The Spirit of Peterborough

THE SPIRIT

OF

PETERBOROUGH

by

Tom Goymour

* * * * *

Tales of fiction linked to the historical

and documented ghostly past

Peterborough, just an ordinary city full of people like you and me, steeped in a history, totally unique.  We all know the past can affect the future, but what if it was more than perhaps you might think! These are  stories about fictional people of our time who are drawn into adventures of 'ghostly mysteriousness.' Some contain true historical links and some are tales of strange happenings based around well documented ghostly occurences.  All are ghostly tales one way or another. The 'Spirit of Peterborough' can see through  all of time as he dips in and tells us these stories as they unfold before him. You'll never see Peterborough in quite the same light again . . .  and if you are not from the area I pledge you'll enjoy a truly unique experience reading this.

The Spirit of Peterborough

Published by Verbum Publications at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 Tom Goymour

Also at Smashwords by Tom Goymour

'I'll Be There For The Replay'

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Thank you for respecting the hard work

of this author.

* * * * *

To all who have journeyed with me

to my family and the close friends

for all the support they gave that made

the writing of this book possible . . .

. . . And for all those that hold open their minds. . .

CONTENTS

FOREWORD

PROLOGUE

A PLACE IN TIME

THE NIGHT RUNNER

THE GHOST WALKS

WHERE A GOOD MAN FALLS

FACT OR FICTION?

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

FOREWORD

‘It was a dark and stormy night …'

It’s probably the beginning of every campfire ghost story you’ve ever heard. Whether you believe in ghosts or not, regardless of whether you look nervously into the darkness wondering what’s there, or simply just shrug off any strange sounds you hear in the night as being a trick of the mind, it’s a basic truth that we all enjoy a good ghost story.

I moved to Peterborough in 2001, and a short time later applied for a job at the city's museum. As part of the interview I was asked to give examples of some events we could do, and half jokingly suggested creating a Ghost Walk for the city. I was then told that I was successful and that they really liked that idea, and asked if I could go and organise such a walk - a case of me and my big mouth...

Thirteen years later and I'm still doing Ghost Walks, and still enjoying introducing people to Peterborough, its history and its ghost stories. As such I was delighted to be asked by Tom, first to comment on one of his stories, then to write this Foreword. It's strange and flattering that the walks even feature in one of the stories, although I'll leave you to decide if the guide is meant to be me!What's great about the stories in this collection is that they have a contemporary feel, are very much rooted in Peterborough and it's surroundings, and as such give you the feeling that 'this could happen to me.'

Of course it could happen to you. Have you looked over your shoulder...?

Enjoy...

Stuart Orme,

Historian & Folklorist, author of 'Haunted Peterborough' Programmes Manager, Peterborough Museum & creator of the Peterborough Ghost Walk.

PROLOGUE

It was dark, very dark. For me it often starts off in a dark place, but I can change things. I can see it all from here, no matter that it's dark it makes no difference to me. High up from my central vantage point on this bitter cold night my mind is clear as I float high over the city.

Just an ordinary city, a place like any other where people of all types have been coming and going over the years. I see prominent buildings steeped in history, the streets, the roads and pathways, trodden by generation after generation. Patches of light spring up from the suburban clutter, and I know that within each of those strong patches glows a story. And as I look beyond I can also see the green of the countryside where times long past merge with the present, where people have lived, loved, and died. Wherever I go I see further than the dark of a bitter cold night - much further.

Peterborough, this city, just like any other, has a history formed by its people, their lives and experiences. These are people just like you and I, no matter how important or how insignificant things may seem, they have their stories, many stories to tell . . . and they don't always play out the way we that we might expect them to.

Where am I?

My mind is distracted as I look south towards the bridge and over the river. I remember sitting there once with my grandson and telling him some of the many fascinations that had taken place locally, about which most people knew very little. For a moment I feel it all seems so long ago but then I realise time remains still with me now.

Suddenly I'm standing on the top floor of a car park and as I look eastwards across the city, I can see all the outlines of prominence. The large and noble illumination in front of me seems almost like a computer generated image against the deep Prussian blue sky with many other buildings making up the menagerie. I stare as the splendid Cathedral beckons me - as if it's trying to speak. I can feel its power.

The sharp sound of clear footsteps cuts through the cold night air as it is suddenly projected towards me. I momentarily freeze. I can hear the voices now - two voices. I look on, as still I float.

Through the slatted wooden doorway on the top floor of the car park I feel the shuffling footsteps of two people; a couple. As I peer, knowing that they can't see me, I make little effort to bother comprehending their low tones of jovial conversation. I recognise them. I remember them as I start to drift away from the city centre.

My mind palace opens, and now I glance to the north east, beyond that most sacred and splendid building. I float higher into the night sky and I head out of the city into the dark abyss. I can see a patch of light opening a mile or two beyond. Ahh! The light is now that of an evening . . . yes . . . a late summer evening . . . and this is the story that starts right here in that place, perhaps long ago, or maybe not so . . . but then, what matter is time?

* * * * *

A PLACE IN TIME

The light was fading fast, he knew he had to be swift about his actions. He pressed his hand against his side as he shuffled fervently through the shrubbery that outlined the small copse. In fact he did this several times to check it was still there, but there was really no need, he hadn't dropped it. There wasn't time to stop and think it through, he just had to get rid of it, few chances to do so had presented themselves of late. This thing was evil, and with a limited window of opportunity, he could think of no other way than to bury it.

As he pushed his way through the undergrowth he felt a jolt of relief as he could see that the shovel he'd left behind earlier to aid him in this task was still there. This would only take a couple of minutes. He started to dig, he knew he probably only had a couple of minutes.

Richard! a calm, but firm voice he recognised reverberated through the cool late summer evening air.

'Damnation,' he thought. 'I really must be quick.' He dug at a pace, knowing full well that he would be permanently disturbed from his task if he didn't respond to the voice in the next thirty seconds or so. As soon as he'd formed the shallowest of trenches, he tossed the malevolent object into the earth and, almost with a continuous movement, using the remainder of the soil on the shovel, started to cover it over. It was when he decided to firmly implant his light footwear onto the surface in an effort to quickly compress the soil that his attention was instantly diverted. He'd certainly been disturbed - but the cause of which was not what he'd expected!

He looked up towards where the noise had come from, and, quite clearly some thirty yards in front of him slightly to his right, he could see a figure moving swiftly in a direction that would soon bring it across his path. Instinctively he knew two things; firstly, that he really didn't want what he was doing to be seen by anyone, and secondly, that there shouldn't be anyone here in these parts - not under any conditions. So, almost at the same time these thoughts formed in his brain, he ducked, hoping to be obscured from the stranger's view by the foliage that lay between them. It was then as he held his breath for a moment, watching with a dappled view through the trees, that he realised just what he was seeing in front of him seemed plainly wrong! This was a woman and she was running, in fact she looked quite perplexed but her clothes, her garments were very strange! In the seconds that followed he became completely engrossed by what he could now see. He momentarily forgot what he'd just been doing - the important task he'd gone out there to perform in the small woodland area in the grounds to the east of the building. He felt that moment of premonition, that split nano-second, in which you know what is going to happen next: the woman came into full view, she seemed tall, but her features faded beneath her knees, she was clearly running, but she had no feet! As he watched, transfixed in that moment of time, she simply just disappeared!

Richard, Richard are you there? The voice came again, jolting Richard back to reality. As he tried to gather himself he quickly rose to his feet, forced to now accept that his job was done.

I'm here brother . . . I'm coming, he panted. 'Couldn't he wait? John was so intense at times.' Richard was in shock, certainly a little scared but also slightly annoyed as he padded his way back along the pathway leading to the garden. His thick brown sleeves wiped the cold sweat of shock from his brow as he went. His mind was all over the place, scrambled with conflicting emotions.

Just needed a stroll. he smiled at John hoping this would be enough of an explanation, he didn't really want to get drawn into explaining himself any more that evening - if at all.

John was a calm chap. He never looked to seek the challenge, or question the strange or unusual, he just got on with his relatively simple life. Tonight of all nights, this was blessing to Richard.

When he awoke early the next morning the previous evening's events were at the forefront of his mind. In fact, it had been on his mind more or less constantly and he hadn't slept at all well. Who was that figure he'd seen by the woods last night? Was she an apparition? Could he even believe in such things? He was confused, but there was more than just this preying on his mind at present.

Something far more serious had happened recently over which he was having real trouble reconciling his logical thoughts with his conscience. There had been a disagreement, it had led to a fight and now . . . someone was dead!

Richard gazed out of his window across the vegetable garden and towards the woodland area beyond. This wasn't a bad place to be living at all, heaven knows it could be worse. In this day and age, with some folk not having even two pennies to rub together, life could be far worse. He didn't have much choice and, granted, he would probably seek pastures new if given the chance, but all in all, the countryside to the north east of Peterborough was quite palatable. It was just three miles to travel to the centre of the town and although as some say, the land starts to get flat and boring as you head east, the position was quite secure and a decent one at that. The problem was, because of what had happened, they all now felt a little on edge to say the least, and he wasn't talking about just himself and John. Peter and the others felt the same too - he knew it.

The summer had been a good one but they'd been caught out. If you go out for the night, get drunk, and commit an evil and terrible act, then they, all of them, were no different from anyone else and they would surely get the same punishment. The trouble was, nobody really seemed to care. Nobody was checking up on them, and that's where it had all got terribly out of hand.

Richard felt a gape deep down in the pit of his stomach as his mind started to recall and vividly play back recent events. It had all happened so quickly and, because they were all rather inebriated at the time, nobody could recall with complete clarity just what had taken place that fateful evening. All he knew was that Dominic didn't deserve it and that what he had witnessed was the very worst thing. Pure evil had taken hold. Peter hadn't meant it, he'd just lost it completely . . . but no use, the damage was done. He'd had to deal with death before, now they all had to deal with it, but this time, somehow, it also needed to be covered up.

Dominic wouldn't be missed, they were the closest to him. He had them but no one else really. His background was kind of shady. Now they would be looking for not just Peter but John, himself and the rest. They'd all be found out, of course they would - hunted down and that would be that, he felt sure of it. Worst of all, the body had been buried in the grounds already. Yes, they'd even held a ceremony of sorts. He felt terrible about this and, frankly, his conscience was telling him this was all just so wrong! How could the others not be feeling the same?

Later that day, after having said very little to anyone, his fear grew almost intolerably stronger, and the nightmare started to become reality.

He could see Peter was moving towards him at speed along the trackway that aligned the fields to the south west of the big old property. He was waving his arms frantically - clearly a warning, but Richard couldn't make out any audible sounds at first. Then, as Peter's stride grew stronger and his urgency became obvious, he could hear that he was repeating just two words over and over.

He's coming . . . he's coming!

"I had not reckoned on such an event occurring so soon.' he thought. 'This means the plan must be put into action right now.'

Peter used some more words once he was close enough to catch his breath, but he didn't need to waste them on Richard whose mind was already racing ahead. Peter ran inside to tell the others. Richard didn't need telling that time was of the essence. In fact, as he turned to look into the distance, he fancied he could just make out a figure or two in advance of the horizon where the field line merged with the vague grey images of distant dwellings on the edge of the town. He had to be out of the way before they came to find them - that was how they'd planned the story would pan out: Dominic was sick and Richard had taken him away to a friend out in the village of Eye only about a mile and a half to the north, to be looked after. If both of them were missing it would seem far more plausible than just saying:

Oh Dominic . . . he's gone off somewhere or Don't know where he is today, I'm sure he'll be back later.

They were all supposed to be there, they couldn't hide, there would be no let off. Now that it was apparent that he really was coming, most probably to check up on them, this plan just had to work.

So, shortly, Richard found himself back in the woodland copse, not more than about sixty yards from the house. There hadn't been time to get any further away, there would be a risk of him being seen by himself, running off, or certainly one of his close associates. Their cover would be blown if that happened.

No, while Peter, John and the rest explained away in an effort to cover up the evil deed, he would have to lie low - in the same place he'd been scared out of his wits just that evening before.

As he scrambled through the same shrubbery, brushed with the same trees