Urban Exploration & The Curse of Chillingham Castle

by Pete Rossi

  "Here's a taxi," Suze snapped, sticking her hand out as one passed. It pulled over and we got in.

  "Where to, mate," the driver asked. At least I think that's what he said. His accent was very hard to understand.

  "Holy Island causeway. Our car got a bit wet," Suze said. Said in a way that emphasised the whole thing was my fault.

  "Oh, you're in trouble I see," said the driver to me, chuckling. "We'll be there in twenty minutes." True to his word, we were.

  ***

  The tide was going out, so the taxi could drive right up to our sodden hire car. Inside was waterlogged and slimy. The slime smelt particularly strongly. Slime that had to be painstakingly search through - by myself alone, I may add - in search of a tiny bone, no more than an inch across. Even if it was in the car, I would have my work cut out finding it in the sludge.

  Suze sat motionless in the taxi, the meter increasing, prices ticking over far too quickly. The money I thought I had saved from the mouse debacle was going to end up with the taxi driver instead.

  Covered in filth, I eventually gave back up and walked back to the taxi. The driver promptly refused to let me get back in, reversing a hundred yards to prove his point. An extra fifty English pounds resulted in him allowing me back in.

  "So, you found nothing," said Suze.

  "What now?"

  "I don't know."

  "If I may interject," said the taxi driver, interjecting anyway, "I say you should go back to Chillingham, and as that car is clearly going nowhere, I would be delighted to help you get there." Delighted to get even more money out of us, I thought.

  "And how is that going to help?" I asked him. "You want us to talk to the Spanish Witch."

  "No, obviously not."

  The tears finally arrived. Suze started crying, and then started swearing at me, using words I'd never heard her say, including some I didn't think she would have even known. Some I didn't even know.

  ***

  The taxi arrived back at Chillingham around 9pm. The driver insisted on full payment, with the charge going well into three figures before he would unlock the doors and let us out of the cab. I’m sure they charge one price for locals, and then double it for the tourists. I told him to wait, but as he had our money, I didn't expect to see him when we finished in the castle. Not with the day we're having. Maybe there is something to this curse after all.

  It was starting to get dark and the castle had long closed up for the day. No amount of banging on the entrance door seemed to do any good. I thought the castle was supposed to be lived in, but obviously not. Maybe the living quarters were a long way from the entrance. Maybe not. After waiting a few more minutes, still no luck, we turned around to go back to the taxi. But it was gone. As predicted. There we were, outside a deserted haunted castle, with darkness fast approaching in the middle of nowhere in only the clothes we stood up in. And they were dirty and salty from their unexpected sea bath.

  "Didn't you ask him to stay?" Suze asked.

  "Yes, but when he insisted on us paying, I'll admit I wasn't optimistic on the chances of him still being here."

  Suze swore. She called the taxi driver a few names. Then she called me a few names. Then a few more.

  "Come on, Mr Muscles, get banging on that door again." What she thought was going to happen if we got an answer at the door, I don't know.

  I turned back around, and tapped Suze on the shoulder. Standing in the door was a man. He was short, old and timeworn. I didn't recognise him from our earlier trip. "Can I help you?" he said.

  "We, er, we," Suze started.

  "I've, we've, er, we've come to, er" I added helpfully.

  "Ah, one of those," the old gentleman said. "We get a lot of you. Taken something from the castle, did you?"

  "Well, yes," Suze replied, nodding. "He did, not me."

  Thanks for that, I thought.

  "Cat got your tongue, young man. Give it here and you can be on your way."

  "Er, well," I stammered. "I can't. I've lost it."

  "Lost it?" echoed the old man, looking alarmed. "Lost it! You can't have lost it. That's not good. That shouldn't happen."

  "It's a long story, see", I tried to explain.

  "Out with it then."

  I noticed Suze was doing her best to sneak behind me, trying to stay out of the way of his gaze.

  "I took a little bit of bone. We left to go to Edinburgh, but then there was a crash and the road was blocked, and we nearly ended up stuck on a level crossing. And then we got stuck in the sea, trapped in our car. And then I was served a mouse for supper. And my wife thinks John Sage is following her. And now the taxi has gone."

  "My," he said, grinning. I didn't like that grin one bit. Made his teeth look much too big. "You certainly have got the old lady witch after you! Sage as well! But you say, a bone it was that you took, and you've lost it. Now, that's never happened before. That's bad. I don't know what's going to happen." He walked back through the castle door. "Aren't you coming?" he shouted from inside.

  God, no, I thought. "Coming," was what I said.

  "Come on. Can't stay out there all night. I'll have to have a think about what to do."

  Reluctantly - very reluctantly - we followed him in. He had walked over to the wardrobe with the witch portrait and trinkets, and was absent mindedly reading one of the letters about returned artefacts. Eventually he turned back around.

  "Look at the picture," he said.

  I did. My mouth dropped open. I heard Suze say some more very choice words quietly, but not quietly enough.

  The witch had vanished from the picture. Gone completely.

  "She's not in the picture any more," said the old gentleman. "Goodness me, that's never happened before. I don't quite know what to do." He paused and thought long and hard. "Maybe there will have to be some sort of sacrifice, or a ritual or something. I don't like this one bit. Come, I’ve got some whisky we could have."

  You don't like it, I thought. You don't like it. What about us? She's after us, not you.

  "Come in to the Grey Room and we'll have a think and see what we can do with this situation we’re in."

  ***

  Three days later, Matt Simpson and his family arrived at Chillingham Castle, fresh from Connecticut.

  "What a fantastic castle this is", Matt said to his cute wife Debs as they walked up the drive. "Come on Maggie, Jake," he shouted to his kids, "you don't want to get lost in a place like this."

  They walked in and paid their entrance fee.

  "Look at this, Matt. There's a curse on this place," Debs said to me.

  "What a cool picture," young Jake said.

  "It's a witch," his dad answered. "If you steal anything from the castle, you're cursed."

  "There's a letter daddy, can you read it out to me."

  "Sure thing, little buddy." He began.

  2011, The Benson's.

  To the Spanish Witch,

  I have paid the ultimate price. I know it is wrong to steal from you, and I am heartily sorry.

  I did not believe in the curse, but I do now.

  I was visiting the castle with my beautiful wife Susie, and I took a little bone. I wanted to return it, but I couldn't. Me and my wife had the most terrible luck. We were nearly hit by a train, drowned in the sea, chased by a long dead executioner and given a mouse for supper in a space of a few hours.

  I lost the bone that I took. I had no way to return it to lift the curse.

  I could not live with the curse, so I had to give the Spanish Witch something to appease her.

  I hope the sacrifice is worth it.

  Mark Benson.

  "Wow, cool dad, wish we had castles like this back at home."

  Jake ran over to the other side of the room and looked down a trapdoor. "Wow, there are bones down here. What does this notice say?"

  His dad walked over and read the legend. "This is the Oubliette. It holds the bones of the last two people ever to die in Chillingham Castle."

  "Coo
l!"

  Matt looked down. Took a photograph. Nonsense, he thought. Half those bones look practically new to me.

  ***

  Author's Note:

  Chillingham Castle exists and is located in the north of Northumberland in the top left hand corner of England. It has featured on Scariest Places on Earth as mentioned in the story, and also on Most Haunted and Ghost Hunters International. It is a fantastic day out. Many parts of the story you have ready are true, with only a little bit of artistic licence thrown in. John Sage, the executioner, did indeed work and die here and his actions and the manner of his death are also true. Allegedly. If you do visit Chillingham, you will hear the ghost stories, such as the one featuring the Blue Boy, again, all supposed to be true.

  And most of all, you will see the picture of the Spanish Witch on the antique wardrobe, and you will be able read the letters from people who have taken items from the castle and later returned them. As far as I know, there should still be only one set of bones in the Oubliette. That is, unless somebody else has taken something recently and misplaced it.

  Finally, I will say that I'm sure that the modern day owners of Chillingham would never consider throwing a person down into the Oubliette and leaving them there, not unless it was something really expensive you've taken.

  See https://www/chillingham-castle.com for more details.

  Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed the stories! I’ll be back soon with some more.

  Pete.