Story Time

The following story entitled ‘The Undershaw Haunting’ was sent in by a valued supporter of our cause.

The evening moonlight cast its net over the landscape. Silver rays flooded through broken windows, lighting up a once majestic building which now bathed in an eerie glow. A light breeze made its way through the large estate and nearby trees shook their leaves, rustling softly breaking the silence of the night. An owl perched in a tree surveyed the landscape with its large round eyes, blinking once, before spreading its wing and taking off majestically gliding through the velvet of night, finding its prey. With claws outstretched, the owl swooped downwards towards a mouse scurrying for shelter, but as the owl was within reach of its quarry, it suddenly stopped in mid-flight, halted by the sight of something, or someone, and hastily retreated back into the nearby woods.

The lone figure glided along a corridor, sadly surveying his surroundings. He was a tall man, in his late fifties, smartly dressed with a gold chain of his pocket watch proudly displayed. He bore a moustache, distinguised and also appeared well fed. He looked up at the ceiling, noting the peeling paintwork, and then around him, noting the rotting windows and peeling wallpaper. There was damp in the air, hanging like a malvolent presence. The man moved further inside into the decaying building, entering the hall and then the drawing room. He cried out in despair at what was once an elegant drawing room now lying in ruins with water dripping drop by drop onto the cold floor, the sound echoing around the room. The man closed his eyes and for a few moments was transported back into the drawing room of old. In his mind’s eye the room was filled with warm sunlight and the sound of children’s laughter could be heard. Then he himself came into view, reading a story by Rudyard Kipling. His musing was rudely interrupted by another splash of water dropping onto the floor but this time is was not the damp wood that was seeping water, but his own tears that ran down his cheeks and hit the floor. He got up from where he had been sitting and moved back out into the hall and up the stairs to the upper level. Gliding gently along, touching the wall railing lightly, he made his way to a bedroom and then stopped at the windows. Dawn was breaking. The night was slowly coming to an end. The reflection in the window was his own, saddened. “Oh, my poor home, what has become of you?!” He cried softly as he watched the sun slowly rise, its fingers pushing back the silvery net of moonlight that had engulfed the old building and fiery warmth lighting up Undershaw, revealing the true state it was in. Suddenly a noise interrupted the silent musings. A vehicle had entered the estate and was moving in like a roaring tiger, its jaws wide open, ready to bite into its quarry. The former owner of Undershaw moved quickly down the stairs and out into the open, angered by the invasion.

“Well Bert, we need to get this job done quickly as we have another demolition to attend to later today and that is paying us double time and I want to get the Missus a present.”  

“Awwh Phil, you’re not buying her that pricey flat screen TV, are you?” asked Bert in a playful manner. Phil nodded his assent. “Thing is, Bert, the plan is that it is an investment, as I can watch the 2012 Olympics on it and the Missus thinks she can watch what she likes till then,” Phil grinned at his colleague and then the peals of laughter reverberated around the estate. The two workmen then began preparing for the work ahead and as Phil got into his truck Bert said softly with regret in his voice, “I don’t like this job Phil, this is an important building, and I have heard this place was the home of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.”

Who’s that then?” asked Phil, irritated by a statement made about someone he never heard of. “Oh, you know Sherlock Holmes, Phil, you watched it on Sunday night …….. all set in modern day,” Bert replied irritably. “Oh that! Yeah it’s ok, but a job is a job. Who cares about this place anyway?” Phil replied dismissively. He switched on the vehicle and started towards the building, the digger raised to start taking away plaster and wood. Suddently Phil slammed on the brakes hard and stopped as he saw a ghostly apparition appear in front of the building. He swallowed hard and then yelled at the figure to get out of the way. But the strange looking man appeared to be saying something back and he looked upset. Phil switched off the engines and then he heard what the man was saying. “Be gone, get out now!” Phil did not care for threats and jumped out of the truck and strode towards the figure in front of him. “Now look here, I don’t care who you are but you are trespassing on this land, get out of my way!” shouted Phil angrily. Phil proceeded to push the man out of his way but to his horror his hand swept right through and he was unable to get a grip. He stood back in shock, realising that this was not a living being. Shaking and pale as the moonlight that had previously cast its cloak of silver over the building, Phil ran back into the truck and pushed down hard on reverse gear, moving backwards at a fast pace. As he did so he heard another demand from the unexpected Undershaw resident. “LEAVE NOW”. Phil trembled hearing the words and met a concerned Bert who was about to start up his truck. Bert looked at Phil, who was now trembling violently, in concern. He took off his coat and put it around Phil’s shaking frame. “I saw a ghost …” Phil said haltingly, sobbing in response to Bert’s ministrations. Bert considered this and replied softly laying a steady hand on Phil’s shoulders, “I believe you, Phil.” Phil’s voice trembled further as he responded, “But why? You must think I am off my head.” Bert nodded slowly, and with authority responded to a distressed Phil, “When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth”. Puzzled, Phil looked up at Bert, who merely smiled. “Something Sherlock Holmes said in the books,” Bert said with a ring of authority he rarely used. Phil nodded and then remarked to his colleague that they should leave. Bert consented to this. An unspoken agreement was made between the two men never to speak of events to anyone and they both left silently, leaving Undershaw alone once more. The Undershaw resident breathed a sigh of relief, knowing it was only temporary. More people would come; he could not stop them all. He turned  around looking back at his old home and sighed. Another figure joined him. “You did well Arthur dearest, another day in our home, but for how long?” said the companion who was dressed in a white flowing dress with a silky blue band around the waist. They smiled at each other and as they slowly disappeared from view rejoining the spirit world a question hung in the morning air. Who will save Undershaw now?

We hope that the concluding story to this will eventually be written – we await the outcome of our efforts.