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    The Screaming Skulls of Calgarth Hall
    The Screaming Skulls of Calgarth Hall
    The Screaming Skulls of Calgarth Hall
    Ebook38 pages36 minutes

    The Screaming Skulls of Calgarth Hall

    By David P. Elvar

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    About this ebook

    ‘Look to yourself, Myles Phillipson! ’Tis a fine thing you think you have done but this miserable parcel of land you lust after will prove the dearest a Phillipson ever got. You will never prosper. The time shall come when no Phillipson will own an inch of land. And while stand the walls of your fine new house, we will haunt it night and day. You will never be rid of us! NEVER!’

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDavid P. Elvar
    Release dateAug 5, 2014
    ISBN9781310959424
    The Screaming Skulls of Calgarth Hall
    Author

    David P. Elvar

    Off-the-wall and Supernatural short stories, plus the odd full length offering.

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      Book preview

      The Screaming Skulls of Calgarth Hall - David P. Elvar

      THE SCREAMING SKULLS OF CALGARTH HALL

      David P. Elvar

      Smashwords Edition

      © David P. Elvar 2014

      Smashwords Edition License Notes

      This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share it with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this e-book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      Author’s note: This story is based on a famous and long-standing legend associated with an actual place called Calgarth Hall. It’s one of the more fascinating ghost stories around and, I felt, deserved a more detailed treatment.

      ~oOo~

      It had been a good day, the people of the town unusually generous. Half a loaf of barely stale bread, a slice of salt-pork and a wedge of cheese that was only green round the edges—a beggar would be grateful for less.

      He eased himself down onto a makeshift seat, a shattered column of stone that sprawled away from the house and into the garden. He looked down at it ruefully, traced it with his gaze into the weeds. Strange. He didn’t remember that being here. Had it really been so long since his last visit? He didn’t know: his memory was as weary as his bones, these days, stumbled along with the same halting gait. Better perhaps not to ask.

      He looked up at the house, felt the wry flicker of a smile pass across his lips. Home. Or so it should have been. A big place, fit for family and friends, but now denied to both. He let his gaze wander along its frontage, to take in weathered stone and grimy windows, both now cracked by time and faded by neglect. He came to one window, the window. There he stopped, there he saw them. Still here, then. Even after all these years, all they had done, they were still here. And he knew them. Oh yes, he knew them…

      *

      Kraster Cook looked up from his spade, leaned heavily on it as he paused to take a moment for himself. It was cold today, the ground a lot harder than he had known of late. This autumn was unlike any he had known for many a year, heralding perhaps the onset of a harsh winter. But no matter. The farm, small though it was, had yielded their needs and more than their needs, his and Dorothy’s. They would survive whatever the winter threw at them, survive it if not in luxury then at least comfortably.

      ‘Idling again, my husband?’

      The voice shook him from reflection. He turned to it, saw his beloved wife ambling up the field towards him. Little more than a fifty-year had he known her, little less than a fifty-year

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