A terribly loud click was heard by all, followed by muffled but piercing screams as fresh blood
started to trickle out of the box, running down and soaking into the neck of the woman's
shift.
Her body shook so violently that leaves dropped from the tree that she was tied to, and birds
flew squawking away in all directions.
'The will is done, the witch will see no more into the hearts of men' intoned the
zealous witchfinder, 'she will be led by the nose to her place of death, let this be
a warning to all'.
I'm Darren Marlar… and this is Weird Darkness.
Welcome Weirdos – this is "Weird Darkness" and My Haunted Life Toosday.
Here you will find ghost stories, unsolved mysteries, and other stories of the strange
and bizarre.
I'm always looking for new stories.
Terrifying true experiences, original dark stories of fiction, your own creepypasta,
or send me a link to one of these that you found on the web – share them all at WeirdDarkness.com,
I might use them in a future episode!
Music in this episode is provided by Midnight Syndicate.
They have been creating dark gothic horror instrumental music for over 20 years and you
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In this episode…
In the 1600's, a witchfinder was given whatever he asked for, for fear of him declaring those
who refused a witch.
But how he chose to test one woman for witchcraft is enough to make your stomach turn.
(The Witchfinder And His Weird Wooden Box)
A young couple discover a radio… with a mind of its own.
(The Haunted Radio)
A strange ball of light enters the room of a young man, with no explanation to be found.
(The Green Orb)
Sheldwich is typical of the small rural hamlets which litter Kent, but in some ways, is far
more unique and strange, one could almost say, weird.
(Sheldwich, Kent: Ghosts, Ghouls and Pagan Gods)
Now.. sit back, turn down the lights, and come with me into the Weird Darkness!
It was a normal night, several years ago, I was staying with my grandparents, and it
was time to go to bed so I did.
I don't know the exact time, but it was in the middle of the night.
I awoke to see a "green ball" floating in the living room.
The room was cold.
Being pretty young at the time, I didn't know what it was, but I knew that it wasn't
something normal.
I tried to wake up my grandfather, but it was no use, he slept through my attempts at
trying to wake him up.
I looked back at the "green ball" floating in the entry way to my grandmother's room
of old stuff.
It didn't move, but it had an odd ominous glow to it.
I walked slowly into my grandmother's room while keeping a sharp eye on the orb, I can't
help but feel as if it were staring at me.
I slept in my Grandmother's room for the night.
I checked the room out the following day, there was an old picture in the place where
the orb had been.
No one could explain what I saw was, even I can't seem to find a reasonable explanation.
I think I'm a little bit sensitive to the spirit world.
I have heard strange noises my whole life, I've seen objects move around.
I've also had some very strange dreams—but this happened to me a few years ago, when
I was with my last girlfriend.
My girlfriend had this speaker system, kind of like a boom box that works either plugged
in or with batteries.
We were listening to music one evening and the speaker made this error sound when we
turned it on.
I got a bit freaked out, but my girlfriend told me it's normal and that it does it
every time you turn it on.
It was just a buzz.
Then we went out for a while, and when we came back, we decided to watch a movie.
We had to take the boom box plug out of the power socket so we could get power for the
TV.
My girlfriend went ahead and took the plug from the socket and lifted the speaker up.
It made the strange error sound while unplugged.
At that point I freaked out completely but it hadn't hit my girlfriend yet.
She slowly realized it and checked the batteries as the speaker made another error sound.
There was just one battery, even though the speaker required two to work.
So, she slowly put the speaker back on the ground and came to sit with me to the bed.
I asked her did she even realize what just happened?
We later tested the battery but it had no power in it.
The old road from Ashford to Faversham in Kent, passes by the tiny hamlet of Sheldwich,
signposted, but blink and you will miss it as you drive by.
On moonlit nights, this is probably a good thing.
Few will pass this way on foot at the full moon, and those who do so have been considered
by the local folk to be foolhardy or at best, deeply in need of help.
You see, Sheldwich holds secrets, secrets of fear, wicked doings and age old mystery.
The village is not big but is pretty, and is set around an attractive village green,
a space which in summer is used for community activities such as local school sports, car
boot sale flea markets, and amateur cricket matches, it is a pretty and quiet place.
As with all Kentish villages, and British rural farming communities, May Day and the
harvest at the end of summer are of great importance, and are celebrated in various
ways, including the usual harvest festival celebrations at the nearby church.
You may even see the local Morris men, arrayed in their colourful costumes and prancing around
to old folk tunes, another ancient tradition from the pagan past, or perhaps the medieval
May Pole celebration, where children intertwine coloured ribbons into a complicated plait
as they dance around the tall pole.
Kent is thought to be the earliest settled part of England, only twenty-two miles from
the European mainland across the English Channel, now the world's busiest seaway and crammed
with modern shipping as well as the past spirits of dead seamen.
With so many early settlers arriving in the far distant and pre-Christian past, from all
over Europe and beyond, the remnants of paganism remain to this day, in the legends of the
past, in ceremonies and dances, and in the strange objects which can be found around
the county.
For example, Kitts Coty, a small stone structure in the style of a tiny druid Stonehenge, or
the many burial mounds and ancient carved Sarsen stones that abound in this southern
county.
Even many of the hedges and paths predate historical record, – stone age man has left
his mark here very well.
Throughout history, Kent has been of the upmost importance in keeping the country safe from
invasion, and is littered with beautiful and ancient castles, the most important of which
is Dover, from the walls of which the cliffs and hills of France can be clearly seen across
the water.
Our village churches are largely from the Norman period, almost a thousand years old
in some cases, but still standing erect and stable, ready for another thousand years of
prayer.
Sheldwich then, is typical of the small rural hamlets which litter Kent, but in some ways,
is far more unique and strange, one could almost say, weird.
It is said that the village green, in past times, has seen strange sacrifices to the
pagan gods of the earth and sun, to ensure good harvests in the growing seasons or to
encourage wealth for the village.
Sacrificial structures would have been constructed, used in the worship of now unremembered gods,
and burnt as offerings to placate those gods from sending the expected poor harvests that
often-brought famine in their wake.
And in later days of witchcraft and wizardry, the suspected were burnt at the stake or left
in the stocks to die a humiliating and slow death as they were tormented by the good folk
of Sheldwich, upon the same pastural green.
A century or two later, felons, thieves and highwaymen would be hung here at the village
gallows or left to die in the iron basket of death, at the gibbet.
Is it any surprise then, that this pretty village green, as sweet as it looks today,
is also shrouded with evil, and rampant with ghosts and ghouls from all periods?
It is said that an old lady still haunts under the grove of trees beside the green, her eyes
piercing through the darkness as she wanders towards unsuspecting folk.
It is only when she is a few yards away that she turns her head and the true state of her
visage is seen, the flesh burnt and shrunken from the great heat of a fire, and her lips
shrivelled, the worn and yellowed teeth shining in the grin of death as her claw like hands
reach out towards her victim.
Is she still trying to find someone, or is she seeking to avenge her untimely and horrific
death at the stake?
Who is this old woman, still seeking something in death?
Nobody these days can say, but she seems destined to walk here forever, bringing fear to the
village and those she meets on her moonlit walks, and leaving those unfortunate enough
to run in to her, trembling from the experience.
At the junction of the two roads that join at the village green, history tells us that
the gibbet was once set up, its rusted wrought iron cage a warning to travellers and the
unwelcome.
To be caged alive, hanging in the cold wind and rain, or suffering in the live heat of
a summer day, when the sun hot iron would burn into the skin of the victim with searing
pain, must have been torture beyond comprehension.
This gibbet area seems to be haunted not by one, but by at least three different ghosts,
each appearing at specific times of the year and each with their own special characteristics.
The saddest of these is a young boy, clad in rags and often seen sitting at the exact
site of where the gibbet was once set.
Tears stream down his tiny white face as he clutches what seems to be a loaf of bread
against his chest.
If you should see this ghost, he will reach out to you imploringly and mouth unspoken
words as you pass him by.
His eyes will catch yours and it seems impossible to lose his stare.
Do not be afraid of this figure however, the village people in the last century named him
William, after a small lad interred in the village churchyard.
William stole bread it seems, to feed his starving family and suffered on the gibbet
for it, being made an example to other poor people and children.
It is not known if the ghost is that of the boy in the churchyard, the name just seemed
to fit, and so was given.
A more unusual spectre at the old gibbet site, is that of a young man, most often seen before
summer storms, when lightning flashes momentarily brighten the green.
He has the appearance of being wild and untamed, an aggressive stance often being described
by those who have seen him, along with a shabby appearance and long matted hair.
It is reported that objects, usually stones and rocks, but sometimes other items like
conkers and nuts, are seemingly thrown at those who see this apparition.
Sometimes people have reported being pushed over from behind, or having been suddenly
punched in the neck or back.
This is not a ghost to mess with, most of the villagers agree, the punches often leave
a physical bruise.
The other spirit is most often seen in the deep winter months.
He stands, writhing about and clasping his hands together as though chained to an invisible
post or stake.
He is known to speak softly to the persons who see him, in an unknown dialect, possibly
Latin, or to wail and scream on the wild winter nights when snow falls in the village.
A feeling of deep unhappiness is reported by those who have seen this ghost.
Across the green, a small old house has its own haunting spirit, I will not describe the
house, but will say that carved into a wooden lintel above a door, a spell against witchcraft
can still be seen.
It is not there to keep witches out, but this one more unusually, to keep a witch confined
inside, with a spell to kill, if the doorway is passed through from inside.
The door has not been used for many years, so perhaps the spell is much too powerful,
and might be still working after the three centuries that have passed since it was engraved
on the lintel above!
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If you enjoy the dark, creepy, and paranormal stories of Weird Darkness, you'll love the
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The sheer horror of this Kentish story forbids me to actually name the quiet village where
the following took place, in around about the year 1620.
However, If I was to treat this as a solveable clue for the curious, and intellectual researcher
into the paranormal, I would describe the village as having a traditional English
woman's name followed by her boiled loin of pork.
That is the only clue, a map may suffice to locate the actual place, which itself is close
to a prominent castle.
About the late 1500's and into the 1620's a zealot lived in this small community.
His wanton need for control of the people of the village led him to declare himself
the official witchfinder for the local area, and like all bullies both before and since,
he ruthlessly exploited the people's fears of the unknown and evil, and of him.
The local folk bought his favour with gifts of produce and money and he grew rich from
his way of working one family against another in order to increase his wealth.
As with the pious in general, his ideas and belief were considered by him to be fact,
and anything or anyone who questioned them was said to be working against him, and therefore
they were a devils disciple.
As he grew rich and more powerful, the people of the village became poor and submerged by
his presence and will.
If one did not agree, or could not give payment, those persons would find troubles piled upon
them, the worst of which was a charge of witchcraft and all this implied.
The witchfinder would always find the 'proof' of witchcraft, maybe a cat had followed the
person, or a frog had been found crucified with twigs, a baby cried in a strange language
or a single beam of sunlight had lit up his victims house, while others were in the shade.
As there was no argument allowed, the self appointed witchfinder always had his way,
and the people of the village and the other hamlets around always did his will.
A young woman moved into another village about ten miles away, she was poor as her husband
had died, leaving her with two small children.
She was told to prepare gifts for the zealot when he visited to collect his tythe, but
having very little to feed herself and her children, she refused to comply, staying away
in her small hovel home close to the river at Chilham, where she kept a goat for milk.
She had the unfortunate condition of having a large black mole that had grown on her forehead
since childhood.
It was high between her eyes and gave her the appearance of being tri-optic, like having
a third eye just visible under her fringe of hair.
The witchfinder, on hearing that the girl would not provide the gift he required, asked
more about her and was told of her strange appearance.
Of course!
A witch, he decided, and took it upon himself to rid the village of her, to make an example
to the others in the village and round about.
Her refusal to give some tythes to him sealed her fate.
He devised a plan, as being a bully, he did not want to have personal involvement in the
crime he was to commit against the strong willed and quite innocent young woman.
If no human hand was involved in her actual chastisement, he decided, then nobody could
be accused of doing her harm.
With the help of the village coffin maker and also a local blacksmith, he devised a
strange and weird box which he proclaimed would be controlled by a higher judge.
The box was sturdily constructed from holy alderwood by the coffin maker, and the blacksmith
contributed some curious iron work controlled by powerful springs.
The poor young woman was called to trial by the witchfinder, and so was instantly found
guilty.
However, to prove her final guilt or innocence to the folk of Chilham, a practical trial
was arranged.
The trial concerned the evil box.
Drilled into the face of the box were two tiny holes, spaced for human eyes to focus
through.
The trial was simple, the box would be placed upon the woman's head, and looking through
the tiny holes she would be asked to identify a noted chapter of the best known book in
the village.
The village people only had one book, as the villagers were generally illiterate workers,
only the educated could read and write, the book was kept in the castle chapel.
If she could identify the text, the accused would be dismissed as innocent.
Otherwise, she would be cast out of the villages around and left to forage in the forests for
food, the witchfinder told the people.
Asked to take the test to prove her innocence, the woman agreed.
She had been taught by nuns and knew how to read, not only in English but in Latin too,
she would pass the test.
To keep her still while the box was fitted, her hands were tied to a rowan tree, which
grew near the village square, I am told that the tree is still there, but I have never
seen it myself although others claim that they have.
The box was carefully hung in front of her face, and the great book was placed upon an
eagle lectern, borrowed from the castle chapel.
She was asked to enter the box and identify the text at her will, and so, giving a sigh
and looking with a smile at her two young children, she stooped and pushed her head
upwards into the wooden box to gain her freedom.
A terribly loud click was heard by all, followed by muffled but piercing screams as fresh blood
started to trickle out of the box, running down and soaking into the neck of the woman's
shift.
Her body shook so violently that leaves dropped from the tree that she was tied to, and birds
flew squawking away in all directions.
'The will is done, the witch will see no more into the hearts of men' intoned the
zealous witchfinder, 'she will be led by the nose to her place of death, let this be
a warning to all'.
A tall man is reported to have been standing at the back of the crowd as the test was made.
A stranger to the village, he turned and left on foot, as the box was lifted from the head
of the screaming victim, her eyes now struck out and bleeding profusely as she collapsed
in pain.
Records state that "a clype of iron was then mayed fasted to her nose", and when
she recovered from her faint she was led away to the castle dungeon by a rope tied to the
clip, as one would lead an ox, she was never seen alive again.
Within a month the witchfinder himself was dead, his head crushed by a large and ancient
stone of great weight.
How this happened is not known, but the stone can still be seen to this day in his home
village.
It would likely need five or ten strong men to lift it!
About this time too, the tall stranger returned and took the two young children under his
care, he became rich working as a draper in Canterbury, and employed many folk from the
village of Chilham during the winter months, dyeing and cutting cloth for his shop close
to the Cathedral.
The children too grew up to be worthy citizens of the town, the boy first as a young clerk
and later an important lawyer, the girl as a teacher of girls at the school, and later
as a trainer of wet nurses and midwifes for the town.
The box itself was retained at the castle for many years as a strange curiosity.
Inside and unseen was a mechanism which worked much like a mouse trap, releasing instantly
as the head was fully inserted to look out of the holes, driving a sprung iron plate
which shot two heavy bodkins into the eyes of the victim.
A victim who thought that she would be freed on reading the chosen text.
It is believed that the box was purchased at a village auction in the nineteenth century
and transferred to a private museum in Kent, where it was displayed along with an eclectic
variety of strange objects from around the world.
It is not known if it still exists, although I am told that the museum still does, within
the confines of a private estate.
Chilham is to this day a tiny but beautiful village, built around a market square with
the castle on one side and the church on the other.
Tourists abound, enjoying tea and cakes, within a few yards of where the terrible torture
took place.
The hill from the square drops down to the meadow where once a hovel gave shelter to
a woman and her children, by the slow meandering river.
A woman with an unfortunate mole, that sealed her fate and took her life.
The witchfinder's own village never prospered, it remained a tiny hamlet on the way to London,
close to the pilgrims way.
Today it is being quickly engulfed by hundreds of new houses, the village failing more now,
as a major road bypasses it.
Few travelers stop, there is little of interest there.
Within a few years it will become like the many forgotten villages of London, just an
area name on a map crammed with streets, its heart pulled out and its ancient memories
faded by the passing of time and demise of those who could remember the old stories.
However, it will remain haunted.
Haunted by the well known spectre of a woman, stumbling blindly as she feels her way along
the walls of the old village houses in the pitch of night, searching to find the witchfinder
and shrieking for mercy for her children, as her sightless eye sockets, still running
with blood, stare at anyone unfortunate enough to meet her, on their own journey home to
the pleasant warmth of family life.
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Featured in this episode from MyHauntedLifeToo.com…
"Sheldwich Kent: Ghosts, Ghouls, and Pagan Gods"
Written by G. Michael Vasey
"The Haunted Radio" Submitted by Seth Isaacs
"The Green Orb" Submitted by James Geeson
"The Witchfinder and His Weird Wooden Box" Submitted by Ken DaSilva-Hill
Find links to this episode's stories in the show's description.
Copyright Marlar House Productions, 2017.
Rebroadcast or duplication without express written permission is strictly prohibited.
This episode is made possible in part by my Patreon supporters.
Learn more about becoming a patron at Patreon.com/DarrenMarlar, or click the Patreon button at WeirdDarkness.com.
Music provided by Midnight Syndicate.
I'm your creator/host, Darren Marlar.
Thanks for joining me… in the Weird Darkness.
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