Please note: All ghosts, rooms, people and stories mentioned are actually part of Chillingham Castle.
Chapter Four: Forgotten Souls
The procession streamed behind Mr Felsen through narrow meandering corridors that seemed to enfold the party. Down suffocating coils of stairs that eluded them into obscurity, the air grew heavy with the chill. The small paraffin lamp he carried illuminated the walls with an unnatural glow, making shadows appear from every niche as they passed. Mr Felsen advanced bathed in an aura of perverted light that clung to the walls and ran across the low ceilings. It didn’t take long before the order to stop came before a vast portal cut into the hard stonewall. A darkness that stretched out forever beckoned them closer. Leonardo could feel a coldness encircle him; he shivered slightly in an attempt to shake the feeling, but it held on unyielding. Michaelangelo’s natural curiosity urged him to lean in further for a better view, but the darkness was too deep. The two remaining brothers shrunk back from the uninviting entrance, Donatello not wishing to peer inside, while Raphael preferred to remain aloof from the gathering.
“This is one of the countless dudgeons discovered in this castle.” Mr Felsen pushed the paraffin light through the void in the wall. A restrictive room was revealed, cavernous but barley the width of an average man; a modern rope safety ladder grasped the opening. “It dates back to the time of one of the worst tormenters of all time.” Mr Felsen continued. “John Sage or as many knew him, Drag foot. His distinctive footsteps can still be heard patrolling the castle battlements to this day.” Michaelangelo drew back a little and shot an unnerved look towards his brothers. “This was were you hurled your enemies.” Mr Felsen demonstrated with his arms, causing the paraffin lamp to flicker. “Then you forgot about them, left them to decompose in their own hell. During the castle’s renovation workmen discovered this room. They were terrified to see a seated figure which appeared to be perfectly preserved, but crumbled to dust the moment the air rushed in.” Donatello recoiled against the thought of being thrown into the unforgiving pit, most likely breaking all your limbs on the descent, only to land on the putrid remains of those who came before you. Mr Felsen turned to the group and lifted the lamp to his face, a malevolent smile played at the corners of his mouth. “In its glory days ninety percent of all the people who entered these walls never came out!”
“This is a place of great suffering.” Miss Lydon commanded the attentions of everyone present. She steadied her self, resting her hand on the cold stones of the wall. “There are many tortured spirits here. The sense of being trapped is overbearing.” She straightened herself. “Echoes of clawing fingers, crumbling, breaking can be heard, felt against the unrepentant tomb walls, the unyielding earth.”
“Right then.” Mr Felsen interrupted lowering the lamp. “Shall we be off?”