Lake.
Her estranged husband, now implicated in her murder, faced arrest and charges that would forever tie his name to this tragic episode. He served nine years in prison for this until he was paroled in 1951.
Despite the legal resolution, the ethereal presence of Hallie’s spirit lingers along the tranquil shores of Crescent Lake. Park rangers and intrepid guests have reported eerie sightings—a ghostly figure of a woman, clad in a bygone era attire, her green dress from when she went missing and found, meandering along the water’s edge. The mournful cries that echo through the stillness of the night speak to the anguish of a life cut short and a love lost to the shadows.
The Ghost of Lake Crescent
As the Lady in the Lake, Hallie Illingworth’s ghostly apparition continues to wander the edge of Crescent Lake, a silent testament to the enduring power of tragedy and the spectral threads that bind the past to the present in Olympic National Park. It is also said she is seen gliding over the surface of the water.
Some even claim to have seen the ghost of Monty rowing over the lake to drop Hallie’s body into the water.
It is also said her ghost is still haunting the Lake Crescent Lodge and Tavern where she used to work. Guests and staff tell about how they hear her walking up and down the stairs and that lights flicker, doors bang shut and the music turns on louder and louder.
Some have even claimed to have seen her sit down on a table as she is smoking, perhaps even speaking to them.
The Mysteries of Lake Crescent
The story of the Lady of the Lake is still told on the campsites of hikers taking the Spruce Railroad Trail around Lake Crescent.
An underground stream is running between Lake Crescent and Lake Sutherland, and it has never really been explored. Some experts believe that the stream is hiding bodies of more missing people, but until then, the lake keeps it people.
In the Sabatini’s Customs Office in Madrid the people working there think it is haunted by the victims of the Spanish Civil War that died in the basement. Loud noises, banging and strange noises have made the guards making their rounds filled with fear.
Just around the corner of the crowded square of Puerta del Sol you will find Alcala Street in Madrid where the Architect Francisco de Sabatini designed a building on the behest of King Charles III.
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Sabatini’s Customs Office, also known as Real Casa de la Aduana, is a historic building located in Madrid. Constructed by the renowned architect Francisco de Sabatini under the orders of King Charles III, this monumental structure holds immense historical significance. Originally serving as a customs office, the building played a vital role in the city’s trade and commerce during the 18th and 19th centuries. Today, it is utilized by the Ministry of Finance, but it’s eerie past continues to intrigue visitors and locals alike.
Haunted Basement: The Dark Secrets Unveiled
One of the most chilling aspects of Sabatini’s Customs Office lies beneath its grand facade – the haunted basement. This subterranean level was once home to prison cells and even served as a mass grave for those who lost their lives during the Spanish Civil War. The residual energy of the traumatic events that took place within these walls is said to linger, creating an atmosphere of unease and fear.
Visitors and employees have reported experiencing inexplicable phenomena while venturing into the basement. The air grows heavy, and an overwhelming sense of foreboding fills the space. It is not uncommon to hear ghostly whispers or witness shadowy figures lurking in the shadows. Some have even claimed to feel icy fingers brush against their skin or the sensation of being watched by unseen eyes. The haunting of the basement is an undeniable testament to the building’s dark past and the restless spirits that still roam its halls.
Haunting the Guards: A Terrifying Encounter
The guards tasked with protecting and patrolling Sabatini’s Customs Office have had their fair share of spine-chilling encounters. Many have reported strange occurrences while walking their rounds, leaving them shaken and questioning their own sanity. One common experience is a loud banging on doors and windows, seemingly coming from nowhere. As the guards rush to investigate, they are greeted with an eerie silence, as if the source of the noise has vanished into thin air.
These unexplained phenomena are often accompanied by a sudden drop in temperature, sending a chill down the guards’ spines. It is as if an otherworldly presence is passing by, leaving behind an icy reminder of its presence. On one occasion, a guard even heard a disembodied voice speaking loudly and clearly, asking, “Why are you following me?” The guard turned around, only to find no one there – no one they were intentionally following or anyone visible to the naked eye. Such encounters leave the guards bewildered and questioning the nature of reality within these haunted walls.
Visited by a Medium: Conversations with the Departed
In recent years, the paranormal reputation of Sabatini’s Customs Office attracted the attention of a renowned medium. Eager to explore the building’s haunted mysteries, the medium claimed to have made contact with a spirit who had been murdered within the premises in 1847. According to the medium, this tormented soul revealed that it was not alone in the building. Numerous other spirits, victims of violence and tragedy, wandered the basement, trapped between the realms of the living and the dead.
The medium’s encounter shed light on the lingering energy and restless souls that inhabit Sabatini’s Customs Office. The spirits, unable to find peace, continue to wander the halls, their presence felt by those attuned to the supernatural. The medium’s visit added another layer of complexity to the building’s haunted reputation, leaving us with even more questions about the mysteries that lie within its walls.
The Mystery of Sabatini’s Customs Office
Sabatini’s Customs Office stands as a testament to the duality of history – a place that once bustled with the activities of trade and commerce now echoes with the whispers of the departed. The haunting tales, experienced by guards and visitors alike, add an air of mystery and intrigue to this architectural marvel.
Whether you believe in the paranormal or not, the stories surrounding Sabatini’s Customs Office cannot be easily dismissed. The ghostly encounters, the chilling voices, and the eerie atmosphere continue to captivate those who dare to explore its haunted past.
An abandoned house in Bonacaud known as 25 GB Bungalow by an old tea plantation is now thought to be haunted. A story about a British child who died under mysterious circumstances started to circulate and it is said that her ghost is haunting her home.
Atop a hill in Bonacaud, Trivandrum, 25 GB Bungalow stands as a relic of the past, overlooking a sprawling tea plantation and estate bordering Kerala and Tamil Nadu. By day, this abandoned bungalow whose actual name today is B2 is a popular destination for adventure seekers drawn by its panoramic views and historical allure.
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By night, when the fog gathers around, the bungalow transforms into one of the most haunted places in Kerala, shrouded in eerie legends and tales of ghostly apparitions of a young girl who died under mysterious circumstances. But just how much of this haunted rumor is true?
A Glimpse into History
The story most told goes like this: The 25 GB Bungalow, once owned by a British landlord and his wife, was a symbol of colonial grandeur and it was said they were manager of a tea estate only three kilometers away from the former Boncaud Tea Estate. In many of the sources they name in Manager Saip.
Constructed during the British era, the estate boasts a majestic view of the Agasthya mountain ranges, with its hilltop location offering a 360-degree panorama of the verdant plantation and surrounding landscape. However, the grandeur of 25 GB Bungalow is overshadowed by the tragic events that unfolded within its walls.
The landlord’s children or child succumbed to mysterious illnesses. Most sources says it was a single daughter around the age of 13. Her death cloaked in uncertainty and sorrow. It is also said that the child was killed under mysterious circumstances.
The grief-stricken parents left the bungalow, abandoning it to the ravages of time and nature. It is said that the spirits of the child remain, unable to move on from the place where her young life were abruptly cut short.
Ghostly Whispers and Unseen Presences
Visitors to 25 GB Bungalow after dusk often report unsettling experiences. Several people after tried to make the bungalow their new home, but no one lasted for very long as they all claimed it was haunted by the girl.
One of the most common phenomenon is the sound of disembodied voices speaking in English with a distinct British accent.
Despite the absence of any electrical connections, mysterious lights are frequently seen glowing within the bungalow.
Among the various reports of paranormal activity, the apparition of a child-like figure stands out. This shadowy presence is often seen roaming around the bungalow, its form barely discernible but unmistakably that of a small child through the window of the abandoned bungalow.
Another spine-chilling aspect of 25 GB Bungalow’s haunted reputation is the sound of glass breaking, echoing through the silent night as the screams and laugh of a child can be heard. Is it the sound of the actual living local children, or perhaps the ghost of the child that were left behind?
Possession of a Local Girl
One of the most famous stories connected to this house and haunting was when a young local girl went up to the house to collect firewood. It was said that the girl was unschooled when she went out, but when she returned, she behaved strangely. According to the locals, she now spoke English fluently as well as reading and writing.
This led people to believe that the ghost of the British girl had somehow possessed the girl and made the haunted rumours spread even more. Did this really happen though is the question as there is no information about how the girl turned out and further details about the possession.
The Truth Behind 25 GB Bungalow
The name as mentioned, is not actually 25 GB, who actually refers to the next door building used by the drivers to stay in. A plaque marking the buildings got people confused, and therefore the bungalow has become known as 25 GB.
When was it built though? Some sources state that 25 GB Bungalow is actually from the 1850s, but the reality looks quite different. It seems like the bungalow was built when foreigners named Johnny and Brown were managers in 1961-62. Or perhaps it was built in 1951, the numbers given by different sources vary. Although the tea plantation itself is probably as old as the 1850s, the bungalow itself is not.
According to the locals, there was no Manager Saip living with his daughter who died. The rumor about people leaving 25 GB Bungalow because of it being haunted also looks false. Truth is that the bungalow was owned by tea plantations and there were many worker disputes until the company eventually went under.
The tragic tale of the British landlord’s children, coupled with the numerous reports of paranormal activity, has cemented its status as one of Kerala’s most haunted locations. But did they actually exist? According to a journalist looking into the case for fact checking, the story first aired as a part of a private TV channel and that the locals were hearing the story about it first then.
The doors and windows are now all destroyed. The mosaic floor and fireplace is still standing as a skeleton of a home. Outside there is a large pine tree swaying in the wind, the only thing suppose to be still alive in the bungalow.
“The Tomb of Sarah” by F. G. Loring, published in 1900, is a gripping vampire tale set in the English countryside. The story revolves around the discovery of an ancient tomb belonging to Sarah, an infamous and mysterious figure from the past. It tells what happens when the tomb of the evil Countess Sarah, murdered in 1630, is disturbed during the restoration of a church. As the tomb is opened, it becomes clear that Sarah was no ordinary woman; she was a vampire.
The Tomb of Sarah by F. G. Loring (1900)
My father was the head of a celebrated firm of church restorers and decorators about sixty years ago. He took a keen interest in his work,and made an especaal study of any old legends or family histories that came under his observation. He was necessarily very well read and thoroughly well posted in all questions of folklore and medieval legend. As he kept a careful record of every case he investigated the manuscripts he left at his death have a special interest. From amongst them I have selected the following, as being a particularly weird and extraordinary experience. In presenting it to the public I feel it is superfluous to apologize for its supernatural character.
MY FATHER’S DIARY
1841 .–June 17th. Received a commission from my old friend Peter Grant to enlarge and restore the chancel of his church at Hagarstone, in the wilds of the West Country.
July 5th. Went down to Hagarstone with my head man, Somers. A very long and tiring journey.
July 7th. Got the work well started. Be old church is one of special interest to the antiquarian, and I shall endeavour while restoring it to alter the existing arrangements as little as possible. One large tomb, however, must be moved bodily ten feet at least to the southward. Curiously enough, there is a somewhat forbidding inscription upon it in Latin, and I am sorry that this particular tomb should have to be moved. It stands amongst the graves of the Kenyons, an old family which has been extinct in these parts for centuries. The inscriptaon on it runs thus:
SARAH. 1630. FOR THE SAKE OF THE DEAD AND THE WELFARE OF THE LIVING, LET THIS SEPULCHRE REMAIN UNTOUCHED AND ITS OCCUPANT UNDISTURBED TILL THE COMING OF CHRIST. IN THE NAME OF THE FATHER, THE SON, AND THE HOLY GHOST.
July 8th. Took counsel with Grant concerning the ‘Sarah Tomb’. We are both very loth to disturb it, but the ground has sunk so beneath it that the safety of the church is in danger; thus we have no choice. However, the work shall be done as reverently as possible under our own direction.
Grant says there is a legend in the neighbourhood that it is the tomb of the last of the Kenyons, the evil Countess Sarah, who was murdered in 1630. She lived quite alone in the old castle, whose ruins still stand three miles from here on the road to Bristol. Her reputation was an evil one even for those days. She was a witch or were-woman, the only companion of her solitude being a familiar in the shape of a huge Asiatic wolf. This creature was reputed to seize upon children, or failing these, sheep and other small animals, and convey them to the castle, where the Countess used to suck their blood. It was popularly supposed that she could never be killed. This, however, proved a fallacy, since she was strangled one day by a mad peasant woman who had lost two children, she declaring that they had both been seized and carried off by the Countess’s familiar. This is a very interesting story, since it points to a local superstition very similar to that of the Vampire, existing in Slavonic and Hungarian Europe.
The tomb is built of black marble, surmounted by an enormous slab of the same material. On the slab is a magnificent group of figures. A young and handsome woman reclines upon a couch; round her neck is a piece of rope, the end of which she holds in her hand. At her side is a gigantic dog with bared fangs and lolling tongue. The face of the reclining figure is a cruel one: the corners of the mouth are curiously lifted, showing the sharp points of long canine or dog teeth. The whole group, though magnificently executed, leaves a most unpleasant sensation.
If we move the tomb it will have to be done in two pieces, the covering slab first and then the tomb proper. We have decided to remove the covering slab tomorrow.
July 9th. 6 p.m. A very strange day.
By noon everything was ready for lifting off the covering stone, and after the men’s dinner we started the jacks and pulleys. The slab lifted easily enough, though if fitted closely into its seat and was further secured by some sort of mortar or putty, which must have kept the interior perfectly air-tight.
None of us were prepared for the horrible rush of foul, mouldy air that escaped as the cover lifted clear of its seating. And the contents that gradually came into view were more startling still. There lay the fully dressed body of a woman, wizened and shrunk and ghastly pale as if from starvation. Round her neck was a loose cord, and, judging by the scars still visible, the story of death of strangulation was true enough.
The most horrible part, however, was the extraordinary freshness of the body. Except for the appearance of starvation, life might have been only just extinct. The flesh was soft and white, the eyes were wide open and seemed to stare at us with a fearful understanding in them. The body itself lay on mould, without any pretence to coffin or shell.
For several moments we gazed with horrible curiosity, and then it became too much for my workmen, who implored us to replace the covering slab. That, of course, we would not do; but I set the carpenters to work at once to make a temporary cover while we moved the tomb to its new position. This is a long job, and will take two or three days at least.
July 9th. Just at sunset we were startled by the howling of, seemingly, every dog in the village. It lasted for ten minutes or a quarter of an hour, and then ceased as suddenly as it began. This, and a curious mist that has risen round the church, makes me feel rather anxious about the ‘Sarah Tomb’. According to the best-established traditions of the Vampire-haunted countries, the disturbance of dogs or wolves at sunset is supposed to indicate the presence of one of these fiends, and local fog is always considered to be a certain sign. The Vampire has the power of producing it for the purpose of concealing its movements near its hiding-place at any time.
I dare not mention or even hint my fears to the Rector, for he is, not unnaturally perhaps, a rank disbeliever in many things that I know, from experience, are not only possible but even probable. I must work this out alone at first, and get his aid without his knowing in what direction he is helping me. I shall now watch till midnight at least.
10.15 p.m. As I feared and half expected. Just before ten there was another outburst of the hideous howling. It was commenced most distinctly by a particularly horrible and blood-curdling wail from the vicinity of the churchyard. The chorus lasted only a few minutes, however, and at the end of it I saw a large dark shape, like a huge dog, emerge from the fog and lope away at a rapid canter towards the open country. Assuming this to be what I fear, I shall see it return soon atter midnight.
12.30 p.m. I was right. Almost as midnight struck I saw the beast returning. It stopped at the spot where the fog seemed to commence, and lifting its head, gave tongue to that partacularly horrible long-drawn wail that I had noticed as preceding the outburst earlier in the evening.
Tomorrow I shall tell the Rector what I have seen; and if, as I expect, we hear of some neighbouring sheepfold having been raided, I shall get him to watch with me for this nocturnal marauder. I shall also examine the ‘Sarah Tomb’ for something which he may notice without any previous hint from me.
July 10th. I found the workmen this morning much disturbed in mind about the howling of the dogs. ‘We doan’t like it, zur,’ one of them said to me–‘we doan’t like it; there was summat abroad last night that was unholy.’ Bey were still more uncomfortable when the news came round that a large dog had made a raid upon a flock of sheep, scattering them far and wide, and leaving three of them dead with torn throats in the field.
When I told the Rector of what I had seen and what was being said in the village, he immediately decided that we must try and catch or at least identify the beast I had seen. ‘Of course,’ said he, ‘it is some dog lately imported into the neighbourhood, for I know of nothing about here nearly as large as the animal you describe, though its size may be due to the deceptive moonlight.’
This afternoon I asked the Rector, as a favour, to assist me in lifting the temporary cover that was on the tomb, giving as an excuse the reason that I wished to obtain a portion of the curious mortar with which it had been sealed. After a slight demur he consented, and we raised the lid. If the sight that met our eyes gave me a shock, at least it appalled Grant.
‘Great God!’ he exclaimed; ‘the woman is alive!’
And so it seemed for a moment. The corpse had lost much of its starved appearance and looked hideously fresh and alive. It was still wrinkled and shrunken, but the lips were firm, and of the rich red hue of health. The eyes, if possible, were more appalling than ever, though fixed and staring. At one corner of the mouth I thought I noticed a slight dark-coloured froth, but I said nothing about it then.
‘Take your piece of mortar, Harry,’ gasped Grant, ‘and let us shut the tomb again. God help me! Parson though I am, such dead faces frighten mc!’
Nor was I sorry to hide that terrible face again; but I got my bit of mortar, and I have advanced a step towards the solution of the mystery. This afternoon the tomb was moved several feet towards its new position, but it will be two or three days yet before we shall be ready to replace the slab.
10.15 p.m. Again the same howling at sunset, the same fog enveloping the church, and at ten o’clock the same great beast slipping silently out into the open country. I must get the Rector’s help and watch for its return. But precautions we must take, for if things are as I believe, we take our lives in our hands when we venture Out into the night to waylay the–Vampire. Why not admit it at once? For that the beast I have seen as the Vampire of that evil thing in the tomb I can have no reasonable doubt.
Not yet come to its full strength, thank Heaven! after the starvation of nearly two centuries, for at present it can only maraud as wolf apparently. But, in a day or two, when full power returns, that dreadful woman an new strength and beauty will be able to leave her refuse’ Then it would not be sheep merely that would satisfy her disgusting lust for blood, but victims that would yield their life-blood without a murmur to her caressing touch–victims that, dying of her foul embrace, themselves must become Vampires in their turn to prey on others.
Mercifully my knowledge gives me a safeguard; for that little piece of mortar that I rescued today from the tomb contains a portion of the Sacred Host, and who holds it, humbly and firmly believing in its virtue, may pass safely through such an ordeal as I intend to submit myself and the Rector to tonight.
12.30 p.m. Our adventure is over for the present, and we are back safe.
After writing the last entry recorded above, I went off to find Grant and tell him that the marauder was out on the prowl again. ‘But, Grant,’ I said, ‘before we start out tonight I must insist that you will let me prosecute this affair in my own way; you must promise to put yourself completely under my orders, without asking any questions as to the why and wherefore.’
After a little demur, and some excusable chaff on his part at the serious view I was taking of what he called a ‘dog hunt’, he gave me his promise. I then told him that we were to watch tonight and try and track the mysterious beast, but not to interfere with it in any way. I think, in spite of his jests, that I impressed him with the fact that there might be, after all, good reason for my precautions.
It was just after eleven when we stepped out into the still night.
Our first move was to try and penetrate the dense fog round the church, but there was something so chilly about it, and a foul smell so disgustingly rank and loathsome, that neither our nerves nor our stomachs were proof against it. Instead, we stationed ourselves in the dark shadow of a yew tree that commanded a good view of the wicket entrance to the churchyard.
At midnight the howling of the dogs began again, and in a few minutes we saw a large grey shape, with green eyes shinang like lamps, shamble swiftly down the path towards us.
The Rector started forward, but I laid a firm hand upon his arm and whispered a warning ‘Remember!’ Then we both stood very still and watched as the great beast cantered swiftly by. It was real enough, for we could hear the clicking of its nails on the stone flags. It passed within a few yards of us, and seemed to be nothing more nor less than a great grey wolf, thin and gaunt, with bristling hair and dripping jaws. It stopped where the mist commenced, and turned round. It was truly a horrible sight, and made one’s blood run cold. The eyes burnt like fires, the upper lip was snarling and raised, showing the great canine teeth, while round the mouth clung and dripped a dark-coloured froth.
It raised its head and gave tongue to its long wailing howl, which was answered from afar by the village dogs. After standing for a few moments it turned and disappeared into the thickest part of the fog.
Very shortly afterwards the atmosphere began to clear, and within ten minutes the mist was all gone, the dogs in the village were silent, and the night seemed to reassume its normal aspect. We examined the spot where the beast had been standing and found, plainly enough upon the stone flags, dark spots of froth and saliva.
‘Well, Rector,’ I said, ‘will you admit now, in view of the things you have seen today, in consideration of the legend, the woman in the tomb, the fog, the howling dogs, and, last but not least, the mysterious beast you have seen so close, that there is something not quite normal in it all? Will you put yourself unreservedly in my hands and help me, whatever I may do, to first make assurance doubly sure, and finally take the necessary steps for putting an end to this horror of the night?’ I saw that the uncanny influence of the night was strong upon him, and wished to impress it as much as possible.
‘Needs must,’ he replied, ‘when the Devil drives: and in the face of what I have seen I must believe that some unholy forces are at work. Yet, how can they work in the sacred precincts of a church? Shall we not call rather upon Heaven to assist us in our need.’
‘Grant,’ I said solemnly, ‘that we must do, each in his own way. God helps those who help themselves, and by His help and the light of my knowledge we must fight this battle for Him and the poor lost soul within.’
We then returned to the rectory and to our rooms, though I have sat up to write this account while the scene is fresh in my mind.
July 11th. Found the workmen again very much disturbed in their minds, and full of a strange dog that had been seen during the night by several people, who had hunted it. Farmer Stotman, who had been watching his sheep (the same flock that had been raided the night before), had surprised it over a fresh carcass and tried to drive it off, but its size and fierceness so alarmed him that he had beaten a hasty retreat for a gun. When he returned the animal was gone, though he found that three more sheep from his flock were dead and torn.
The ‘Sarah Tomb’ was moved today to its new position; but it was a long, heavy business, and there was not time to replace the covering slab. For this I was glad, as in the prosaic light of day the Rector almost disbelieves the events of the night, and is prepared to think everything to have been magnified and distorted by our imagination.
As, however, I could not possibly proceed with my war of extermination against this foul thing without assistance, and as there is nobody else I can rely upon, I appealed to him for one more night–to convince him that it was no delusion, but a ghastly, horrible truth, which must be fought and conquered for our own sakes, as well as that of all those living in the neighbourhood.
‘Put yourself in my hands, Rector,’ I said, ‘for tonight at least. Let us take those precautions which my study of the subject tells me arc the right ones. Tonight you and I must watch in the church; and I feel assured that tomorrow you will be as convinced as I am, and be equally prepared to take those awful steps which I know to be proper, and I must warn you that we shall find a more startling change in the body lying there than you noticed yesterday.’
My words came true; for on raising the wooden cover once more the rank stench of a slaughterhouse arose, making us feel positively sick. There lay the Vampire, but how changed from the starved and shrunken corpse we saw two days ago for the first time! The wrinkles had almost disappeared, the flesh was firm and full, the crimson lips grinned horribly over the long pointed teeth, and a distinct smear of blood had trickled down one corner of the mouth. We set our teeth, however, and hardened our hearts. Then we replaced the cover and put what we had collected into a safe place in the vestry. Yet even now Grant could not believe that there was any real or pressing danger concealed in that awful tomb, as he raised strenuous objections to am apparent desecration of the body without further proof. This he shall have tonight. God grant that I am not taking too much on myself. If there is any truth in old legends it would be easy enough to destroy the Vampire now; but Grant will not have it.
I hope for the very best of this night’s work, but the danger in waiting is very great.
6 p.m. I have prepared everything: the sharp knives, the pointed stake, fresh garlic, and the wild dog-roses. All these I have taken and concealed in the vestry, where we can get at them when our solemn vigil commences.
If either or both of us die with our fearful task undone, lei those reading my record see that this is done. I lay it upon them as a solemn obligation. ‘That the Vampire be pierced through the heart with the stake, then let the Burial Service be read over the poor clay at last released from its doom. Thus shall the Vampire cease to be, and a lost soul rest.’
July 12th. All is over. After the most terrible night of watching and horror one Vampire at least will trouble the world no more. But how thankful should we be to a merciful Providence that that awful tomb was not disturbed by anyone not having the knowledge necessary to deal with its dreadful occupant! I write this with no feelings of self-complacency, but simply with a great gratitude for the years of study I have been able to devote to this special subject.
And now to my tale.
Just before sunset last night the Rector and I locked ourselves into the church, and took up our position in the pulpit. It was one of those pulpits, to be found in some churches, which is entered from the vestry, the preacher appearing at a good height through an arched opening in the wall. This gave us a sense of security (which we felt we needed), a good view of the interior, and direct access to the implements which I had concealed in the vestry.
The sun set and the twilight gradually deepened and faded. There was, so far, no sign of the usual fog, nor any howling of the dogs. At nine o’clock the moon rose, and her pale light gradually flooded the aisles, and still no sign of any kind from the ‘Sarah Tomb’. The Rector had asked me several times what he might expect, but I was determined that no words or thought of mine should influence him, and that he should be convinced by his own senses alone.
By half-past ten we were both getting very tired, and I began to think that perhaps after all we should see nothing that night. However, soon after eleven we observed a light mist rising from the ‘Sarah Tomb’. It seemed to scintillate and sparkle as it rose, and curled in a sort of pillar or spiral.
I said nothing, but I heard the Rector give a sort of gasp as he clutched my arm feverishly. ‘Great Heaven!’ he whispered, ‘it is taking shape.’
And, true enough, in a very few moments we saw standing erect by the tomb the ghastly figure of the Countess Sarah!
She looked thin and haggard still, and her face was deadly white; but the crimson lips looked like a hideous gash in the pale cheeks, and her eyes glared like red coals in the gloom of the church.
It was a fearful thing to watch as she stepped unsteadily down the aisle, staggering a little as if from weakness and exhaustion. This was perhaps natural, as her body must have suffered much physically from her long incarcerataon, in spite of the unholy forces which kept it fresh and well.
We watched her to the door, and wondered what would happen; but it appeared to present no difficulty, for she melted through it and and disappeared.
‘Now, Grant,’ I said, ‘do you believe?’
‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘I must. Everything is in your hands, and I will obey your commands to the letter, if you can only instruct me how to rid my poor people of this unnameable terror.’
‘By God’s help I will,’ said I; ‘but you shall be vet more convinced first, for we have a terrible work to do, and much to answer for in the future, before we leave the church again this morning. And now to work, for in its present weak state the Vampire will not wander far, but may return at any time, and must not find us unprepared.’
We stepped down from the pulpit and, taking dog-roses and garlic from the vestry, proceeded to the tomb. I arrived first and, throwing off the wooden cover, cried, ‘Look! it is empty!’ There was nothing there! Nothing except the impress of the body in the loose damp mould!
I took the flowers and laid them in a circle round the tomb, for legend teaches us that Vampires will not pass over these particular blossoms if they can avoid it.
Then, eight or ten feet away, I made a circle on the stone pavement. large enough for the Rector and myself to stand in, and within the circle I placed the implements that I had brought into the church with me.
‘Now,’ I said, ‘from this circle, which nothing unholy can step across, you shall see the Vampire face to face, and see her afraid to cross that other circle of garlic and dog-roses to regain her unholy refuge. But on no account step beyond the holy place you stand in, for the Vampire has a fearful strength not her own, and, like a snake, can draw her victim willingly to his own destruction.’
Now so far my work was done, and, calling the Rector, we stepped into the Holy Circle to await the Vampire’s return.
Nor was this long delayed. Presently a damp, cold odour seemed to pervade the church, which made our hair bristle and flesh to creep. And then down the aisle with noiseless feet came That whach we watched for.
I heard the Rector mutter a prayer, and I held him tightly by the arm, for he was shivering violently.
Long before we could distinguish the features we saw the glowing eyes and the crimson sensual mouth. She went straight to her tomb, but stopped short when she encountered my flowers. She walked right round the tomb seeking a place to enter, and as she walked she saw us. A spasm of diabolical hate and fury passed over her face; but it quickly vanished, and a smile of love, more devilish still, took its place. She stretched out her arms towards us. Ben we saw that round her mouth gathered a bloody froth, and from under her lips long pointed teeth gleamed and champed.
She spoke: a soft soothing voice, a voice that carried a spell with it, and affected us both strangely, particularly the Rector. I wished to test as far as possible, without endangering our lives, the Vampire’s power.
Her voice had a soporific effect, which I resisted easily enough, but which seemed to throw the Rector into a sort of trance. More than this: it seemed to compel him to her in spite of his efforts to resist.
‘Come!’ she said–‘come! I give sleep and peace–sleep and peace–sleep and peace.’
She advanced a little towards us; but not far, for I noted that the Sacred Circle seemed to keep her back like an iron hand.
My companion seemed to become demoralized and spellbound. He tried to step forward and, finding me detain him, whispered, ‘Harry, let go! I must go! She is calling me! I must! I must! Oh, help me! help me!’ And he began to struggle.
It was time to finish.
‘Grant!’ I cried, in a loud, firm voice, ‘in the name of all that you hold sacred, have done and the man!’ He shuddered violently and gasped, ‘Where am I?’ Ben he remembered, and clung to me convulsively for a moment.
At this a look of damnable hate changed the smiling face before us, and with a sort of shriek she staggered back.
‘Back!’ I cried: ‘back to your unholy tomb! No longer shall you molest the suffering world! Your end is near.’
It was fear that now showed itself in her beautiful face (for it was beautiful in spite of its horror) as she shrank back, hack and over the circlet of flowers, shivering as she did so. At last, with a low mournful cry, she appeared to melt hack again into her tomb.
As she did so the first gleams of the rising sun lit up the world, and I knew all danger was over for the day.
Taking Grant by the arm, I drew him with me out of the circle and led him to the tomb. There lay the Vampire once more, still in her living death as we had a moment before seen her in her devilish life. But in the eyes remained that awful expression of hate, and cringing, appalling fear.
Grant was pulling himself together.
‘Now,’ I said, ‘will you dare the last terrible act and rid the world for ever of this horror?’
‘By God!’ he said solemnly, ‘I will. Tell me what to do.’
‘Help me to lift her out of her tomb. She can harm us no more,’ I replied.
With averted faces we set to our terrible task, and laid her out upon the flags.
‘Now,’ I said, ‘read the Burial Service over the poor body, and then let us give it its release from this living hell that holds it.’ Reverently the Rector read the beautiful words, and reverently I made the necessary responses. When it was over I took the stake and, without giving myself time to think, plunged it with all my strength through the heart.
As though really alive, the body for a moment writhed and kicked convulsively, and an awful heart-rending shriek woke the silent church; then all was still.
Then we lifted the poor body back; and, thank God! the consolation that legend tells is never denied to those who have to do such awful work as ours came at last. Over the face stole a great and solemn peace; the lips lost their crimson hue, the prominent sharp teeth sank back into the mouth, and for a moment we saw before us the calm, pale face of a most beautiful woman, who smiled as she slept. A few minutes more, and she faded away to dust before our eyes as we watched. We set to work and cleaned up every trace of our work, and then departed for the rectory. Most thankful were we to step out of the church, with its horrible associations, into the rosy warmth of the summer morning.
With the above end the notes in my father’s diary, though a few days later this further entry occurs:
July 15th. Since the 12th everything has been quiet and as usual. We replaced and sealed up the ‘Sarah Tomb’ this morning. The workmen were surprised to find the body had disappeared, but took it to be the natural result of exposing it to the air.
One odd thing came to my ears today. It appears that the child of one of the villagers strayed from home the night of the 11th inst., and was found asleep in a coppice near the church, very pale and quite exhausted. There were two small marks on her throat, which have since disappeared.
What does this mean? I have, however, kept it to myself, as, now that the Vampire is no more, no further danger either to that child or any other is to be apprehended. It is only those who die of the Vampire’s embrace that become Vampires at death in their turn.
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Could it be that the oldest church in Oslo also has the oldest haunting? From legends about a dragon’s den underneath the structure and the ghostly silhouette haunting, the Gamle Aker Church perhaps has more activity than what meets the naked eye.
During a time when Bulgaria was under the Ottoman Empire, there was talk about a vampire haunting the streets of Veliko Tarnovo. The rumours got so bad, that the Islamic rulers had to turn to pagan belief to rid themselves of the bloodthirsty creatures.
From colonial times, there are only graves left behind in Kasauli Graveyard, and they are slowly disappearing with no one to attend to them. Over time, the rumors of the graveyard being haunted also grew together with the wild grass taking over the headstones.
The serene hill town of Kasauli, nestled in the lap of the Himalayas, is famous for its breathtaking vistas and tranquil beauty. Yet, amid the picturesque landscapes and lush forests, a spine-chilling enigma shrouds the Kasauli Graveyards inside of a forest, as old as the town itself.
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Positioned on the way to Shimla in the Solan district, there are two cemeteries that have gained notoriety as a hotspot for paranormal activities that have left visitors bewildered and unnerved. These cemeteries can be found on the Kasauli-Dharampur and Kasauli-Parwanoo road around a kilometer from the town center.
Phantom Apparitions Among Weathered Graves
Visitors to Kasauli Graveyard have reported chilling sightings of apparitions, wandering the hallowed grounds under the cloak of night among the graves that are up to 200 years old, many of them not maintained where time and weather is about to reclaim them.
There have also been problems with people stealing iron crosses as well as the marble headstones over the years. Has all of this helped fuel the haunted rumors?
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The first cemetery is on Dharmapur road and houses mostly Europeans that lived there in colonial times as well as 29 soldiers from the British army who died during World War 1. Some say they are still here. These ethereal figures, shrouded in mystery, cast eerie shadows that dance with the moonlight.
The Lone Caretaker
As the sun dips below the horizon, Kasauli Graveyard awakens to a symphony of ghostly whispers. Eager ears have strained to decipher the incoherent murmurs that fill the night air, their origin a macabre mystery.
As the current caretaker of the graveyard, Devi Lal, says: “The dead here need care.” He is better known as Kabristan ka Chowkidar in the town and has done as his father and grandfather before him, taken care of the graveyard. For free that is.
And although it is the cemetery that is supposed to be haunted, the diligent caretaker has another opinion and claims: “This place haunted? Nah! But I do see dead people being haunted by the humans here.”
Nocturnal Laments and Unearthly Cries
The second cemetery with hundreds of graves dating back to the mid-nineteenth century, can be found on Parwanoo road not far from the old Central Research Institute. There is a small path in a forest area leading to the cemetery where the state is much like the first one and wild grass and shrubs are growing over the headstones.
Who and why these graveyards are supposed to be haunted is unclear, however the stories about it have reached far.
Most stories come from visitors that are claiming to have experienced different paranormal things while walking among the gravestones. They have talked about hearing the sound of ghosts weeping and seen the spirits gliding through the cemetery.
Perhaps this is why the local authorities forbid people visiting the graveyard after dark?
The Haunted Abandoned Kasauli Graveyard
The Kasauli Graveyard, veiled in an otherworldly aura, captivates the imagination of those who dare to explore its haunted terrain. The tales of phantom apparitions, ghostly whispers, and the woeful cries of the night beckon the curious and the fearless.
While skepticism may shroud the paranormal occurrences within these grounds, the mystique of Kasauli Graveyard sits there, inviting those who seek the mystery of the abandoned and supposedly haunted.
Disguised as an old woman or a loved one, the liver eating Spearfinger has terrified the Cherokees for centuries. She hides in the mountain, attacking children to eat their livers.
In the mist-laden embrace of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park between North Carolina and Tennessee lies a haunting tale, a Cherokee legend that weaves through the dense forests and shadowy trails under the misty mountain peaks.
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The legend of Spearfinger, or the U’tlun’ta in the Cherokee language meaning “she had it sharp’, is said to live in this area. According to Cherokee lore, Spearfinger is no ordinary witch; she is a sinister entity with a penchant for deception and a hunger for the flesh of unsuspecting children.
The Legend of Spearfinger
The legend unfolds along the winding paths of the Great Norton Creek Trail, trails along the Chilhowee Mountain and by Little Tennessee River. Among her favorite places she calls home is the thunder mountain, Whiteside.
Spearfinger is said to disguise herself as a kindly grandmother or a family member of children she sees to sneak up on her victims. Dancing in clouds, she sang her favorite song with her raven friend:
Uwe la na tsiku. Su sa sai.
Liver, I eat it. Su sa sai.
Uwe la na tsiku. Su sa sai.
Armed with a finger that resembles a sharp, knife-like blade that looks like a spear or obsidian knife, she lures innocent children away from the safety of their homes and into the heart of the ancient woods. Once under her spell, Spearfinger reveals her true form, her mouth stained with blood from livers she has eaten and with her Nûñ’yunu’ï, which means “Stone-dress”, for her stone-like skin. With a single, fatal stroke, she cuts her victims and consumes their tender body parts.
Arrows cannot pierce her stone skin and she is strong, picking up boulders without any effort. She is also said to often clutch her right hand tightly, as she is hiding her heart in her palm, her only weak spot.
Stories About Spearfinger
The Cherokee have traditionally been very cautious about strangers, and were suspicious of those who wandered off alone. They could come back as the liver-eater in disguise, and there were many stories about this.
Some tales told about her deceiving people by hiding the victims after turning into them. She went to their families and waited until they were asleep so she could steal the children’s livers.
Hunters in the woods told about an old woman with a strangely shaped hand, singing her song and scaring them so they ran off. Because Spearfinger is quick and doesn’t even leave a scar, making the victims ill before they die after a few days.
When birds flock to the sky, villagers say it was her. Her presence was marked by the graceful dance of the birds, as if they were paying homage to her mysterious spirit. The villagers whispered about her shadowy figure, weaving tales of her mystical connection to the natural world.
The Spearfinger Place
But where did she come from? What is her purpose? Was she just a story parents told their children to keep out of woods and strangers? According to the storyteller, Kathi Littlejohn of the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians, she says that there are portals to the other worlds. The upper world of the creator, the middle world of humans and the underworld were creatures like Spearfinger comes from.
Years ago, sometime in the 19th century, the Cherokee pinpointed the location where the ruins of Spearfinger’s Tree Rock remain, in Blount County, Tennessee. This area, rich with history and legend, is known as Nantahala. The Cherokee name for the place is U’Tluntun’yi, which means “The Spearfinger Place.” U’Tluntun’yi holds a significant place in Cherokee lore as it is believed to be where Spearfinger built a rock bridge that offended the higher spirits who struck it down with a bolt of lightning, giving her a body of rocks.
The Death of Spearfinger
The Cherokee called a great council, including towns like Tomotley, Tenase, Setico, and Chota, which were haunted by the liver eater, Spearfinger. The medicine man, adawehi, revealed Spearfinger’s deception and proposed a trap: a pit covered with brush and a smoky fire. Spearfinger, drawn by the smoke, approached disguised as an old woman. Though initially mistaken for one of their own, the medicine man recognized her trick. Despite arrows breaking against her stone skin, Spearfinger fell into the pit, unharmed by the stakes.
Birds descended to help; a titmouse misled them to aim at her chest, but a chickadee correctly indicated her right hand. The hunters severed her heart by hitting her wrist, ending her curse. Stone Man, her ally, dismissed the warning of her death and continued his ominous song. In gratitude, the chickadee was forever known as the “truth teller.” Cherokee storytellers still recount Spearfinger’s legend and mark where her stone form fell.
But even though the Cherokee claim to have killed the liver-eating witch of stone, there are still stories of her cackles and shrieks echoing through the mountains. The legend tells of how she would lure unsuspecting travelers into her lair with promises of shelter, only to devour their livers in a grotesque display of her insatiable hunger. Some say her spirit still haunts the darkest caves and craggy peaks, seeking vengeance for her demise.
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Now a part of the museums in Drammen, Norway, Austad Estate used to be the home of the rich and powerful. Some say though its eternal resident is the ghost of The Lady in Black, who may or may not have been killed by her husband.
The bells of Ramersdorf Church have been said to have called back ghosts, dancing in the witching hour.
Thought to come back from beyond the grave, the restless spirit known as Hortdan in Turkey walks the line between being a tragic ghost and a bloodthirsty vampire.
In the Alpine foothills in Bavaria, strange boulders mark the landscape. Many legends linger over these mysterious stones, some claiming it was the Devil himself who placed it there.
Said to be cursed forever after mistreating his prisoners, the jailer in Bern’s former prison tower, Käfitier is said to be haunted by the ghost of a monstrous calf.
For decades, parents have told their children to be home before dark in Lafayette, Colorado. The reason being that local lore tells of a vampire rising from his grave in the cemetery. But who exactly was the man behind the story, buried under the tombstone?
Buried in the same place as the Danish kings and queens, a legend about one of the smaller graves haunts the Roskilde Cathedral. It is said that a horse was buried here before any people, and it haunts the graveyard as the three legged helhest, an omen of death.
As a place of dubious drug testing and the place where most lobotomies were done, the Lier Hospital and former asylum was left with a haunted rumor lingering in the decaying walls. Although most of the buildings are now torn down, it is still remembered as one of Norway’s most haunted places.
The Danish ghostly horse spirit Helhest is said to roam around St. Canute’s Cathedral in Odense, Denmark. It is believed seeing the three legged horse is an omen of imminent death.
According to old legends and Danish folklore, there are stories of three legged horses haunting the churches and graveyards in the country. in Saint Olaf’s Church, the spirit of the helhest is said to be the omen of death.
Could it be that the oldest church in Oslo also has the oldest haunting? From legends about a dragon’s den underneath the structure and the ghostly silhouette haunting, the Gamle Aker Church perhaps has more activity than what meets the naked eye.
During a time when Bulgaria was under the Ottoman Empire, there was talk about a vampire haunting the streets of Veliko Tarnovo. The rumours got so bad, that the Islamic rulers had to turn to pagan belief to rid themselves of the bloodthirsty creatures.
