L.A. Millett's Blog

A common misconception when we are a teen or even in the essence of adulthood is that our parents never experienced the same rebellious stages. That there could be no possible chance they have experienced life in such a way you did. Of course, as the years roll by and family gatherings unfold more and more stories from the senior members of the family, you begin to understand that everyone has their share of tales to tell.

Not all stories were meant to be told.

Georgia reached out about a horrific tale that took place in 1978 when her mother was just 16. Georgia pressed her mother, Sue for the details of the night after hearing Sue’s younger sister talking about the incident. A night that should have been filled with tomfoolery and young love turned sinister very quickly.

After starting college in the September Sue found a group of new friends, very different to those she had met in high school. They were adventurous and keen to make their own fun during the drab winter months. Sue had grown close to one friend, Lyn. Straight away they became inseparable often diverting away from the main group of friends to meet up with others outside of college. Mid October 1978 saw Sue and Lyn on their way to meet Lyn’s new boyfriend, Rob. He was joined by his two friends; Simon and Craig. Craig was slightly older than the sixteen-year-olds and asserted control over the small group. Now, from what Sue told Georgia, she was in no means dressed for their plans that evening. They had intended on visiting travelling funfair; so, Sue had aptly dressed in a just above the knee skirt and a long-sleeved raglan coat. It was only as they walked past the fair they found themselves outside an old graveyard in Walton, Liverpool.

“Why are we here? The fair is back there?”

“Craig found a way to get to that old chapel.”

“You know I can’t break in there!”

“Sue, we know your granddad does the beat around here but we’re not going to get caught. Just going to have a bit of fun. Calm down and lighten up!”

Worry set into Sue’s stomach as they waited until the last of the carnival goers had passed by before climbing over the wall. It became obvious that this had been the plan all along. Sue and Lyn were the last two to find out the plan. Clearing the wall, they headed to the second set of gates. Relief washed across Sue’s face when she saw the bundles of heavy chains keeping the gates fixed in place. However, Craig knew they would need to break the chains open and came prepared. Five minutes had past when the final chain crashed to the ground. Fearing that someone may have heard the quintet dashed through the cemetery, passing the graves as they came to a derelict chapel near the back. The chapel itself was nothing more than wood and slabs of cold concrete slightly askew and weather beaten. It’s unknown why the chapel was left for thirty years to rot away in the rain and cold.

Many people had spoken about hearing strange noises from the disused chapel. Perhaps that why the groundskeeper ensured no one could get in. Craig visited the chapel a few nights before the incident to check where they could enter the chapel without being seen. A back door seemed like the perfect entrance as it was isolated away but had the least security. When it was in use this entrance would have been where the workers left after treating bodies and readying them for burial. Carefully sneaking around the back, Craig cracked the lock open. The chapel was open once more.

“Who is going first then?” Craig began to laugh sinisterly.

Arguing who was going down there was only one way to settle this fairly. A coin flip decided that Sue and Lyn would be the first to venture down. Down into the bowels of the unknown.

Simon and Rob stood at the top of the staircase with a torch, watching as the girls twisted and turned down the spiralling steps. Spark from a match gave enough light for them to see around the cold room. In front of her Sue could see a stone table where coffins would be left before burial or cremation. Cracks in the stone proved that the place hadn’t been used for a long time. To the left, small rusted plaques engraved with names of those cremated at the site, most had no family to visit them anymore. They looked like small doors, almost holding in the hundreds of souls. Souls that glared upon them. One stood out to Sue, Julia Procter 1894 – 1917, written underneath, ‘A wonderful daughter and sister. May you rest peacefully with Bernie’. Looking around at the other small plaques she could not find a ‘Bernie’ anywhere. As an icy chill scratched down her spine the match burnt out.

Quick to ignite another match Sue turned to the right. Facing them, a wooden door that led to another room. With a reassuring nod to each other, they walked forward. All of this to prove that they could do it and not run scared. The girls turned towards the door. Determined to show the boys there was nothing to fear inside the old chapel except the cold, musty smell of decaying wood and concrete. The closer they got the realisation that the handle turned slowly started to set in. There was someone behind that door, but how? The locks on the chapel were older than all of them. They needed to get out. Slowly, Sue and Lyn backed themselves against the wall next to the staircase, until the door began to shake violently.

Watching from the staircase, Simon and Rob scrambled back upstairs dived out of the chapel leaving Sue and Lyn inside. Standing outside, a sinister look swept Craig’s face.

‘Let’s leave them in a little longer,’ he laughed.

All three boys held the door while their friends banged on the door. The banging stopped. Inside, Sue could hear a faint noise drifting up the spiralling stairs. That’s when the screeching started.

Emerging from the shaking door they had just ran from, a woman’s cry could be heard. Terrified that whatever was on the other side of that door would soon appear, they began banging louder. The cry clawed closer. Cold air sprayed across their backs. The entire room was completely freezing. A breath whispered past their ears.

“Leave here.”

Their hands stopped, frozen on the door as the whisper grumbled into a shout. They continued trying to push the door with heavy arms, but the door stood still. Another whispered breath etched past their ears. Just as Sue and Lyn thought they would face what was behind them, the door opened. They had to look back, it was almost instinctive, nothing could be seen. No face, no body just the emptiness of an empty chapel. One final scream cascaded out as the door slammed shut from the disused chapel. This pushed the teens to their toes, heading back towards the gate.

They managed to escape without spirit or groundskeeper following them. Walking back along the canal home, not one of the five mentioned what happened. Sue recalled she feared if it was spoken about that it would enable the spirit to follow them home. It was an experience they all wished to keep hidden and quiet inside the safety of a locked chapel.

Many years later Sue went back to the graveyard to visit a friend’s grave. Looking around she saw the clearing where the chapel once stood. Speaking with the groundskeeper, Sue learnt that the chapel had burnt down. No one knew the reason why. No arson or foul play was detected. It seemed to have gone up in flames all by itself.

Some believe it was because many of the prisoners hung at Walton Gaol were still alive when they came to the chapel. Some believe that they were buried and burnt alive. People are unsure what haunts that chapel. Was it an inmate? Maybe their victim? Perhaps the screeching disembodied cries are something you want to research yourself.

To find out if Cries from the Crypt was based on true events download your copy of Truth or Scare from Amazon now! It is also available for free on Kindle Unlimited. 

And so it came to be that she was never me and I was never her.

We co-existed for so long, it was a team of two. I was the puppet-master and she the puppet. I was the skin behind the mask. No one ever knew me, only she.

It was her they all adored, a tiny piece of me that they could see. Ever smiling, never worried, always a delight to be around. They loved her, and why wouldn’t they? She listened intently and seemingly absorbed their every worry so that by the time the evening was through, they were light-hearted and filled with joy once more.

But evenings of absorption would take its toll on her and that’s when she would lean on me for help.

I took those worries away purely by existing. She could only become me once the room was empty and the light had faded.

She was ow free to be me. Nervous and anxious. Unsure and hostile. Unwilling and drained. But as me, I could not quite reach for help, she wouldn’t let me.

Who do you call when the clown needs to smile?

The Fires in Winter

I sat amongst the broken bottles and burnout cigarettes. Breathing the cool ash-soaked air, I grabbed my chest. Then my mouth as dry cries heaved out of my body. Every wrench made my mind spin back to a time before all this had happened. When I had a home, even a family, most importantly I had him. All that remained was a pair of boots he was wearing, and the debris scattered across the floor. The only question that played out in my mind was ‘what do I do now?’.

“Only you could know the answer to that question. What do you want to do now?” Three weeks had passed by but for my manager, that was still too much time. This was my third therapist in as many weeks.

“What do I do now? It’s a never-ending question that only raises more concern and questions to be asked.” Standing from the green plush chair, I found myself gazing at the fresh layer of snow now covering the drive up to Hawthorn Manor. Winter had always been my favourite season. A time for renewal after the death autumn brought.

“Does the snow hold the answer for you, Eliza?” I could see in his tiny green eyes the will to help me slowly fading. I understood why these questions were relevant and why I was no longer left unsupervised in my day to day existence. But what do I do now?

“Eliza?”

“The snow. That’s when we met.”

“Eliza are you ready to talk about what happened?” My eyes glazed over-focusing once more on the snow. “Eliza? Shall we talk about what happened the night your husband died? The fire?”

“Doctor, with all respect, I’ve been a psychiatrist since before you were born. Why don’t you ask me to start with what is comfortable?”

“Call me Dan. Eliza, please start at the beginning.”

The dewy-eyed doctor sat listening intently as I talked about my thirty-year marriage. Winter for us was our time. We had met on Halloween while attending a friend’s party. I had gone outside for a cigarette. My fingers locked trying endlessly to light a match, almost giving up, a flame tickled the tobacco releasing the sweet tar I grew to love. Thanking the kind stranger, I finished my nicotine buzz and fell back inside to warm myself by the alcohol. Thinking nothing of the night, a month soon glided over, marking the beginning of Christmas and frolicking festivities that would follow. Christmas party after party seemed to flow into another; until the grand final on the 24th December. Again, I found myself stuck outside without a light. The smell of cinnamon and musk breezed past offering a match to light my cigarette.

“I gave up three weeks ago, been a nightmare ever since.” The deepness of his brown eyes and soft voice kept me from going back inside. After a brief introduction, Colby joined me in polluting our lungs. The more we talked revealed the extent of our connection. Both junior doctors, both specialising in mental health. It wasn’t until my fingers eventually turned blue did we join the other guests and their polite conversation. A look flickered from our faces, boredom from the conversation but an insatiable thirst to be in each other’s company. Sensing the rising tension, our mutual friend Gina suggested Colby take me home as he hadn’t been drinking, and cab fares would be high.

As the hour-long journey back began, the sky tingled into a purple, almost if the cold had squeezed snow from the clouds. The blizzard began, and the snow got thicker. Arriving at my empty home, I could only see Bingo, my tabby cat sat waiting for me in the window. Not wanting the night to be over we sat a little longer talking. He told me the only thing that waited for him was a glass of brandy, the perks of living by yourself at Christmas. Somewhat lonely but intrigued, it only felt right to invite him in. The fire roared in the background as our first kiss slowly drifted into our first Christmas.

From that day forward our days were spent together, always cherishing when the first crisp, orange leaf would float to the ground. Soon it was a tradition for Gina’s Christmas Eve party to be followed by an hour-long drive every year up until the birth of our first son, Taylor. He arrived on Christmas Eve swiftly followed by his brother Jacob on Halloween. We started our own family ritual and without fail, each time the winter pulled the festive times closer, we would spend it as a family. Every Christmas was the same, his cinnamon and musk scent cloaked me through the winter months, keeping me warm.

“Do you remember what the scent was? That your husband would wear?” Noticing the young doctor not making any notes but just listening, I walked away from the window.

“It was a very old musk, you couldn’t buy it now. The cinnamon was from all the cookies he baked over autumn and winter. In the first two weeks since his death, I swear I can smell it.”

“When would you smell it?”

“Normally after I would wake up. I’ve convinced myself a million times that when I wake up I’m at home, in my own bed, next to him. That’s when I smell it.”

“And your sons?”

“No one can tell me if they were home at the time of the fire or not.”

I phone and get no reply. I email and still no reply. The officer that was dealing with this has now stopped contact with me. Perhaps it is because I’m locked inside this place constantly, never allowed to leave the premises. I need to know if the rest of my family is still safe. A gentle bell rings that signals the end of the session.

“Eliza, I think we’re really making some progress.”

“Ok. Is it always this empty in here over the holiday season?”

“No, it used to be thriving, but a lot of people have gone to spend time with their own families.”

I left the book bounded walls to venture down a long corridor. Something about this place felt familiar but I couldn’t quite work out what. Landing outside my room the door flung open and a sudden rush of cinnamon floated through, a white mist walked through me. Cold trickled through my body followed by an intense warmth. I knew it had to be him. Terrified at the thought of an apparition I hesitated. Then, something triggered inside me, a need to see my husband. This propelled me into action as I ran back down the hall as far as I could go until a nurse escorted me back to my room. Kicking and screaming they brought in something to ‘calm me down’. I don’t remember anything until the next day when I found myself fixated once more on the snow. A soft voice asked me to explain what had happened yesterday. After calmly retelling the story, Dan stood next to me at the window.

“The mind often sees, feels, and therefore creates what we want it to. The thing that we are wanting more than anything else. Eliza, I believe after thinking so much about your husband yesterday your mind created what you wanted to see.”

“I know what I saw and what I felt.” I also knew what he said was true. “Dan, did you find out any more information about my sons?”

Moving away from the window, he began to ruffle a few papers before confirming to me that my sons were alive and there was every possibility that they may visit me over the upcoming days. Of course, I demanded to know why I had been left for so long without knowing what had happened. Doctor Dan only stood and apologised before asking me to take a seat. We sat and talked about general winter activities and then specifically what my family enjoyed the most. As a family each year we visited many log cabins during the winter, with real fires burning to keep us warm. The day of Colby’s death we had arrived back from our normal place.

“Are you ready to talk about what happened?”

“The kids got back before us. They left a note on the side to say they would be home again for Gina’s Christmas Eve party. Exhausted we threw the bags at the foot of the staircase, with all our ski boots and gear. I knew we wouldn’t bother to unpack until later that evening. We began having a few bottles of beer. Searching through the empty fridge I knew we needed some groceries to last until the food delivery came. Colby was too drunk to drive…”

“Yes?”

My feet skimmed the floor until I was back over by the window. The snow froze the pain, giving me the strength to talk about the next part. “I left to get some basics, milk, bread…” My voice trembled and broke as my eyes became transfixed on the scene taking place in the snow.

“Eliza?” I began to shake.

“It’s my sons, they’re here!” A gush of tears spilled over my tired eyes as I banged on the window. The closer they got the louder I banged. “I’m here!”

After a few moments of hysterically slapping the window and crying, they both looked at me. Then through me. Jacob turned his back away, dragging Taylor with him who looked on in fear. It was too much for me, I needed to let them know I was alright. Bursting through the doors, time was running against me. Trying to catch them before they left the grounds, I pushed my way through the nurses and doctors stopping me from leaving this hell. Squirming out of a stronghold, I made it to the front door, my foot almost reached the snow before being flung back inside by one of the nurses. The smell of cinnamon and musk cascaded past until once again it was morning and I was stood next to the window, lifeless looking at the snow.

“Eliza, we need to talk about yesterday.”

“I don’t remember anything after they put me to sleep.”

“Eliza, I think it’s time you knew.”

“What?”

Rustling with papers on his desk, Dan picked out a newspaper.

“Eliza, it’s time for me to go. Please stay in here, sit down, and read this.” Leaving the paper in my hands he looked at me one last time with a smile painfully filled with pity.

Sitting down in the plush green chair, I opened the newspaper.

Local Woman Tragically Killed in House Fire

Eliza Hernandez was tragically killed yesterday in a fire they suspected was caused by an unattended cigarette. Mr. and Mrs. Hernandez had arrived home after spending two weeks skiing with their sons Taylor and Jacob. Mr. Hernandez left to buy some groceries. It is believed that in the time he was gone Eliza had fallen to sleep with a lit cigarette in her hand. Colby Hernandez penned a beautiful letter for his late wife which has been inscribed upon her headstone.

My Dearest Eliza,

My heart will never forget our time together. How every year winter became a time of warmth. Our happy place in the snow.

I could never imagine a greater woman to have spent my life with or how wonderfully you raised our sons to be the men they are. You will be forever missed but always know there’s a space for me and you in the snow.

Until we meet in the winter once more,

All my love

Colby.

Mr. Hernandez will start rebuilding his home after the Christmas period, so the family may spend the next Christmas there. Our deepest sympathies are with the family at this time.

Dropping the newspaper to the ground, images flashed back in my mind. Tears flooded my mouth as I choked on the salty reality. My eyes cleared as I looked around me. Hawthorn was my house, a home. Where a book-bounded wall once stood was now the charred remains. Burnt pages scattered across the floor. The plush green chair was reduced to a piece of fabric and a wooden foot. The windows I would spend hours looking out of were now blackened by the smoke and fire that had destroyed this home. The never-ending corridor was a large open space.

And there it was. The chair I had fallen asleep on. The chair that enviably was my last resting place. Hearing the debris at the front of the house being kicked, I ran back into the study. Hiding behind a burnt door I could smell the cinnamon and musk wafting through.

“I know it’s strange being back here, but we’ll rebuild it.” I knew the kind, gentle voice.

“I saw her dad. The last time we came. I saw her. You did as well Taylor.”

“I know you miss her and at this time of year, it becomes harder. We’ll get through it and next year we can spend Christmas here, just like your mum would have wanted.”

For the best part of a year, I hid away. Occasionally leaving a small sign behind. Sometimes I would move the odd tool around that Taylor had been using. Or when Jacob sat alone in the study focusing hard on the window, I’d sit next to him. His gentle sniffles would let me know he knew I was there. He often came into the study to smell cigarettes and Samsara, the ‘smell of mum’ as it was always described. Finally, the 25th December rolled around, and I was able to watch my entire family, including the new arrivals, enjoy our favourite time of year.

A new tradition was born from this first holiday season without me. Every Christmas at midnight I would stand by the windows in the study gazing out at the snow waiting for Colby to walk in. He would stand behind me, and for a moment I could feel the warmth of his body. He stayed a while, telling me what had happened this year and how much he missed me. I only wish I could tell him.

The years went by and eventually, Taylor and Jacob had their own families. With that, their own traditions. The house was quiet. Colby came to the study more with each passing day. Until one December the house was filled with life again. A variety of gentle sobs and boisterous laughter rippled through our home. By the evening time, the house was quiet once more.

The study door creaked, and I watched as Colby walked towards me. The fresh smell of winter lingered in the air. I looked outside as Taylor and Jacob waved goodbye to their father. Warm arms fell about my waist. Turning from the window I looked at my husband and touched his face for the first time in ten years.

“I promised we’d meet again in winter.”

More ghost stories available in Truth or Scare: Volume 1

Before ‘Cries from the Crypt’ was added the selection of stories in the upcoming anthology Truth or Scare, I had posted it as a blog. From that blog, a man in his late 30s named Joe contacted me through my website.

Joe had spent many years researching the cemetery at Walton to see if any other strange goings-on had occurred. Unfortunately, he was unable to drum up much until he saw the blog.

The email explained that when he was eighteen he moved over from Vancouver, Canada to study at the University of Liverpool. His first three years flew by and soon he found himself starting his next degree in the same university. Joe’s life was going well, just as he had planned. Moving into a small house near the cemetery with his girlfriend, he was lucky enough that his friend Tony moved into a house on the same road. Settling into his postgraduate life Joe and Tony would often walk their dogs, Billy and Wilson.

Walton Cemetery had a good-sized field behind it that was dog-friendly. However, to get there you needed to pass through a maze of graves before arriving at the open field. Joe and Tony had made the journey on multiple occasions and never thought much of the graves that they passed. After a few routine checks of the different paths they could take, a discovery of one path that led straight from the cemetery gate to the field made their nightly walks easier. The keeper of the graveyard warned them to be careful during the colder seasons as the rain would bog down the path making it dangerous.

The months rolled by quickly and soon enough it was approaching Halloween. Meeting at Joe’s house they began their nightly strolls through the houses and into the graveyard. They talked amongst themselves about the ghost stories from where they both grew up and found similarities in the local myths and legends. Even though these myths and legends were in completely different parts of the world.

Billy was a Jack Russell Terrier and Wilson a Wolfhound, the unlikely friends. Billy seemed to be the only dog that Wilson liked. After half an hour of chasing his friend around the field, Billy returned to Joe, tired and ready for the walk home. Wilson burnt off the last of his energy by flying across the grass a few times before returning to Tony, soaked in mud. Laughing, they joked about how annoyed their girlfriends would be when they returned home.

Leaving the field, they saw that the path they came down was soaked with water. Too dangerous to walk in, especially for the dogs. They would need to take the longer route which passed by the entire of the cemetery. Walking along they began looking at old graves looking for the oldest one they could see. Beckoning Joe over Tony had managed to find a grave with no name or date. Brushing past another grave Billy and Wilson dragged them back, growling. Moving in the same direction, Joe and Tony turned to see an odd figure. The man was roughly middle-aged, very thin with greying skin. He was dressed in black, including a black Breton cap.  Smoke cascaded from his pipe framing a black leather lead and, on the end, a black Yorkshire Terrier.

Joe and Tony apologised for the dogs and coaxed them away, but the strange man said nothing as he continued to cradle his pipe. Billy and Wilson wouldn’t stop growling. The man in black pursued them keeping around fifty yards behind them.

Eventually, they came to a fork in the path, one leading through to the main cemetery and then out, the other through to another village. Glancing behind one last time they noticed the man had disappeared and the dogs stopped growling. They assumed he had gone back from where they had just come from.

The journey through the rest of the cemetery was uneventful.

As they neared the gates to exit there was one last row of graves to walk past. Joe’s heart sank as Billy barked and Wilson howled. It was impossible. The strange man who had followed them was now stood in front of them staring at a grave. All the noise from the dogs must have startled him as he began to float at an inhumane speed towards them.

Joe picked up Billy and began to run as Wilson dragged Tony out of the cemetery. Running almost halfway home they stopped to see if the man was behind them still.

Thankfully whoever he was had not followed them. Easing their pace into a quick walk they arrived home. Flushed with a red face Joe’s girlfriend asked him what had happened but not quite believing himself, decided it was best to keep it between the two friends.

That was until several years later. The night of Tony’s stag party they were waiting for more people to arrive before eventually leaving. Amongst the many topics already discussed they began to retell old stories and hilarious shenanigans when Tony started to tell them about this experience. Expecting his group of friends to explode into laughter he was surprised when they cast their eyes down.

“Erm, Tony. Don’t know if you know this like but it’s happened to a few of us.”

Confirming what the guy looked like and that they were forced to take a different path, Joe and Tony knew it wasn’t a living man. This was something far more paranormal.

To this day they still don’t know what haunts the graveyard at Walton. However, with three sightings already brought to me, I can safely guess that there is more than just the living that walks the paths of Walton Cemetery.

Perhaps you have had the same experience?

You can learn if this story was based on real-life events in ‘Truth or Scare: Volume One’,

The idyllic city of Edinburgh has been the centre of many things. Writers, poets, and of course Harry Potter. Many believe it’s where Charles Dickens gained his inspiration for the character Ebenezer Scrooge. A beautiful city steeped in rich history and above all things, many wonderful, happy stories. However, those who know the city well, will also speak of its haunted happenings and gruesome history. Take for example the underground walkways. Once down underneath the city, it is possible to imagine the lewd tales that took place. Murder, gambling, and women going missing. The stories above ground level are even more intriguing.  

Greyfriars has many stories surrounding it. One of my childhood favourites is Greyfriars Bobby. John Gray owned a Skye Terrier and named him Bobby. Mr. Gray was a policeman who walked the streets of Edinburgh keeping them safe at night. Sadly, John Gray passed away leaving behind a very faithful dog who stayed by his grave for fourteen years until his own death. The locals soon affectionately known him as Greyfriars Bobby and many books and subsequently films were made surrounding Bobby’s life. Maybe Bobby stayed so long by his masters grave because he didn’t want to miss him when he visited? Perhaps even from beyond the grave, we can still be cared for by a loving spirit.

With so much history and literature created and inspired in Edinburgh, it is no surprise when students of literature stay long after their degree is completed. Drawn to this literary hub was Ravi. Ravi moved from Yorkshire to Edinburgh to start his degree. After graduating with first-class honours in English Literature at Edinburgh University he stayed after graduating in 1998. Taking a job at a small publishing company, Ravi moved into a new home with another junior. It was a perfect situation for the young graduate.

The location was ideal as Ravi didn’t live too far away from his new job. Greyfriars Kirkyard, a cemetery dating back to the 1560s was the quickest and safest way to cut through when coming out late from work. After passing through the graveyard it would bring him out onto the Grassmarket. From there it would only be a few minutes until he was home. This was a route he would often take, jumping over the cemetery fence and staying close to the graves and trees so not to be caught. His housemate often asked Ravi if he was not scared of seeing ghosts or getting caught. Of course, this was always laughed off. Ravi stated to me multiple times how safe he felt passing through Greyfriars Kirkyard. Almost as if something was keeping him safe.

That was until one night in August 1998. Another late night saw him leave the publishers at around 9pm. He knew the work needed to be edited and took it home to look over. Carrying the manuscript, Ravi was engrossed in the story. He hardly noticed the warm August air become cold as the daylight faded into night. Realising he would soon need to climb a fence he tucked the manuscript into the back of his jeans. Just as he prepared to jump over the fence, he spotted the groundskeeper doing his patrol. Ravi hid behind a bench until the graveyard was clear.  Once again, he prepared himself only to stop a moment later.

A figure of a woman walked towards him. Calm at first, then she started running. Unsure what to do, Ravi crouched down once more behind the bench. Looking up the woman had disappeared. He grabbed onto the metal spikes ready to run through the graveyard and finally get home. Only to see a man in Victorian attire lunging towards him. The man faded as soon as he reached the fence. In that moment a taxi was driving slowly down the street. Thankfully it stopped when Ravi flagged it down. Feeling uneasy the short journey was in complete silence. Almost as if the taxi driver knew what Ravi had just witnessed. Once home he told his housemate about his paranormal experience. 

“Are you sure it wasn’t fog or mist? It gets like that sometimes.”

“No, I’m pretty sure it was a woman followed by a man.”

“Did you see their faces?”

“Sort of, they were smiling, but only slightly. It was weird, I felt freaked out but not threatened.”

“You’re probably just tired Ravi, you should get some sleep.”

The haunting seemingly tire him out and no later than 10pm Ravi was asleep. 

3.33am he woke to a loud scream. Checking his housemate was ok they looked out onto the street. No one was there.

“Did you hear that as well?”

“Yeah sounds like it came from Greyfriars.”

A few minutes later ambulances and police cars quietly left the kirkyard. The next morning in work the two juniors learnt of an arrest. Two men had been waiting for people to walk through the cemetery before stealing money and valuables. They had started around 8.30pm that night. Frustrated by the lack of people walking through they continued until the earlier hours of the morning. Unfortunately, James King was walking through the cemetery just after 2.30am after leaving his girlfriend’s house. Much like Ravi he jumped over the fence and walked as quickly as possible to get out of the kirkyard. James was almost out of Greyfriars Kirkyard when he was approached by two large men. He was asked for his money but when James refused, the two men began to attack. Leaving James bloody with multiple stab wounds, the two men left with his wallet. The wallet contained five pounds and a picture of his girlfriend.

Left fighting for his life, James shouted as loud as possible, but this only descended from his mouth in a crackled whisper. Around 3am the groundskeeper left to do his nightly check. It wasn’t long before finding James in an unconscious state, hardly breathing. He rushed back to call the police and an ambulance. The paramedics did everything they could, but before James arrived into the hospital that night he was pronounced dead, at 3.33am.

Had the ghostly apparitions tried to warn James as well? Maybe in a frightened state from seeing the ghouls, he rushed through the kirkyard and didn’t hear the footsteps of the men following him. The taxi driver who took Ravi home that night became a key witness.

He told the police that ‘for some reason each one of my jobs that night had me passing by Greyfriars. I must have picked up at least fifteen people from around 8pm around 2.30am. That’s when I saw James, I slowed down to see if he wanted a lift but before I could get there, he jumped the fence and started almost running. If I had known what was going to happen I would have shouted to him to jump in.”

Greyfriars Kirkyard is just one of the stories included within the Truth or Scare anthology. Why not download the eBook from Amazon today and learn if this story was Truth or Scare? Also available on Kindle Unlimited.

A common misconception when we are a teen or even in the essence of adulthood is that our parents never experienced the same rebellious stages. That there could be no possible chance they have experienced life in such a way you did. Of course, as the years roll by and family gatherings unfold more and more stories from the senior members of the family, you begin to understand that everyone has their share of tales to tell.

Not all stories were meant to be told.

Georgia reached out about a horrific tale that took place in 1978 when her mother was just 16. Georgia pressed her mother, Sue for the details of the night after hearing Sue’s younger sister talking about the incident. A night that should have been filled with tomfoolery and young love turned sinister very quickly.

After starting college in the September Sue found a group of new friends, very different to those she had met in high school. They were adventurous and keen to make their own fun during the drab winter months. Sue had grown close to one friend, Lyn. Straight away they became inseparable often diverting away from the main group of friends to meet up with others outside of college. Mid October 1978 saw Sue and Lyn on their way to meet Lyn’s new boyfriend, Rob. He was joined by his two friends; Simon and Craig. Craig was slightly older than the sixteen-year-olds and asserted control over the small group. Now, from what Sue told Georgia, she was in no means dressed for their plans that evening. They had intended on visiting travelling funfair; so, Sue had aptly dressed in a just above the knee skirt and a long-sleeved raglan coat. It was only as they walked past the fair they found themselves outside an old graveyard in Walton, Liverpool.

“Why are we here? The fair is back there?”

“Craig found a way to get to that old chapel.”

“You know I can’t break in there!”

“Sue, we know your granddad does the beat around here but we’re not going to get caught. Just going to have a bit of fun. Calm down and lighten up!”

Worry set into Sue’s stomach as they waited until the last of the carnival goers had passed by before climbing over the wall. It became obvious that this had been the plan all along. Sue and Lyn were the last two to find out the plan. Clearing the wall, they headed to the second set of gates. Relief washed across Sue’s face when she saw the bundles of heavy chains keeping the gates fixed in place. However, Craig knew they would need to break the chains open and came prepared. Five minutes had past when the final chain crashed to the ground. Fearing that someone may have heard the quintet dashed through the cemetery, passing the graves as they came to a derelict chapel near the back. The chapel itself was nothing more than wood and slabs of cold concrete slightly askew and weather beaten. It’s unknown why the chapel was left for thirty years to rot away in the rain and cold.

Many people had spoken about hearing strange noises from the disused chapel. Perhaps that why the groundskeeper ensured no one could get in. Craig visited the chapel a few nights before the incident to check where they could enter the chapel without being seen. A back door seemed like the perfect entrance as it was isolated away but had the least security. When it was in use this entrance would have been where the workers left after treating bodies and readying them for burial. Carefully sneaking around the back, Craig cracked the lock open. The chapel was open once more.

“Who is going first then?” Craig began to laugh sinisterly.

Arguing who was going down there was only one way to settle this fairly. A coin flip decided that Sue and Lyn would be the first to venture down. Down into the bowels of the unknown.

Simon and Rob stood at the top of the staircase with a torch, watching as the girls twisted and turned down the spiralling steps. Spark from a match gave enough light for them to see around the cold room. In front of her Sue could see a stone table where coffins would be left before burial or cremation. Cracks in the stone proved that the place hadn’t been used for a long time. To the left, small rusted plaques engraved with names of those cremated at the site, most had no family to visit them anymore. They looked like small doors, almost holding in the hundreds of souls. Souls that glared upon them. One stood out to Sue, Julia Procter 1894 – 1917, written underneath, ‘A wonderful daughter and sister. May you rest peacefully with Bernie’. Looking around at the other small plaques she could not find a ‘Bernie’ anywhere. As an icy chill scratched down her spine the match burnt out.

Quick to ignite another match Sue turned to the right. Facing them, a wooden door that led to another room. With a reassuring nod to each other, they walked forward. All of this to prove that they could do it and not run scared. The girls turned towards the door. Determined to show the boys there was nothing to fear inside the old chapel except the cold, musty smell of decaying wood and concrete. The closer they got the realisation that the handle turned slowly started to set in. There was someone behind that door, but how? The locks on the chapel were older than all of them. They needed to get out. Slowly, Sue and Lyn backed themselves against the wall next to the staircase, until the door began to shake violently.

Watching from the staircase, Simon and Rob scrambled back upstairs dived out of the chapel leaving Sue and Lyn inside. Standing outside, a sinister look swept Craig’s face.

‘Let’s leave them in a little longer,’ he laughed.

All three boys held the door while their friends banged on the door. The banging stopped. Inside, Sue could hear a faint noise drifting up the spiralling stairs. That’s when the screeching started.

Emerging from the shaking door they had just ran from, a woman’s cry could be heard. Terrified that whatever was on the other side of that door would soon appear, they began banging louder. The cry clawed closer. Cold air sprayed across their backs. The entire room was completely freezing. A breath whispered past their ears.

“Leave here.”

Their hands stopped, frozen on the door as the whisper grumbled into a shout. They continued trying to push the door with heavy arms, but the door stood still. Another whispered breath etched past their ears. Just as Sue and Lyn thought they would face what was behind them, the door opened. They had to look back, it was almost instinctive, nothing could be seen. No face, no body just the emptiness of an empty chapel. One final scream cascaded out as the door slammed shut from the disused chapel. This pushed the teens to their toes, heading back towards the gate.

They managed to escape without spirit or groundskeeper following them. Walking back along the canal home, not one of the five mentioned what happened. Sue recalled she feared if it was spoken about that it would enable the spirit to follow them home. It was an experience they all wished to keep hidden and quiet inside the safety of a locked chapel.

Many years later Sue went back to the graveyard to visit a friend’s grave. Looking around she saw the clearing where the chapel once stood. Speaking with the groundskeeper, Sue learnt that the chapel had burnt down. No one knew the reason why. No arson or foul play was detected. It seemed to have gone up in flames all by itself.

Some believe it was because many of the prisoners hung at Walton Gaol were still alive when they came to the chapel. Some believe that they were buried and burnt alive. People are unsure what haunts that chapel. Was it an inmate? Maybe their victim? Perhaps the screeching disembodied cries are something you want to research yourself.

To find out if Cries from the Crypt was based on true events download your copy of Truth or Scare from Amazon now! It is also available for free on Kindle Unlimited. 

Occasionally I will be browsing Waterstones or perhaps on Amazon and think ‘do you know what would make a really good book’. Most of the time this inspires me to want to write. However, there are some that go unwritten and probably ones that shouldn’t be.

In this weekly addition, we look at books we would like to see. Just a bit of fun! If you have any suggestions for next week please comment below!

This week the book I would like to see is –

[image error]

A book celebrating the very essence of Mr.  Bean and his more the animated facial expressions. I truly believe there is a face for every occasion.

Below are just some of the examples that I think would work brilliantly in this book.

[image error] [image error] [image error]

So what do you think? Would ‘The Best of Mr. Bean – A Face For Every Occassion’ be on your reading list?

Have a great Saturday!

Finally after the heatwave that hit the UK we’re starting to see some more traditional weather… rain!

I can’t imagine anything better than curling up with a good book, some snacky snacks, and listen to the rain as it cools the temperatures down.

The weather always inspires what I want to read, if it’s hot I’m definitely finding a Philippa Gregory book to enjoy. If it’s raining like today Haunted Liverpool or anything haunted really!

Releasing Truth or Scare during the heatwave I wasn’t too sure what to expect but I have been overwhelmed by the amount of support and positive comments over the past two days.

If you are looking for a good scare or perhaps a new type of anthology Truth or Scare is available on kindle unlimited or eBook for 99p! I believe books should be affordable for everyone which is why I love Amazon for making it possible.

I hope everyone has a fantastic Saturday!

The idyllic city of Edinburgh has been the centre of many things. Writers, poets, and of course Harry Potter. Many believe it’s where Charles Dickens gained his inspiration for the character Ebenezer Scrooge. A beautiful city steeped in rich history and above all things, many wonderful, happy stories. However, those who know the city well, will also speak of its haunted happenings and gruesome history. Take for example the underground walkways. Once down underneath the city, it is possible to imagine the lewd tales that took place. Murder, gambling, and women going missing. The stories above ground level are even more intriguing.  

Greyfriars has many stories surrounding it. One of my childhood favourites is Greyfriars Bobby. John Gray owned a Skye Terrier and named him Bobby. Mr. Gray was a policeman who walked the streets of Edinburgh keeping them safe at night. Sadly, John Gray passed away leaving behind a very faithful dog who stayed by his grave for fourteen years until his own death. The locals soon affectionately known him as Greyfriars Bobby and many books and subsequently films were made surrounding Bobby’s life. Maybe Bobby stayed so long by his masters grave because he didn’t want to miss him when he visited? Perhaps even from beyond the grave, we can still be cared for by a loving spirit.

With so much history and literature created and inspired in Edinburgh, it is no surprise when students of literature stay long after their degree is completed. Drawn to this literary hub was Ravi. Ravi moved from Yorkshire to Edinburgh to start his degree. After graduating with first-class honours in English Literature at Edinburgh University he stayed after graduating in 1998. Taking a job at a small publishing company, Ravi moved into a new home with another junior. It was a perfect situation for the young graduate.

The location was ideal as Ravi didn’t live too far away from his new job. Greyfriars Kirkyard, a cemetery dating back to the 1560s was the quickest and safest way to cut through when coming out late from work. After passing through the graveyard it would bring him out onto the Grassmarket. From there it would only be a few minutes until he was home. This was a route he would often take, jumping over the cemetery fence and staying close to the graves and trees so not to be caught. His housemate often asked Ravi if he was not scared of seeing ghosts or getting caught. Of course, this was always laughed off. Ravi stated to me multiple times how safe he felt passing through Greyfriars Kirkyard. Almost as if something was keeping him safe.

That was until one night in August 1998. Another late night saw him leave the publishers at around 9pm. He knew the work needed to be edited and took it home to look over. Carrying the manuscript, Ravi was engrossed in the story. He hardly noticed the warm August air become cold as the daylight faded into night. Realising he would soon need to climb a fence he tucked the manuscript into the back of his jeans. Just as he prepared to jump over the fence, he spotted the groundskeeper doing his patrol. Ravi hid behind a bench until the graveyard was clear.  Once again, he prepared himself only to stop a moment later.

A figure of a woman walked towards him. Calm at first, then she started running. Unsure what to do, Ravi crouched down once more behind the bench. Looking up the woman had disappeared. He grabbed onto the metal spikes ready to run through the graveyard and finally get home. Only to see a man in Victorian attire lunging towards him. The man faded as soon as he reached the fence. In that moment a taxi was driving slowly down the street. Thankfully it stopped when Ravi flagged it down. Feeling uneasy the short journey was in complete silence. Almost as if the taxi driver knew what Ravi had just witnessed. Once home he told his housemate about his paranormal experience. 

“Are you sure it wasn’t fog or mist? It gets like that sometimes.”

“No, I’m pretty sure it was a woman followed by a man.”

“Did you see their faces?”

“Sort of, they were smiling, but only slightly. It was weird, I felt freaked out but not threatened.”

“You’re probably just tired Ravi, you should get some sleep.”

The haunting seemingly tire him out and no later than 10pm Ravi was asleep. 

3.33am he woke to a loud scream. Checking his housemate was ok they looked out onto the street. No one was there.

“Did you hear that as well?”

“Yeah sounds like it came from Greyfriars.”

A few minutes later ambulances and police cars quietly left the kirkyard. The next morning in work the two juniors learnt of an arrest. Two men had been waiting for people to walk through the cemetery before stealing money and valuables. They had started around 8.30pm that night. Frustrated by the lack of people walking through they continued until the earlier hours of the morning. Unfortunately, James King was walking through the cemetery just after 2.30am after leaving his girlfriend’s house. Much like Ravi he jumped over the fence and walked as quickly as possible to get out of the kirkyard. James was almost out of Greyfriars Kirkyard when he was approached by two large men. He was asked for his money but when James refused, the two men began to attack. Leaving James bloody with multiple stab wounds, the two men left with his wallet. The wallet contained five pounds and a picture of his girlfriend.

Left fighting for his life, James shouted as loud as possible, but this only descended from his mouth in a crackled whisper. Around 3am the groundskeeper left to do his nightly check. It wasn’t long before finding James in an unconscious state, hardly breathing. He rushed back to call the police and an ambulance. The paramedics did everything they could, but before James arrived into the hospital that night he was pronounced dead, at 3.33am.

Had the ghostly apparitions tried to warn James as well? Maybe in a frightened state from seeing the ghouls, he rushed through the kirkyard and didn’t hear the footsteps of the men following him. The taxi driver who took Ravi home that night became a key witness.

He told the police that ‘for some reason each one of my jobs that night had me passing by Greyfriars. I must have picked up at least fifteen people from around 8pm around 2.30am. That’s when I saw James, I slowed down to see if he wanted a lift but before I could get there, he jumped the fence and started almost running. If I had known what was going to happen I would have shouted to him to jump in.”

Greyfriars Kirkyard is just one of the stories included within the Truth or Scare anthology. Why not download the eBook from Amazon for free today and learn if this story was Truth or Scare?

Have you ever had that feeling of instant regret? When you travel somewhere and try to blend in with what the locals do but one action, no matter how slight it is, seems to cause a flutter of mumbled words. Or it could be when choosing something new on the menu, everyone’s eyes are fixed upon you, judging that the decision would later be regretted. That is how Taylor felt when arriving at The Rose and Crown Inn, the day of The Summer Solstice.

Although, we would normally associate haunted happenings with the cooler months, with shorter days and chilled nights; it’s easy to forget the activity that heat brings. Taylor spoke to me about Thursday 21st June 2018. He remembers the day specifically. The Summer Solstice.

Taylor and a few friends, Mark, Jacob, and Laura headed to York for the celebrations. The air was electric. Intensified by the upcoming solstice. The friends had planned a glorious long weekend. It would be filled with fun, ghostly stories, and one too many glasses of cherry wine. They arrived shortly after 3pm and checked into the inn. Luggage was quickly placed inside their home for the next few days. The Rose and Crown Inn had stood since 1335. Originally named The Crown Inn, it later showed its allegiance for York with a simple white rose. A perfect place, to start the celebration with a few drinks being gulped quickly inside The Rose and Crown Inn.

Swiftly after, the four friends made their way around the small village. Visiting everything from crystal shops to tarot card readers. As the evening went on so did the drinking, until it was time to watch the late-night fireworks explode in the sky. One more round was had before they knew it was time to call it a night. Collapsing into the four separate rooms; Taylor, Jacob, Mark, and Laura settled in for a long sleep. The next day at breakfast Taylor noticed something wasn’t quite right. 

‘I think we should leave today, we’ve had the solstice now,’ Laura suggested.

Without any argument they finished what was left of breakfast and headed upstairs to grab their bags. 

‘You’ve paid upfront for four days? I’ll see if I can get you a refund,’ the receptionist who booked them in knew not to question this further. Taylor politely declined the refund and thanked the receptionist for all his help.

No one spoke a word on the journey home. An eerie silence fell on them all. It wasn’t until two days later that the four friends met up at Taylor’s home. He knew there was something wrong. 

Laura went first. Throughout the night she was awoken several times after having the same repeated nightmare. Laying in bed her skin would bubble. Huge boils would spread across her skin until with one scratch across her back, they would burst covering her in blood. The final time she woke up. A man stood hovering over her, covered in the same boils. The putrid man grunted flipping Laura onto her stomach. As she screamed a burning sensation ran down her back. As Laura stopped speaking, Jacob confessed. He had the same experience. Lifting up their tops slightly revealed three deep slashes down their spine. 

Although in shock, Mark continued with what had happened to him. Mark couldn’t sleep when they got back to their rooms, it was too hot. Instead he browsed through social media. Half way through watching a video his phone screen went blank. Thinking the phone had lost charge he grabbed a charger. After a few hours of watching various documentaries Mark had fallen asleep. That’s when the scratching noises started at his window. Thinking it was the branch outside, he went back to sleep. A cold breeze of air woke him up. This time he could see what was causing the scratching noise. A woman stood weeping as her nails clawed at the wooden window frame. A faint murmur of ‘help me’ could be heard. As Mark slowly got out of bed the woman dressed in a white chemise gown screamed as she ran through him. The room was silent.

Finally, Taylor began to explain his reasons for leaving early. Taylor fell asleep straight away when they got back to The Rose and Crown Inn. At about 3am he was woken by a loud crash. Dashing out of bed he began to look around. Nothing was out of place. As he got back in bed, a laughter could be heard outside. Peeking through the window he saw three young girls and a boy all holding hands in a circle. They started to sing.

Ring-a-ring o’ roses,

A pocket full of posies,

A-tishoo! A-tishoo!

We all fall down.

As soon as they sang down, all four stared straight up at Taylor and continued to laugh. 

Naturally, Taylor, Jacob, Mark, and Laura wanted to understand what had happened to them. Upon further research Taylor had found some terrifying information. The Rose and Crown Inn did date back to 1335. By June 1348 The Bubonic Plague had reached London. Summer Solstice 1349 it found its way to York. The landlord of the pub at that time had been one of the first struck with it. His family watched on as the boils broiled his body, screaming in agony. The landlord’s wife was terrified she and her three daughters and son would face the same end. So instead, she waited until the Summer Solstice had been celebrated before poisoning her children’s drinks. Ensuring that they were dead, she poisoned herself. 

The Rose and Crown Inn is a year-round busy place. Except for the solstice. Residents know to stay away. However, there is always some unlucky tourist who meets the family that haunts the inn every summer. 

The Summer Solstice is one of the stories available in Truth or Scare! Why not get your free copy today to find if this was based on real events?