Stalked by a shapeshifter who hates me!

He was star­ing at me from the shad­ows

Chat It's Fate - - Contents -

Walk­ing round Wymer­ing Manor in Portsmouth, my feet clat­ter­ing on the wooden floor­boards, I grew more and more un­easy. I felt like I’d vis­ited the place be­fore – but I had the strangest feel­ing that the house didn’t want me there. ‘Don’t be silly,’ I scolded my­self. ‘It’s just your imag­i­na­tion play­ing tricks on you.’ It was 2016, and I was on a tour of the Grade Ii-listed build­ing. Un­used since 2006, it had fallen into dis­re­pair. Although a hous­ing as­so­ci­a­tion had bought it and was in the process of restor­ing it to its for­mer glory, it had a shabby, melan­cholic air.

Most of the cur­rent build­ing was con­structed in the 16th cen­tury, but parts of it are much older, dat­ing back to Ro­man and Me­di­ae­val times. It’s a piece of liv­ing his­tory, with its an­cient oak front door and its se­cret priest holes, relics of a time when Catholics had to wor­ship in se­cret.


Oh, and it’s very, very haunted. Some para­nor­mal in­ves­ti­ga­tors be­lieve that there are as many as 20 dif­fer­ent ghosts there, in­clud­ing a nun with blood drip­ping from her hands, a child who died of the plague in an at­tic, and the un­for­tu­nate Sir Rod­er­ick of Porch­ester, mur­dered by his lover’s hus­band out­side the manor in the Mid­dle Ages.

Maybe that’s why I felt like some­one was watch­ing me now. It was mak­ing my skin crawl. As the tour guide led us into a room with wood pan­elled walls in the Tu­dor style, I felt my stom­ach drop.

I tried to fo­cus on what the guide was say­ing, but I had the strangest feel­ing that some­one was stand­ing right be­hind me. A man – and he was breath­ing down my neck. I swung round, know­ing that there wasn’t any­body there. The en­ergy in the room felt charged, and not in a pos­i­tive way.

‘You’ve been watch­ing too much Most Haunted,’ I mut­tered to my­self.

But I couldn’t shake the feel­ing that this in­vis­i­ble man was fol­low­ing me. It wasn’t un­til I stepped out of the gates that I fi­nally felt him melt away.

It had been a creepy ex­pe­ri­ence – but it had roused my cu­rios­ity. I felt com­pelled to re­turn to the manor, but it’s not open to the gen­eral pub­lic.

Ear­lier this year, the op­por­tu­nity pre­sented it­self. I was in­vited by Tim Brown from the Para­nor­mal In­tel­li­gence Gather­ing Ser­vice (P.I.G.S) to come along to spend the evening at the manor and help hunt for ev­i­dence of its many re­puted ghosts. I jumped at the chance.

When I ar­rived, the team were set­ting up their cam­eras and equip­ment.

Tim showed me round, then in­tro­duced me to Michelle and Ben, who’d be head­ing up my team. I was im­me­di­ately drawn to them – their en­thu­si­asm was elec­tric.

‘I had a weird ex­pe­ri­ence here a few years ago,’ I con­fided in Michelle.

I told her about the an­gry male pres­ence fol­low­ing me around.

‘Don’t worry, you’ll be pro­tected here,’ she re­as­sured me. ‘There’s safety in num­bers.’

We be­gan our in­ves­ti­ga­tion on the first floor with a seance led by medium Mark. We were stand­ing round a large ta­ble.

‘Is there any­body there?’ Mark asked softly. Sev­eral mem­bers of our party gasped in shock as the ta­ble twitched, ap­par­ently mov­ing

A strong smell of sweets filled the room

of its own ac­cord.

‘A male pres­ence has come through,’ Mark re­vealed. ‘He feels very an­gry.’

I couldn’t help but glance over at Michelle. Was this

my an­gry male pres­ence?


‘I’m get­ting the name John. Is that your name?’ Mark asked the male spirit.

‘What’s that smell?’ some­one asked sud­denly.

It was mint – the room was filled with the scent of it. At once, the mood shifted dra­mat­i­cally. The an­gry male pres­ence was re­placed by that of a scared woman. Was it the male spirit who’d ter­ri­fied her?

We headed off to a dif­fer­ent part of the house to con­nect with the en­ergy there – and I found my­self in the Pan­elled Room where I’d first en­coun­tered the an­gry male pres­ence.

As we sat at the ta­ble and at­tempted to make con­tact, my stom­ach flipped with anx­i­ety.

But the room felt com­pletely dif­fer­ent this time. There was a mourn­ful, sober vibe.

‘I can smell sweets or candy floss,’ Mark said.

‘Marsh­mal­lows,’ I spoke out, ‘It smells like the pow­der you get on marsh­mal­lows’.

The scent lin­gered un­til we moved on. The evening ended with a vigil in the hall­way. Sit­ting at the grand ta­ble, I looked over to the pi­ano, and saw a strange fig­ure stand­ing there.

He had grey, Stu­art-era hair – a wig, most prob­a­bly - and a waxy, grey palour to his wiz­ened face. He was scowl­ing right at me.

‘Who’s that?’ I asked, nudg­ing one of my team mem­bers and point­ing out the scowl­ing man.

‘It’s just one of the team,’ they shrugged. ‘I don’t know his name.’

I was still look­ing at the scowl­ing man. But as I stared at him, his fea­tures shifted. It wasn’t an old man in Stu­art dress stand­ing there any more. It was a young guy with a shaved head. My mouth fell open in shock. What had just hap­pened? Were my eyes play­ing tricks on me…or had I en­coun­tered a shapeshifter?

My mind was still spin­ning as I left the build­ing. As I looked back up at the house, I felt that the in­vis­i­ble eyes were still watch­ing me – but, oddly, this time, I felt a sense of ap­proval. It was as if I’d passed some kind of test…


Wymer­ing Manor still feels linked to me. I feel like I’ve got un­fin­ished busi­ness with the place. The Pan­elled Room is the build­ing’s para­nor­mal hotspot, sit­u­ated right be­low the at­tic where the nun with bloody hands has been sighted, star­ing down the stairs.

I have a feel­ing some­thing re­ally dread­ful hap­pened in that room. And who knows, maybe I’m the per­son who’s des­tined to find out what it was…

To book a tour with the Para­nor­mal In­tel­li­gence Gather­ing Ser­vice, which hosted Danielle’s visit, check out

Danielle Jones, 32, from Portsmouth

Psy­chic link: Wymer­ing Manor

Im­pos­ing: Manor fa­cade

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