A GRAVE DISCOVERY
UNEARTHING A GRAVE in our garden unleashed a SINISTER SOUL.
Attacked by ghost buried in my garden
This room’s mine!’ I shouted to my little brother, Ben, running into the empty bedroom at the front of our new family home.
Well, I say new, but really the house seemed ancient.
Built in the 1800s, it had a thatched roof and whitewashed exterior. Exposed beams lined the ceiling inside and the place felt chilly, especially the front room.
‘It’s a bit draughty,’ my dad Roger admitted.
‘No, it’s perfect,’ my mum, Carole, smiled, throwing her arms round him.
But, typical kids, me and Ben, 11, were more interested in sussing out our bedrooms than marvelling over period features.
Mum and Dad had split up for a while and we had lived with her in Bournemouth. But now they were giving things another go and Ben and I were thrilled we’d all be together again. So today we were all moving into the thatched cottage Dad had bought. It was nestled in a quaint Bedfordshire village and had a huge garden with a tumbledown well at the end of it.
‘Don’t fall in, it’s a long way to the bottom!’ Dad warned.
Now, exploring our bedrooms, Ben and I saw that they were joined by an interconnecting stable door. ‘Don’t think that means you’re allowed in my room,’ I teased Ben.
We soon settled in. Then, a few days on, I went into the front room to find our terrier, Pepsi, in the doorway growling at the corner of the room.
The room felt icy.
‘What’s wrong with the dog?’ I asked Mum.
‘Not sure, she’s been growling into that corner ever since we moved in,’ Mum replied.
I didn’t give it much more thought until a few weeks on, I woke up in bed with a jolt. It felt like someone was tugging on my ankles. I groggily sat up, looking round the room in confusion. But there was no one there. Eventually I went back to sleep.
But a few nights later, it happened again…
This time, when I felt the fingers tighten round my ankles, I woke up startled and scared. The room was dark and silent, I was alone. But it was like someone was trying to yank me out of bed.
Mum thought I’d been dreaming. But it felt so real. Like a pair of firm hands grasping my ankles.
Soon after, our grandma Phyllis, my mum’s mum, came to stay. ‘It’s a beautiful cottage isn’t it?’ Dad said.
Grandma nodded, but she kept making excuses not to sit in the front room.
‘Pepsi doesn’t like it in there either,’ I told her.
After only two nights, Grandma decided to go home. ‘I can’t stay here, love,’ she said, looking uncomfortable. But she wouldn’t tell me why.
Meanwhile, at night, things got scarier. One night, I woke
up and could feel my duvet being slowly pulled off me and slithering to the floor.
I wasn’t the only one spooked. So was my friend Karen who came for a sleepover. She was one of the most outgoing girls in my class, but she didn’t even last the night.
‘I can’t stay here,’ she said, as I went to switch off the bedroom light. ‘There’s something not right in this room.’
I was surprised – I hadn’t told her about the presence I felt pulling my ankles. But Karen was so terrified, she begged Dad to drive her home at 2am.
Then, not long after, I was in the living room when I heard what sounded like a door bang upstairs. Feeling brave, I ran up and found the old stable door between Ben’s room and mine wide open.
A creepy feeling shot up my spine. There was no one up there to open it. Besides, that door was so stiff, you needed two people to force it open…
By now, it was clear something was haunting our home, but who they were, or what they wanted, was a mystery.
Until, that Spring, when Dad and Mum booked some workmen to do up the garden.
It was a bit dangerous having a deep, open well so they were putting a lid on it to prevent any nasty accidents.
‘Come and look, kids!’ Dad called, beckoning us outside.
There, lying close to the well, was a large flat stone.
It was weathered and covered in moss but you could faintly make out the remnants of some ornate lettering.
‘Looks a bit like a headstone,’ I shuddered.
‘That’s what I wondered,’ Dad said. ‘Though it’s impossible to make out what it says.’
‘Do you think someone was buried in the garden?’ I worried.
‘I don’t know, I guess back in those days, it could have happened,’ Dad said.
He looked a bit uneasy too.
A few days on I woke up to moonlight streaming in through my window.
I looked up and stared in shock. Someone was standing at the foot of my bed, under the eaves opposite the window.
It was a man. He was tall, his face in shadow. But he was wearing a black top hat and a long morning suit jacket. In his hand, something glinted in the moonlight. It looked like a silver-topped walking cane.
I felt cold dread creep over me. Who was he? Why was he in my bedroom?
I was paralysed by fear and couldn’t even scream. But as I stared, he faded until I was staring at a blank wall again. I couldn’t help wondering if the man had something to do with the gravestone the workmen had unearthed. Was it his grave? Was he angry we’d disturbed him?
‘I think I saw a man in a top hat in my room last night,’
I told my parents the following morning over breakfast.
They looked a bit surprised. ‘You must have dreamt it, love, try not to worry,’ Mum said. But I noticed Dad looked baffled. He didn’t seem so able to explain what was happening in our cottage either.
Sadly, a few months later, Mum and Dad split up again, this time for good.
Dad stayed in the cottage and we moved out with Mum into a new build.
When we saw Dad soon after he said he’d had a few friends over. ‘They stayed in your old bedroom and told me they felt someone yanking their legs in the night too,’ Dad said.
‘Glad I’m not the only one,’ I shuddered.
That’s when Dad admitted there was a strange presence in the house. ‘I didn’t want to scare you any more than you already were, but something isn’t right.’
Not long after, he sold the cottage. I felt relieved, knowing I’d never have to go back.
That was 40 years ago and
I’ve not experienced anything supernatural since.
A few months ago, I was chatting to Mum about the old cottage. She said she’d never sensed anything weird there, but Grandma Phyliss had.
‘She was meant to stay for two weeks but left early because she felt a bad energy in the cottage. She was too scared to stay,’ she admitted.
Grandma hadn’t wanted to worry Ben or I, so she hadn’t told us why she was leaving.
I’ve never found out who, if anyone, was buried in the garden or if they died in the cottage. I still wonder if the man in the top hat came to warn us not to dig up the past. After all, some things are best left buried for eternity…
I felt cold dread creep over me