Haunting Tales at Herring House Trust
The Haunting of the Star Hotel
By Simon
In the heart of Great Yarmouth stands the Star Hotel. It’s a
grand building with a long and mysterious past. Overlooking the river it has
grown derelict. I was a carpenter, a good craftsman and I can remember looking
at the architecture of the place, still grand despite its neglect but inside.
The heart of the hotel was empty as if it had stopped in time.
It was up to me as the top carpenter to create a new
heartbeat in the place. I thought this many times over the six months I was
there. It was strange working there. It started slowly – every now and then I
would see a flicker out of the corner of my eye. A flicker here, a flicker
there, the curtains would twitch – or was it just me? Was it just my heart I
could hear beating?
While working, on a few occasions I had called out –
thinking I could hear fellow workers walking the corridors. I would wait for an
answer but there would be nothing – silence. I just brushed it off. Work was
going well. I was feeling good.
Then one Saturday I went in to work on my own. ‘Yee Ha!’ I
thought. I was going to get a lot done. We had to be nearing the end of the
refurbishment.
That was the day I heard it. A piano playing in a downstairs
room. I was at the top of the building. No one should be in except for me so
who was it? When I opened the door to the music room – it stopped mid-note. The
room was empty.
I won’t pretend it didn’t shake me up a bit. I returned to
my work and that’s when I noticed it. There was a stream of cold air in the
upper passageway. I realised there was a hidden door.
I eased it open. There was a rush of icy air from the room
hidden behind it. Untouched by time – there wasn’t much in there….
A broken skylight let the weather in. It was like a room
just vacated.
I scanned the walls. Who built hidden rooms, who or what was
kept in them?
It was then I found the journal discarded on the bed,
half-covered by a moth-eaten sheet.
Then I looked up and saw a painting. Brushing the dust from
it gently, a man’s face started to emerge. The only thing I could see were the
eyes, icy like marbles. They followed me as I moved, the hairs on my body
sprang up as if I had just been electrocuted. As I calmed myself, I cautiously
approached the portrait and brushed the bottom of the frame. Etched in gothic
writing was a name – Frankie, I looked down at the journal and saw the same
name.
Being a bit of a history man, the name and the painting
cried out to me. This man had been notorious in the 1900s for many murders in
the Rows of the town.
I opened the journal to the horror within.
***
The Man in the Park
By Dave
I started walking through St. George’s Park that May. I
needed fresh air after starting to work from home. It was while I walked
through the park that I saw the old man sitting on a bench looking at a bird on
the ground in front of him.
I asked if I could sit next to him and he nodded. He seemed
sad, sunk into himself. ‘Is everything alright?’ I asked him. He turned to me
and said he was contemplating how his life was at the minute.
‘My wife died,’ his shoulders slumped. ‘And since she died,
I come here to this same bench every day and feed the blackbird.’
As we were talking, the bird came closer and pecked his
shoe, as if to say, ‘bread, please,’ so the man dropped some bread on the
ground, and the blackbird took it and flew off.
Seconds later it reappeared for some more.
The old man, whose name was Reg had been an army officer in
the Second World War and was the only one of his company still alive which put
a downer on things so as I was leaving, I shook his hand and said I’d be back
to see him the next day.
When I got home, I couldn’t get the old man out of my head
and decided to look up his name and company.
His company it turned out had been at the Normandy landings on D-Day not
only was he on the front line but also on a kind of suicide mission to keep the
SS Panzer troops tied up while our soldiers took the beaches.
As I was looking, I realised that he had lost his brother
killed six months earlier in Germany. The next day he told me that knowing
about his brother meant he must do everything to keep alive for his mum and
dad’s sake.
‘They’d already lost one son,’ he said, ‘I promised they
wouldn’t lose another. He, my brother was only 21 when he died. Joined the 50th
Infantry Division when he was 18.’
He sank into a reverie and so I left him determined to go
back the next day, but I got busy and it was only two days later that I
returned to the bench. At first, as I approached it, I thought he was there,
although younger and somehow faint around the edges. I shook my head, and he
was gone.
I sat on the bench, but he didn’t turn up. His bird wasn’t
there either. I checked the time but it was neither early nor late. I was on
time. Then all of a sudden, I felt a peck on my shoe, and it was the bird.
Fortunately, I had my sandwich with me, so I put some on the ground although
the bird didn’t take it. I put some on my shoe just as the old man had, and
then the bird took it, flew away and was back for more. It was just then I
heard a stern voice – ‘don’t feed my bird.’
I looked around and there was the old man. He smiled at me.
‘Been at my wife’s grave,’ he said, ‘her birthday today,’ he added. ‘It’s hard
living without her,’ he spread his hands. I asked him if he wanted to come eat
something with me. There was a café at the edge of the park. ‘I could die for a
bacon sandwich,’ he told me.
Funny thing at the kiosk, though. I asked for two cups of
tea and the girl behind the counter looked at me as if I was out of my mind.
‘I can put both teas in one large mug if you want.’
‘Why would you do that?’ I asked her. She shrugged.
‘Whatever.’
We sat down opposite each other, me and Reg.
‘How did you meet your wife?’ I asked him.
‘Pamela and me, we both worked on the buses. She was the
loveliest woman I had ever seen, sharp mind she had. Took me six months to
pluck up the courage to ask her out. We went dancing and six months later we
were married.’
He seemed to have lost his appetite. He left the tea and the
sandwich untouched. I asked him if he would be alright since I had to get back
to work. He nodded at me.
When I looked back, he had already gone.
The next day the bench was empty. I sat down. No blackbird. I was
disappointed, I remember feeling resentful, after all, it’s not like he had
that much to do being retired. Work was getting me down. It seemed impossible
to have a day off.
For three days I came back, and it was always the same. An
empty bench. Even the blackbird had deserted me. And then on the fourth day the
blackbird was back. It hopped onto the back of the bench.
‘Don’t you want to be fed?’ I asked it. Then I realised
there was a plaque. I took out a tissue and wiped it clean. I could barely believe it. I felt a sudden
chill work its way up my spine. The plaque read: In loving memory of Reginald
Edwards who loved this park and all the birds within it.
The blackbird flew to a nearby branch. I sat heavily on the
bench. Who or what had I been talking to?
From the corner of my eye, I saw the blackbird streak across the park
and land on the old man’s shoulder. He was standing next to a young soldier who
looked as if he had just walked out of World War Two. The two men were smiling
at me. Reg raised his hand and then they turned with the blackbird flitting
from tree to tree and arm in arm they walked out of the park towards the sea.
***
George William Manby was born in 1765 in Denver, Colorado, in the United States. During his adult life he was in the armed forces and was promoted to Captain and Barrack Master of the Royal Artillery Division in the Army, although Captain Manby’s first love was life on the ocean waves.
As well as his military career, Captain Manby had many other strings to his bow. He was a successful author, a ‘Fellow of the Royal Society’ and in 1808 he was awarded a gold medal from the society for his encouragement of the arts manufactures and commerce but undoubtedly his biggest triumph was as an inventor. Captain Manby developed an apparatus called the mortar and line which was designed to rescue stricken sailors from shipwrecks.
Indeed, before his death in 1854 it was estimated his contraption had saved more than one thousand lives, as different sectors of the forces embraced his idea.
Captain Manby moved to the town of Great Yarmouth and his residence was Beaulah House, good stone’s throw from the shoreline of the North Sea. Back in the 19th century the sea was a lot closer to the land than it is now,
The Forgotten Sailor
By Alan
The year was 1805 and Captain Manby was at work in his study
concentrating on his next project – the first ever fire extinguisher called the
Pelican Gun. All of a sudden there was a loud bang in the distance. It was a
distress call from a ship’s warning cannon, and an SOS bell started to ring.
Captain Manby looked at the clock on the wall, it was 11.20 pm.
He rushed out of the front door and looked towards the
beach. All that was visible was the top of a ship’s sails. It had hit sunken
rocks in the water and was sinking quickly.
Captain Manby ran down the road and knocked on the door of four houses
where his crew lived.
They marched down to the beach and summoned two large rowing
boats, one of which was equipped with a mortar and line.
They soon reached the sailors who were struggling to afloat
in the now stormy water. It was only a smallish ship with six men on board. The
mortar and line was launched and the grateful crew desperately made a grab for
it. All were successfully rescued apart from one. The captain.
His leg was trapped underneath some hidden rocks and he
couldn’t move. He tried desperately to call for help, but the salty water was
engulfing his lungs, and he was losing his voice. Nobody heard his cries.
The ship’s dog Marley stayed with him and as the captain
grabbed him for buoyancy, he only succeeded in sinking him under the water.
The rescuers thought their work was complete and turned
their boats around, headed for the shore.
Captain Manby walked the survivors back to his house where
he told them to sit by his roaring fire to dry out. He asked his housekeeper
Mrs Doyle, if she would put a pan of her homemade soup on the heat for them.
Captain Manby looked at his pocket watch it was 3.30 a.m. It
then dawned on him that it was Christmas Eve while everyone was gearing up for
the festivities, he was doing what he did best – saving lives.
As the men tucked into their bread and soup, the silence was
broken when – all of a sudden, one of them, Bill Tracey jumped up and shouted,
‘wait a minute, our ship was six man strong, there’s only five of us here,
where’s the captain – the captain is missing.’
With that news, Captain Manby stood up and grabbed an oil
lamp. The men each grabbed a lamp, and they headed back down to the sea.
They boarded a boat and began rowing to the scene of the
shipwreck. They shone their maps onto the water and called out for the missing
captain, but they had no response. All they could see were floating boxes of
cargo bobbing about on the water. After much searching, Captain Manby and his
men decided to call it a day.
Exactly a year had passed. It was Christmas Eve 1806.
Captain Manby had had a successful twelve months. His fire extinguisher Pelican Gun had been
manufactured and was selling far and wide. He was relaxing his favourite
armchair by a roaring fire, sipping on a bowl of hot cocoa when all of a sudden
there was a scratching, clawing at the front window.
What on Earth is that he thought and got up, pulled back the
drapes and was confronted by the face of a German Shepherd dog.
The dog raised his nose up to the sky and let out an
enormous howl like a wolf, the sound of a creature crying for help. When he had
finished he turned to Manby, who stared at the dog. He noticed the bloodshot
eyes. The dog turned and ran into the distance.
Captain Manby noticed it was snowing heavily and laying
thick on the ground. He returned to his share, not quite believing what had
just happened and in the warmth of the room began to doze off. He was quickly
woken by three taps on his front door knocker. ‘Who on Earth could that be,’ he
thought. ‘It’s too late for carol singers.’ The clock read 8.40 pm. He got up
and unbolted the door. There was nobody there.
‘Hello, hello,’ he shouted but he was met by silence. He
looked at his pathway and noticed there were no footprints in the snow. It must
be kids messing around, he thought. At this point he was starting to feel
really tired and he decided to have an early night and retire to his bed. He
was in a deep slumber when he woke up with a start. He didn’t know what woke
him up but he had the feeling that he was not alone in his room, as if there
was a presence there.
He lay there, his body rigid, sweat running from his brow.
The bed curtains twitched and slowly began to open. A terrified Manby pulled
the covers over his head.
‘Who’s there? Who are you? What do you want with me? He
called out. He had visions of being murdered in his bed by robbers and
vagabonds. A gruff voice responded.
‘Fear me not Sir! I mean you no harm.’
Manby slowly pulled the covers from his face.
Confronting him was a man in a sailor’s uniform and the dog
that had been at his window earlier.
Manby repeated his question. ‘Who are you?’
The spectre answered. ‘In life, I was Captain Jack Black of
the Merchant Navy. But now I am dead as a door nail. I died one year ago to
this very day. You conducted a rescue mission when my ship, The Golden Galleon
ran aground on hidden rocks. You rescued all of my men but alas my dog Marley
and me perished in the cruel sea.’
‘I am so so sorry,’ Manby replied.
‘It’s not your fault; said Jack. ‘I need a favour from you.
Could you send a message to my wife Belle? Tell her what happened to me and
that I will always love her and our son.’
The ghostly figure paused.
‘She lives at Number One Front Street in the Port of
Felixstowe. You will have to tell her that you found documents on me with my
details on them.’
Manby reached for a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his
eyes. When he opened them again Jack and Marley had gone.
The next day a still-spooked Manby got up early. He was
going to have Christmas lunch with his nephew Jacob and his new wife Fran.
‘You are quiet, Uncle,’ said Jacob while they were having
dinner.
‘I am alright,’ said Manby, ‘I’ve just got a few things on
my mind. There is something I have to do tomorrow.
The following day Manby made a decision. He was going to
deliver Jack’s message to his wife in person. He hired a carriage with a horse
and driver and set off for Felixstowe. He was travelling for the best part of
the day and it was getting dark by the time he arrived.
After asking a local policeman for directions he finally
found Belle’s house.
His adrenaline poured through his veins. He summoned the
courage to knock on the door. An attractive woman answered it and Manby
introduced himself.
‘Why don’t you come into the warm,’ said Belle. As Manby
walked into the lounge he was met by a small boy.
‘This is our son, Tim’ said Belle.
Manby noticed a crutch propped against the wall and how pale
and frail Tim looked. He enquired if Tim was alright.
‘No, not really,’ responded Belle. ‘He has always been a
sickly child since he day he was born. He needs to see a specialist in a London hospital but we
simply can’t afford the fare.’
Manby told Belle to take a seat by the fire and started to
break the bad news to her.
‘I conduct rescue missions for ships that are in trouble on
the high seas. A year ago I was on one such rescue attempt and it turned out to
be your husband’s ship. I am very sorry to have to tell you that Jack didn’t
make it.’
Tears welled up in Belle’s eyes.
‘I knew something was wrong when he made no contact with
me.’
Manby had to think quickly on the spot.
‘I found his personal details of where you were and he
showed me a picture of you and young Tim. Unfortunately, I mislaid his
documents and have only just recovered them. His dying wish was to emphasise
that he will always love you and young Tim.’
After consoling Belle and making her a cup of tea, Manby
told her he must go back to Great Yarmouth. Before he left, he gave Belle one
last thing.
‘Here are ten guineas for you and Tim. He will be able to
get treatment in London.’ Belle was
overcome with emotion and gratitude and could’t thank Manby enough.’
After a long day and night Manby returned home.
Beulah house still stands today. There is a plaque on the
front wall commemorating Captain Manby’s life and achievements.
Today Beulah House forms part of the hostel which is owned
by the Herring House Trust. A trust that helps people who are homeless and
those who are struggling with addictions.
***
ROSIE AND JIM
By Alan
Rosie and Jim, newly married live in North Dakota in the
States. They rent a houseboat on the river. Living on a boat was always their
ambition because they share a passion for angling. Every day they would cast
their fishing rods over the side of the vessel in the hope of catching the ‘big
one.’
One day Rosie came back from grocery shopping with a flyer
advertising fishing breaks on a lake in Canada.
‘Do you fancy this, Jim?’
Rosie handed him the flyer.
‘Sure,’ Jim replied. ‘I will give them a ring.’ After a few
minutes he came back grinning. ‘All sorted, we go on Friday.’
‘Great, I’d better start packing. How long are we going
for?’ she asked.
‘For a week,’ he said.
Friday came, the truck was packed, mainly with fishing
tackle and they drove across the border to Canada.
‘We have to pick up the keys for the lodge from the local
convenience store,’ said Jim. They enter the village and Rosie points it out.
They park up and go inside.
‘Hello, my name is Seth,’ a jolly, portly old gentleman
emerged from behind the counter.
‘Hi, we have come to pick some keys up.’ Jim approached the
counter.
‘You must be staying up at Red Lodge.’ Seth opened a drawer.
‘Good luck with that one,’ he muttered.
The bemused couple looked at each other, not knowing what he
meant.
Rosie grabbed a basket and started shopping for supplies.
‘We need some bait,’ Jim looked along the shelves.
‘Sorry,’ said Seth. ‘I am fresh out until the delivery
comes. Noy to worry thought, I will drop some into you later on.’
Rosie paid for the shopping and they left. The weather had
taken a turn for the worse. The sky is black.
They reach the lodge and walk up to the front door. As Jim
inserted his key, the door creaked open by its kength.
‘That’s strange,’ he said.
The place smells musty and damp. It is in darkness. Jim
flicks a switch but nothing.
‘Oh Great!’. He tries some more switches but no light.
‘I will have to check the fuse box. I can’t see one around
here, I’ll try the basement.’
He walked over to a rickety door and he pulls it open and
flashes his torch through the space. A small set of steps leads down to the
ground. Cautiously, he puts one foot in front of the other and slowly descends.
‘Wait for me, I’m coming too. I don’t want to be left alone up here.’
Shouted Rosie.
‘Ok, just be careful,’ responded Jim.
The stairs creak and mourn as they walk down.
‘Aaargh!’ screamed Rosie. Jim turned around. Rosie’s foot
had gone straight through one of the planks. Jim put his torch down and started
to pull the broken bits of wood., eventually her foot is clear, but a trickle
of blood runs down her shin to her ankle. Jim pulled a handkerchief from his
pocket and patted Rosie’s wound, helping her down the rest of the steps and to
sit on an old stool propped up against the wall. As Rosie sat the stool seemed
to move to one side and she ended up on the floor.
That was spooky, Jim thought, but he didn’t say anything to
Rosie as he didn’t want to worry her.
‘Now where’s that damn fusebox,’ he said aloud, shining his
torch about. He spots a black box on the wall in the corner, walks over to it
and wipes the cobwebs away.
As he does this, all of a sudden, the lights come on. How
strange he thought, this house is something else.
‘Let’s go back upstairs,’ said Rosie and they gingerly
walked up the steps and pushed the door open. The whole house was lit up.
‘Thank goodness for that,’ Jim closed the basement door
behind them.
‘I am not sleeping in that damn dirty bed,’ Rosie snorted.
‘Let’s make one up on the floor with our sleeping bags.’
‘Good idea,’ Jim picked them up from where they had dumped
them. ‘Let’s have an early night and forget about today.’
They both lay down, just as they got comfortable there was a
knock on the door. They both jumped. Jim sat up.
‘Who the hell is that?’
He opened the door.
‘Only me,’ said a voice in the darkness. It was Seth from
the store.
‘I’ve brought you some bait round, fresh off the truck,’ he
said.
‘How much do I owe you,’ said Jim impatiently.
‘Oh settle up tomorrow…if you’re still around,’ Seth
grinned.
‘What does that mean?’
‘You haven’t heard then?’
‘Heard what?’
‘The story.’
‘What story,’ snapped Jim.
‘An elderly man called Old Red used to own this lodge. Out
fishing, he was, one stormy night, a night just like this one.’ Seth paused for
effect. ‘He hooked a giant catfish but he never landed it. Oh no. As the story
goes the fish was so big that it pulled Red into the water and turned the boat
over. The fish took him down to the lakebed and he was never found.’
Jim frowned.
‘That is why they think the lodge and lake is haunted.’
‘Who saw all this happen?’
Seth paused. ‘Rick, deaf and dumb boy from the village. Seth
took a step closer. ‘He used to sneak onto the lake at night time when nobody
could see him and fish from the bank. He
was the one who saw what happened to Old Red and he showed the villagers what
had happened…strangelhyenough he went out fishing one night and never returned
hie.’
The two men looked at each other. The wind was whipping up
the water on the lake.
‘Well, I must get on,’ said Seth, ‘hopefully I will see you
in the near future.’
Jim goes back soberly, Rosie pats the sleeping bag, and they
settle down for the rest of the night but Rosie could not settle and found it
hard to sleep. Everything was going round and round in her mind.
Then she jumped. There was a tapping on the living room
window. She shook Jim awake.
‘What’s the matter,’ he moaned. Rosie told him about the
tapping. He got up with his torch and made his way warily to the window. He spotted what was making the noise. It’s a
stray branch hanging down from an old oak tree.
Jim grabbed the offending object and wedged it back against
the wall. Back inside, he explained what he had done to Rosie.
‘Thank goodness for that,’ she said. ‘I can stop worrying
about that for now, anyway.’
All was quiet as they both slept – then the old broken clock
on the mantelpiece struck three times. Rosie woke up, startled. As she stared
at the clock something caught the corner of her eye. She looked over at the
window shaking in fear. Looking back at her was a face. It grinned at her and
she noticed pond weed and algae protruding from its mouth. His hair was
dripping wet and tangled. She was overcome with fear and rubbed her tired, sore
eyes. When she looked up again the apparition had gone.
‘Jim’ Rosie vigorously shook him awake. ‘What’s the matter
now?’ he shouted. Rosie explained, ‘Are you sure?’ He took her hand as if she
might wander off. ‘It might have been a dream.’
‘No, I was wide awake.’
‘Maybe it was Old Red who Seth was on about.’ Jim went to
lie down.
‘No, this was the face of a boy. The one who went missing
from the village,’ she said. ‘I know it.’
‘Well, you are safe now, try and get some sleep, things will
seem better in the morning. Think about the fishing, that will take your mind
off things.’
Soon it was daybreak and they both woke.
Rosie made them breakfast while Jim loaded the boat with
their tackle.
‘Don’t go too far away,’ said Rosie.
‘Don’t worry,’ coaxed Jim.
Jim started rowing to the middle of the lake. Two hours
passed by and they had both caught amount of smallish fish but nothing very
big.
Rosie was in the bow Jim was fishing at the stern in order
to keep their weight level.
Jim’s eyes were fixated on his float, waiting for it to bob
up and down and then under the water when all of a sudden, something caught his
eye. The ripples in the water cleared and became dead still. To Jim’s amazement
something was forming before his very eyes.
Jim was rigid with fear, he blinked and rubbed his eyes and
looked again. There it was, the face of an old man with a big red beard.
Jim couldn’t believe it. A coldshover whent down his spine.
He noticed the mouth was trying to for move.
The face came closer to the surface and Jim listened to what
he said. It was trying to say ‘beware, beware.’ Stunned and rooted to the spot,
Jim was unable to move any of his limbs, he tried to turn his head to warn
Rosie. Nut his neck was rigid. He sat there in silence for what seemed like an
eternity.
All of a sudden Rosie screamed. ‘Jim, Jim come here.’
Jim forgot about his own fear and clambered to the bow of
the boat.
‘Look at the water,’ Rosie stared.
The water had gone from gentle ripples to waves that were
crashing against the boat and rocking it vigorously.
In the middle of the lake large bubbles appeared on the
surface and what happened next, Rosie and Jim could not believe. A giant
catfish the size of a dolphin leaped out of the water and onto the skyline.
‘That’s it, that mist be the creature that pulled Old Red
off this very boat,’ Jim shouted. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here,’ yelled
Rosie. They reeled in their tackle and
rowed back to the shore.
Once they were back on dry land, Jim told Rosie about the
gurgling face in the water. She was dumbfounded. ‘Let’s go home, I don’t want
to stay here.’ Said Rosie.
They loaded up their truck and as Jim shut the front door.
‘Goodbye and good riddance, I won’t miss this place,’ he shouted.
They stopped at the grocery store to say goodbye to Seth and
give him the lodge keys. They told him what had happened and he didn’t seem at
all surprised.
‘I have heard these stories from people who rented the
lodge, before,’ he said. ‘Once bad feedback gets around, I don’t think the
letting agency will get anymore bookings and then Old Red and the catfish will
be left in peace.’
As they drove out of the front yard, Jim looked in the rear
mirror and to his horror saw two figures standing there, waving, an old man in
a red jacket and a young boy.
Jim slammed on his brakes and turned around. The pair had
gone. He felt himself breaking out in a cold sweat.
‘What on earth is the matter,’ shouted Rosie.
‘Nothing,’ he replied – He carried on driving and as they
verged on leaving the town, when a deer ran out of the bushes and onto the
road, Jim swerved to avoid it and struck a tree.
‘Are you OK, Rosie?’ Jim asked.
A shaken Rosie nodded her head. Jim got out to inspect the
damage, ‘Damn it’ he souts at the smashed headlight and the dented fender. As
he turned round, he noticed a sign, he hadn’t spotted as they drove into town.
It read ‘Welcome to Dead Water – Enjoy your stay!’
‘We’d better not tell anyone what we have been through or
people will think we have lost our marbles,’ said Rosie.
‘Yes, I totally agree,’ said Jim.
Soon they were home and, in the safety, and comfort of their
houseboat. They agreed to keep their fishing to the river where they lived.
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