‘The Tin House’: Episode One
[Music fades in, eerie and haunting. Track 2 from ‘Haunting Melodies Mix’]
Noah:Welcome, dear listeners, to another spine-tingling episode ofThey Do It With Strings, the premier global podcast for the unknown and the unexplained. I’m Noah Camber, your guide through the shadows and the supernatural.
They Do It With Stringsis kindly sponsored by Cahill Motors, Shepton. Remember – if you think you’ve got a gremlin in your engine... who you gonna call? That’s right – not Ghostbusters but Cahill Motors. Visit Cahill for all your spooky servicing needs...
[Sound effect: car horns tooting]
Noah:Now, in this series, we embark on a journey into one of the most enduring and mysterious legends of the English countryside – the tale of the White Lady of the Moor.
[Sound effect: distant howling wind, rustling leaves]
Noah:The moors, with their rolling, mist-shrouded landscapes, have long been a place of mystery and myth. Amongst theancient stones and windswept heather, countless stories of ghostly apparitions and eerie encounters have been whispered through generations. But none are as haunting or as tragic as the legend of the White Lady.
Noah:The earliest written record of her belongs to a local parish notice from 1684. One Hector Spracklen, a gardener at Atherton Hall, was making his way home across the moors when he received a visitation from a ‘lady dressed head to toe in a white gown and with eyes of blood fire’.
Who was she? A grieving widow, a lost lover, or perhaps a vengeful spirit? What secrets do the moors hold, and why does her spectral form continue to appear, year after year, to those brave enough – or perhaps foolish enough – to seek her out?
[Music transitions to a suspenseful tone]
Noah:This weekend, I am privileged enough to be staying at Atherton Hall, and I will be investigating the sightings first-hand. ‘The Tin House’ series will feature live accounts of the paranormal, and a journey into the heart of the moors, where some say the veil between our world and the spectral realm is at its thinnest.
[Sound effect: footsteps crunching on gravel, distant owl hoot]
Chapter5
In an effort to show willing to Bridie, Midge had done her own research on Atherton Hall, but she wasn’t prepared for the first impressions as the coach crawled up the sweeping driveway.
Even under the snow, the building was a mess of vine and slate-grey bricks and with each stinging gust of moor wind, the foundations seemed to sink deeper into the earth. Midge found herself holding her breath in solidarity with the house as it choked on the moss gagging its stonework.
‘Atherton Hall stands as a forbidding monument, fixed in the deepest trenches of time. Untouched and forgotten by all but six strangers...The oldest parts of the building, built by the forefathers of Charles Atherton, date from the 1600s, but this granite manor house has been added to over the years as it has stood witness to terrible tragedies spanning generations, hiding its secrets from the world behind its yew hedges and fortress rooftops. Its four wings, now ensconced in ivy, and typical of the Jacobean period, form a protective barrier to the south lawn. In keeping with the time when servants were not expected to be seen, a separate staff door giving direct access to their attic quarters is visible to the side of the house...’
Noah was speaking into a small microphone he had rescued from his suitcase while they waited in the driveway for Harold to pull out the rest of their luggage.
‘What’s that you’re doing?’ interrupted Harold.
‘Just laying down some material...’ shrugged Noah.
‘Oh.’ Harold clapped his hands. ‘Carry on! Quiet, everyone,and TAKE ONE.’ He turned to Midge. ‘I’ve always wanted to say that. Wait until I tell my Linda.’
Midge wondered how much ‘telling’his Lindawas subjected to after every one of Harold’s trips. Probably enough for her to consider booking her own getaway. ‘First impressions?’ Noah had shoved the microphone under Midge’s nose, much to Harold’s visible disappointment.
‘Oh! Well,’ Midge cleared her throat and poked at the snow with her cane, ‘obviously there is crenellated Stuart roofing. The house has four wings, and the ground floor is of later construction featuring a walkway with loggia columns... and it’s all granite,’ she finished, satisfied that she had covered all the elements.
‘Never mind...’ said Noah, rolling his eyes and retracting the microphone. He started again, ‘We are here to uncover the truth behind the moors’s gho—Jesus, what was that?’
A scream of such bloodcurdling terror that it raised the hairs on the back of Midge’s neck had rung out across the snow, before being sharply repeated. It was coming from the trees to the side of the house by the west wing.
‘It’s Rona!’ said Harold.
‘Put that damn microphone away,’ snapped Dr Mortimer to Noah, who was waving the mic around in an effort to capture the sound.
‘What the hell...?’ Harold was trying to run towards the noise but was hampered by the drifts swallowing his feet.
‘Where is she?’ shouted Rendell, dropping one of the suitcases he had been carrying and taking off across the circular driveway, following a set of footprints to the side of the house where a small gate was visible in the shrubbery. He was stopped by the sudden reappearance of Rona, staggering through the gate. ‘It’s dead...’ she sobbed, holding her hands up. ‘Dead! I tried to help it...’
‘Ladies, stay here!’ barked Dr Mortimer, chasing after Harold and Rendell, who were already through the hedge gate.
