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Guest Stephen Turner

In the dark woods.

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Guest Stephen Turner

I tried this (posting an xmas ghost story) several years ago, but didn't give myself enough time to complete it. this will be posted in at least twenty parts, and takes the form of a diary, it tends to time leap as well.

FROM THE DIARY OF SAMUEL WARD.

OCTOBER 21ST 1968. " After months of searching Junie and I have finally found it, the perfect retirement retreat, and blast those estate agents, it came as an accident. We were driving through Shropshire after visiting Junie's Sister and decided to take a winding route over B roads, rather than sail down the motorway as usual. The last of a washed out, early Winter sun was peering through the low hanging branches of the ancient Larch trees that lined the road and making driving damed difficult. Junie was regaling me with childhood tales about her tomboy Sister (For tomboy read unmarried and living with "friend") When, after browsing a hill, we came upon it, A beautiful old three storried house, half timbered and set well back from the road, and to its rear was a large wood that looked to be part of the estate.."

EMAIL, PETER GORSAN TO LINDA MIKE, RE THE ABBOT HOUSE. 12-15PM NOVEMBER 12TH 2007.

Hi Lin, I'm going to be showing a client round the old Abbot place this after, can you dig up the deeds for me hon. What is it with this s**hole, its on the market for about two thirds what its worth and I've shown half the bloody population of England round it and not a bite, lovely old woods at the back too, might just put in an offer myself if this bloody lot fall through, remind me again, whats the asking price? Luv, Pete.

LETTER FROM SAMUEL WARD TO HIS DAUGHTER LUCY. JUNE 2ND 1970.

"My Dearest Lucy, hope this finds you well, sorry I haven't written sooner, but since Junies death I can't seem to turn my hand to anything, the Coroner is still recording an open verdict, bloody fool, how could such injuries have been sustained by a mere fall, the times I asked her not to go walking in those damned woods by herself, but she seemed entranced by them, said she felt something incredibly old, and wise there, like a presence I suppose. The house has been on the market for a month I can't wait to leave it, its emptyness chills me to the bone, and I have become wary of its melencholy. Sorry to ramble so, how are Chris and my wonderful grandaughter....................

Edited by Stephen Turner

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Guest Stephen Turner

From the register of Peter Maitend, witch finder, August 1792.

Tonight we visited the old Abbery, Goodie Fairchilde resident at the time, much signs of the casting of spells, aligned twigs, potions, bloodstains on floorboards, and the Devils calling board chalked onto the floor. We caught her with two familiars, a cat, and a duck, after Gideon applied the thumbscrews Goodie Fairchilde revealed their Satanic names, the Cat is the Demon Vinegar Joe, and the Duck called Old Suckery both were cast out and drowned in the pool that lies in the woods at back of house. Of the Husband, Castor Fairchilde, there was no sign, and his Wife refuses to give him up to justice, we shall put her to the rack on the Morrow, perhaps its embrace will loosen her tongue. For supper had cold roast beef, potatoes black bread and several flagons of the good landlady's ale, I hpoe her bed is as warming.

Email, Peter Gorsan to Steven Smith, re The Abbot house November 17th 10-18 am.

Hi Steve, I still can't do a damn thing with this place, shew a couple round on the 12th, seemed interested and were pleasently surprised at the asking price. The Wife, a proper mousey little thing, went for a walk in the woods at the back of the property, while I schmozzed the Husband, He's something big in carpets, we'd just about come to terms when Wifey got back from her stroll, looked flushed and a bit frightened, she said they had other properties to see before they could commit, and with a bit of Argie bargie virtually tore Hubbie out of the place, and that was the last I heard from the bleeders. Look boss, with your permission, I'm thinking of making a bid on the place, might even get it a bit under the asking, gonna have to do something with that foul pond at the the back, don't want Jocasta or Simeon falling in................................

Edited by Stephen Turner

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Guest Stephen Turner

FROM THE DIARY OF SAMUEL WARD. "COSYLAWNS" RESTHOME. DECEMBER 10TH 1989.

I know noone will ever read this, since the Children, oh so descreatly, put me out to pasteur in this well appointed tomb, nobody pays a damn bit of notice to any opinion I may have, but if I don't get it down now, I probably never shall. I have nightmares you see, nightmares about the house and those bloody woods, and at my time of life, I'm 83, I tend to sleep a lot. I have come to believe, no strike that, I know that the Abbot house is evil, and for an old atheist thats some confession, something terrible happened there that has tainted it, and made it deadly for any poor sod that lives there. I don't think that it kills everyone it comes into contact with, some it just curses, plays with if you like. I finally moved out in 1971, made a loss just to get rid of it, the couple I sold to were in their late thirties, with a teenage son and younger Daughter, couldn't believe their luck, and there, for many years, until the nightmares began, I left it to lie. But last year I did some checking, I hate the modern World and most of its vulgarities, but the internet is great for that kind of thing, And here is the bare bones of what I found out, mostly gleened from local newspapers. Shortly after moving in, the Son, 17 and University bound became very withdrawn, hardly unusual in a teenager I hear you say, and you'd be right, but you have to see the paterns. Within 12 months he had ran away from home, ended up in London, and on drugs, dead from an overdose within a year, the Father never recovered from this blow and hung himself from the branch of a tree in the woods. (I wonder what the last thing he saw was?) The Mother and Daughter left the House shortly after this, ran with all the speed their legs possed I imagine, and the house moved on again. I have made contact with the Mother, a Mrs Sandra Jakes, and she has agreed, after much persuation, to visit me, I need to know what lies behind those bare bones.

PART OF A LETTER FROM MRS SANDRA JAKES TO HER DAUGHTER CAROLINE MORRIS. DECEMBER 7TH 1989.

And it came as such a shock to hear from him after all these years, funny thing was I still recognised the voice. I was very hesitant at first, the last thing I want at my time of life is to be digging up old, and terribly sad memories, but he was very persuasive, and reckons he can shine some light on what happened to poor Alan, and Father. i have never told you this before Darling, but I still sometimes dream of THAT place, and those dreams are not pleasant.............

Edited by Stephen Turner

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Guest Stephen Turner

LETTER FROM JUNE WARD TO HER SISTER DENISE LATTIMER, MARCH 12TH 1969.

My dearest Denny, how are things with you and Angela? well I hope, who cares what Society thinks, love is to precious a commodity to only be shared in the more obvious way, in some respects Sister of mine, I envy you.

Well, its finally done, Samuel has his retirement pile, that huge ridiculous House I told you about in, of all places, rural Shropshire, and that about as rural as it gets. the bloody place will take all my time to keep clean, so, no retirement for yours truely, still, at least it will keep me busy and out of his way, the Man can be a perfect pain when he choses, and of late he choses most of the time, I am sometimes given over to a sort of paralysis of the mind when I think of spending all day, seven a week in his company, in addition to all the cleaning I think I will partake of LONG walks in the wood, did I tell you about the woods at the back of the House?................

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Guest Stephen Turner

LETTER FROM CAPTAIN LONNY PEARSON TO HIS PARENTS, JUNE 11TH 1917.

Well, me dear old Chums, here I am, finally managed to get Jerry to provide me with a Blighty wound* I shall miss the toes on my left foot but what the Hell( sorry Mum), nothing like a nice lie in on a Sunday now is there? tea, toast and Telegraph as Pops always says. We had just joined the 2nd Battalion at Ypres salient, now that really is staring down Jerrys sights I can attest, just having a hand of Gin with a charming fellow from Brighton when the RSM comes bowling in.Sir" he bellows, in the strange, squeaky yet thretening manner only seasoned RSMs can muster, "Urgent message from upline" see if you can guess what the urgent message from General staff was? thats right, another charming invite to waltz into no mans land, Mum this war is a total nonsense, the conchies are right I am convinced nobody has the slightest idea why we are fighting, most of the men think Jerry a decent chap, and hate the high command with a passion. Sorry, off topic again. So, I blew me little whistle, and over the top the Company went, I wish I could describe to you the utter horror and carnage of that scene, but I'm no Sasoon, the first thing you notice is the smoke coming from Jerrys trenches, the first timers think this is gas, and start reaching for their masks without realising its the smoke from our last cannonade, the second thing you notice is that you are advancing, at walking pace, over, and through the corpse's of the last poor bloody fools who went picnicing in Flanders fields, the third, and for many, the last thing you notice are the bullets, and grenades, the bullets sound like angry wasps, the grenades go off with a huge WHUUUMP, and tend to throw equal parts of mud and Soldier over you, and thats where I bought it, thank Christ the damn fool of a Hun couldn't shoot for toffee, and instead of taking my head from my shoulders, put one into my left foot. Well thats the story, such as it is, and here I am in dear old Blighty, got me put up in a lovely billit, an old farm house, I think, deep in the Shropshire countryside, plenty of grub, spiffing Nurses and long walks to look foward to. There are some nice woods at the rear I might check out when I'm feeling more chipper. Now Dear old Mater, about the amount of cakes I shall require.................

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Guest Stephen Turner
FROM THE DIARY OF SAMUEL WARD. "COSYLAWNS" RESTHOME. DECEMBER 10TH 1989.

I know noone will ever read this, since the Children, oh so descreatly, put me out to pasteur in this well appointed tomb, nobody pays a damn bit of notice to any opinion I may have, but if I don't get it down now, I probably never shall. I have nightmares you see, nightmares about the house and those bloody woods, and at my time of life, I'm 83, I tend to sleep a lot. I have come to believe, no strike that, I know that the Abbot house is evil, and for an old atheist thats some confession, something terrible happened there that has tainted it, and made it deadly for any poor sod that lives there. I don't think that it kills everyone it comes into contact with, some it just curses, plays with if you like. I finally moved out in 1971, made a loss just to get rid of it, the couple I sold to were in their late thirties, with a teenage son and younger Daughter, couldn't believe their luck, and there, for many years, until the nightmares began, I left it to lie. But last year I did some checking, I hate the modern World and most of its vulgarities, but the internet is great for that kind of thing, And here is the bare bones of what I found out, mostly gleened from local newspapers. Shortly after moving in, the Son, 17 and University bound became very withdrawn, hardly unusual in a teenager I hear you say, and you'd be right, but you have to see the paterns. Within 12 months he had ran away from home, ended up in London, and on drugs, dead from an overdose within a year, the Father never recovered from this blow and hung himself from the branch of a tree in the woods. (I wonder what the last thing he saw was?) The Mother and Daughter left the House shortly after this, ran with all the speed their legs possed I imagine, and the house moved on again. I have made contact with the Mother, a Mrs Sandra Jakes, and she has agreed, after much persuation, to visit me, I need to know what lies behind those bare bones.

FROM THE DIARY OF SAMUEL WARD, DECEMBER 21ST 1989.

Well, she came, and although she has aged terribly in the eighteen years since I last saw her, I could still see the younger Woman in her eyes. Her story was long, and somewhat rambling but the gist of it goes like this. For the first few months everything was fine, they settled in well, and got used to the local ameiities, such as they were. The Son, Alan, had taken to using the woods to study in, and would often be out there for most of the day. One day, upon returning he seemed somewhat withdrawn, the Mother was surprised at this as he was a very outgoing sort, and finally got this story out of him, he had as usual been studying down by the pond,, but had become aware, as one does, of being observed, on looking up from his work he saw a young Man, not much older than himself about a hundred yards away on the other side of the pond, the young Man was dressed in a strangely old fasioned military uniform, and appeared to have suffered a terrible wound to his left foot, before Alan could say anything the young man spoke to him, and although he did not shout, and was some distance away, he heard every word, " At Ypres they gave me morphine for the pain, you should try it" at this he smiled at Alan, the Boy called it a "Knowing smile" and simply blinked out, he didn't fade away, just ceased to be. Well, the Mother didn't know what to make of this story, and later related it to her Husband, who was of the opinion that Alan had "Been smoking a bit of dope" as he apparantly did from time to time. But after this incident he became increaseingly, withdrawn and secetive, and the rest we know, he finally died from a massive heroin overdose the Coroner claimed he must have known would kill him, As if he wanted putting out of his pain? She still has no idea why her Husband killed himself, she claims that although he greived hard for his Son, as any Father would, he loved her, and absolutely doted on the Daughter and would never have knowingly caused her that pain less than a year after the death of their Son. Its not the House I tell you, its the woods, and everything seems to occur near that damned pond.

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EMAIL, PETER GORSAN TO CHRIS GORSAN RE, YEY, WE'VE GOT THE HOUSE, LMAO. MAY 1ST 2008.

Hey Bro, just got it confirmed, our bid has been accepted, at least 75k under the real market value, Gonna do it up yuppie style, maybe live there for a year or so, and then sell her for a WHOPPING profit, at least 125k by my reckoning, HAPPY FECKING DAYS ARE HERE AGAIN!!!!!!!!!

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Hi Steve, I still can't do a damn thing with this place, shew a couple round on the 12th, seemed interested and were pleasently surprised at the asking price. The Wife, a proper mousey little thing, went for a walk in the woods at the back of the property, while I schmozzed the Husband, He's something big in carpets, we'd just about come to terms when Wifey got back from her stroll, looked flushed and a bit frightened, she said they had other properties to see before they could commit, and with a bit of Argie bargie virtually tore Hubbie out of the place,

SHROPSHIRE ECHO "CARPET KINGS WIFE DIES AT 47"

The wife of the self styled "carpet King" Reg Howe has died of a massive heart attack at home, Moira Howe, 47, was found dead in her bath on Tuesday, attempts at resusitation proved futile. Mr Howe is said by friends to be "devistated" The Funeral will take place at St Mary's Church, Crittenham this Monday.

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From the register of Peter Maitend, witch finder, August 1792.

Tonight we visited the old Abbery, Goodie Fairchilde resident at the time, much signs of the casting of spells, aligned twigs, potions, bloodstains on floorboards, and the Devils calling board chalked onto the floor. We caught her with two familiars, a cat, and a duck, after Gideon applied the thumbscrews Goodie Fairchilde revealed their Satanic names, the Cat is the Demon Vinegar Joe, and the Duck called Old Suckery both were cast out and drowned in the pool that lies in the woods at back of house. Of the Husband, Castor Fairchilde, there was no sign, and his Wife refuses to give him up to justice, we shall put her to the rack on the Morrow, perhaps its embrace will loosen her tongue. For supper had cold roast beef, potatoes black bread and several flagons of the good landlady's ale, I hpoe her bed is as warming.

FROM A WRITING TABLET FOUND AT THE ABBOTT HOUSE, SEPTEMBER 1792.

THEY HAVE MURDERED MY MARY, MAY SATAN BLAST THEIR EYES. I SHALL HOLD UP A MIRROR FOR THEM, METHINKS THEY WILL NOT LIKE WHAT IT REVEALS. CASTOR FAIRCHILDE.

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PART OF A LETTER FROM STAFF NURSE VICKIE MARSHALL TO MR AND MRS J PEARSON. AUGUST 14TH 1917.

Please excuse me writting to you in this manner, but there is something about your Sons death that I feel you should know, as I am sure that the "official" letter made no mention of it. Firstly your Sons suicide makes no sense to me as a Nurse, we are used to dealing with suicidal men, and I am sure that Lonny harboured none of those feelings, he was, quite contrary, a most agreeable Chap, full of talk of the future, and forever making jokes and puns, usually at the Nurses expense, but not in a bad way if you know what I mean. I was the person who found him, and it is undeniable that he had used a service revolver to kill himself (I am sory to be so indelicate in these matters) But its not the how, but the why thats makes no sense.

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EMAIL, PETER GORSAN TO CHRIS GORSAN, RE, WE'RE IN! JUNE 20TH 2008.

What a f****** day, Removal men late, probably had to stop off for some bacon sarnies and a copy of the Sun, the useless workshy proles. No wonder this country's in the state its in, you have a working class who basically don't want to work, just loaf around on their sink estates and draw the dole, and a bloody Government that encourages them in this delusion, hurry up Davie boy, and bring a big whip, LOL. Miranda in a right tizzy, sceaming at me and the Kids, silly Bitch, and both the brats whinging and whining the whole journey. I tell you Bro if I had a gun, LMFAO. Still settled in now and looking foward to a LARGE Scotch. Once all the boxes are unpacked you and Pricilla will have to come down, have a Bar-b-que in those woods.

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LETTER FROM "PIP" PEARSON TO HIS FRIEND WILLIAM GLEESON, SEPT 15TH, 1937.

My Dear William, how are you old chap. Thank you, and Mary for your kind letter, Mothers passing was a terrible blow but I take great comfort in knowing that she is now in a better place by far, and is at last reunited with Father and Lonny. It was Lonnies suicide that basically killed Father, the Doctors said it was a heart attack, but a better definition would have been a broken heart, and Mother was never the same after, too much burden of sorrow to bear I suppose. Thats three lives ruined by that bloody War, and now its just me, I shall have to pull myself together, and start living its been damned difficult these last twenty years with Mother a virtual recluse, still, I don't intend to let it ruin four lives.

Edited by Stephen Turner

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LETTER FROM LUCY SAMSON (nee Ward) TO THE MANAGER OF "COSYLAWNS" RESTHOME, APRIL 20TH 1990.

No, Mr Petras, I'm far from satisfied with your explanation, why, Mr Petras, would an 83 year old Man commit suicide, and further how did my Father manage to conceal four weeks worth of his sleeping tablets, without your staff becoming aware. i warn you now, if the inquest doesn't seek to find these answers, and aportion punishment for this appaling lack of care, then I, through my solicitor, will. You will kindly send to me, by return of post, all letters, documents and other correspondence pertaining to my late Father.

Edited by Stephen Turner

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Guest Stephen Turner

ESTIMATE FOR WORK TO BE CARRIED OUT TO REAR OF PROPERTY "THE ABBERY" FOR MR GORSAN.

POND TO BE DRAINED, AND BACKFILLED, AREA (APPROX 40 SQ YARDS) TO BE LEVELED AND A SAND COURSE TO BE LAYED, THEN PAVED WITH WELSH BLACKSTONE. COSTS LABOUR £ 1,250. MATERIALS £ 3,000, PLUS VAT £ 120. TOTAL £ 4,370.

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PART OF A LETTER FROM LUCY SAMSOM TO HER FRIEND BELINDA ATKINS. SEPTEMBER 14TH 2001.

My God Bell, wasn't it awful, those poor People in the Towers, I can't imagine their torment, and what we'll be in for now is anybodies guess, because the Americans won't leave it like this, the evil that exists in this World. Talking of evil, I don't recall if I have told you this before, its about Dad dying in that awful Nursing home all those years ago, anyway, after his death they sent me all his papers, a great one for writting things down was Father, kept it all, letters, bills, solicitors documents, newspaper clippings, and a whole volume of old diaries, going back over forty years if you please, most of them were just the usual stuff, but the last one, well, I believe poor old Dad must have been going senile, although you'd never have guessed it at the time, he bacame fixated on the old house, the one where Mother died, seemed to think it was evil, even claimed Mother was visiting him in the night, and trying to torment him to death, although he didn't believe it was really Mum, rather some evil spirit, a Demon I suppose, that looked like her, and had all her memories, if only i'd have had a inkling what he was going through we'd have got him proper professional help. Anyway, how's that Garden of yours coming along, did you manage to replant the border this Summer?

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