Haunted House Tales

by Riley Amitrani

  “the ideal reflection of the hard-working and God-fearing people of the town.”

  Though an exact date of the final completion of the church remains debatable to this day, the best guess that long-time residents offer is around 1835. The building itself got regular touch-ups and maintenance as needed through the decades, but whoever had built the original shell had done such a superb job that little major rehab was ever needed.

  Somehow, even the incursions from World War I had little impact on the small chapel. While the horrors of the war devastated much of England, somehow the Abberfield Church escaped serious damage. Prior to World War I, pre-1914, England was arguably the world’s economic superpower, but it was not prepared for the economic impact of the war. Over the course of the war, bombing raids across England exceeded the 5000 mark, causing over £1.5 million in damage. The demand on the people of England, though, was not just in economic concerns. Just as great an impact was made on families across the country as women were forced into the workplace to replace the men who were off fighting the Germans. And even after the war ended, this impact was continued as many soldiers returned home with serious injuries, most conspicuously the effects of shell shock and mustard gas poisoning.

  During the war and even after, the Abberfield Church, partly due to its remaining unscathed during the bombing raids and partly due to the compassion of the people of Abberfield, the church became a refuge for saving lives. The pastor during the war, Vicar Thomas Stubblefield, opened up the doors of the small church to any and all requiring shelter, medical attention, or just some intercession from Vicar Stubblefield. The Vicar was praised widely for his quick action and deep compassion for a need that was great at the time. Even after the war, the church was well known for being a haven for recovery and support. And in all the time prior to the war and after, Abberfield Church was well attended in its’ regular status as a house of worship for the villagers.

  Eventually, things returned to more of a normal day-to-day routine in Abberfield, and for the church, as the years after World War I receded into the past. People came and went to the church and a new Vicar, Richard Peters, was appointed to run the church when Vicar Stubblefield died of old age in 1928. Peters knew he had big shoes to fill when he assumed his new role in Abberfield, but he was soon taken under the wing of the people there when they saw the respect and admiration the man portrayed as he led the services for the passing of Vicar Stubblefield. As time went by, it was obvious he had no intention of making any big changes at the church, and there was a smooth and seamless transition between church leaders.

  Peters was young, and this was the main stumbling block he had to overcome with some of his parishioners. It was not a huge obstacle, but for some of his flock that were of the same generation as Vicar Stubblefield, it took some time for him to convince them of his abilities despite his young age relative to them. Peters took an active approach in creating a good fit between himself and the gap that some might be feeling after the loss of Vicar Stubblefield. However, even the most stubborn and resistant of his congregation were soon won over, and many were heard to say in jest, based on how similar Vicar Peters was to Vicar Stubblefield, that they wondered if he was maybe a long-lost son of the former Vicar. And with some hard work and persistence, Vicar Peters became firmly entrenched in the role of church leader, making all soon feel as if the church’s future had never been brighter. That was, until a horrible day in the fall of 1935…

  Abberfield Church

  Village of Abberfield, UK

  1935

  In preparation for a massive holiday celebration, the musical director had a vision of a choral extravaganza, the likes of which had never been seen at Abberfield Church. Having been brought in recently by Vicar Peters, Charles Breeden wanted to make a big impression in his new role with the choir. Breeden, like Peters, was young, and he had new ideas and programs that he wanted to implement. Many churches in the area had interviewed Breeden, but either his age and/or his new programs seemed to make the elders of many prospective churches nervous. In a recent visit around to other churches, Peters became aware of Breeden and what he wanted to try to implement. As he became more aware of the specifics of Breeden’s proposals, Peters thought back to the résistance he himself had encountered when taking over for Vicar Stubblefield.

  He had to admit that Breeden’s vision was ambitious and perhaps even a little over-the-top for most peoples’ taste, but he liked the basic ideas. Music had been becoming a greater and greater part of the worship service, and Peters saw what was possible for the future in this regard. And he also thought Breeden might just be the right man to make this happen at Abberfield. Unlike many other organizations who evaluated all new hires and programs through a rigid and slowly-moving conservative panel of elders, Abberfield allowed Peters the freedom and initiative to make these decisions on his own. The holiday season was approaching, and after carefully considering all potential pitfalls, Peters offered Breeden the position of musical director at Abberfield.

  Abberfield had never had a professional musical director before, previously having relied on some member of the congregation with musical talent to fill this role on a volunteer basis. But just as Breeden had a vision for what he wanted to accomplish personally, Peters as well had the vision to realize how much more music was soon to become in making the worship service a more fulfilling experience for his flock. Following rejection after rejection as well as some “we’ll get back to you” responses, Breeden was left speechless when Vicar Peters pulled him aside at a conference they both happened to be attending to offer him the position.

  “You what?” asked Breeden as he gaped at Vicar Peters in disbelief.

  “I wanted to see if you had any interest in becoming the new musical director for the Abberfield Church…” Peters replied, clearly enjoying the astonishment from the man.

  “I…uh…well…are you sure?”

  “I am. Music is soon to be a big part of the traditional worship service. In all faiths. You’ve got a big vision, but I like it.”

  “You know you are quite in the minority on this?”

  Vicar Peters shrugged.

  “We are small, and I get a lot of leeway in making changes in the church. All these places you have interviewed and gotten the cold shoulder?”

  Breeden nodded.

  “They are—and this is to stay just between you and me—stuck in the past. They are slow and resistant to change. This path is the future to keeping congregants engaged as well as drawing in new members. Especially our young people.”

  “I…uh…” Breeden looked around as if he did not want to be overheard. “I could not agree more, Vicar.”

  Vicar Peters chuckled as he clapped the young man on the shoulder following Breeden’s whispered comments.

  “So, what do you say. Mr. Breeden? We are a small church way out in the countryside. You won’t find a lot of the opportunities and amenities you might see in London or Manchester or Cambridge. But I can tell you we have a close and warm and supportive community in Abberfield. It’s quiet and the most beautiful spot in all of England if I do say so myself.”

  “I grew up in a little place in the Cotswolds called Chedworth. You probably never heard of it.”

  Peters shook his head no.

  “Figured not. Not many have. Anyway, other than my education in London, Chedworth is where I have lived all my life. It is about as rural as one might imagine, so I can see no issue on my behalf with Abberfield.”

  “So, is that a yes?” Peters asked, a sly smile crossing his face.

  “When do I start?” Breeden replied.

  ………..

  To make a big impression, Charles Breeden set before his small but dedicated choir a cantata from Bach that he knew would push them to limits well beyond what they were used to. But in the end, he knew that once polished, the well-revered Bach Christmas Cantata cycle, written over three successive years by the master, would be remembered forever here in Abberfield. Not o
nly by the congregation but as well by the choir who would be utterly fulfilled at how they took on a difficult composition and made it shine. To that end, Breeden had been pushing the choir harder and harder each week. He was treading a fine line between getting this production to a sound he knew was possible while realizing he was not dealing with professional musicians. In one rehearsal late on a Thursday evening in November, Breeden was having the choir work through a section of the 2nd cantata that they had been struggling with for weeks. He knew they were close to getting over the hump of perfecting the passage, but as the evening wore on, Breeden could see the fatigue and frustration building. Even as driven as he was, he knew when they had had enough, and he called it a night.

  However, in retrospect, it might have been just a tad too late. One of his baritone singers stumbled a bit as he exited from the rehearsal room and tipped over a large candle that had been burning all night. At any other time, this would have been a minor non-issue, but for some reason—perhaps the fatigue of the choir members or perhaps just bad luck—on this night, the candle flew through the air and before anyone realized it, the flame and hot wax had sprayed across an old and tattered tapestry that hung from one wall of the rehearsal room.

  The flame ran up the old fabric of the hanging, and before anyone knew it, the fire had spread quickly engulfing the entire wall from which the tapestry had been displayed. Several of the members tried valiantly to douse the growing fire, but even with their expertise at dealing with such incidents on their farms, it became obvious that the fire was growing too large for them to extinguish. Breeden saw what had happened when he came running following the cries of some of the choir. He hustled everyone out of the room, wanting to make sure they all got safely out of the building. It was not a big fire at that point, but seeing as how their efforts were not going to be adequate, Breeden was more concerned for the choir’s safety than the room. He was sure they could get more help once out of the church.

  However, as the people rushed to the front doors of the church, the horrified screams of the choir resounded and echoed off the stone walls of the interior as the realization that the door was locked or at least blocked shut became apparent. While the men of the choir struggled valiantly to release the front doors, the fire moved quickly and began to consume the entire interior of the church. Other than the stone walls themselves, the church itself was made of wood—and wood that was seriously dried out due to time. The flames spread and soon one by one each person trapped inside began to succumb to smoke inhalation. From the outside, it must have been obvious of the fire consuming the interior of the church, as a group of men passing by broke down the front doors of the church and managed to douse the conflagration before it leapt to the roof.

  However, once the fire was extinguished, and the smoke and other debris were cleared, the real horror of the night set in: no one who had been trapped inside had survived. It was like some hideous and unimaginable field of death as witnesses reported seeing the church filled with corpses; some charred partially and others intact but having been killed from the smoke they inhaled during the fire. It was overwhelming for the town of Abberfield, but not as personally devastating as it was for Vicar Peters. As he surveyed the carnage of the interior, he could not reconcile how a church could survive the bombing of a war and be taken down by a single candle. After seeing to all the memorials and funerals of each choir member, it was like Vicar Peters had aged twenty years. In addition to having lost so many dedicated members of the church, Peters was even more distraught at the loss of Charles Breeden. Though he had not personally set the fire or even tipped over the candle that began the disaster, Vicar Peters took on the death of his new musical director as if he had.

  There was talk in Abberfield of repairing the church since the structural integrity of the walls and roof were still intact, but just two weeks later these plans were abandoned. For some days, Vicar Peters had not been seen around town which was highly unusual. Then, on December 11th, when a young woman who had lost her husband in the fire had come by the church’s cemetery to visit her husband’s gravesite, she discovered yet another incident that crushed the spirit of the townsfolk in regard to the church. The young woman, Susan Mayfield, roses from her grief at her husband’s gravestone to see something hanging from a high branch of a maple tree at the far northwest corner of the cemetery.

  At first glance, Susan was sure what she had spied was just a piece of plastic or paper debris that had gotten caught on the branch and was just flapping in the strong, icy December breeze. But something made her walk closer and as she approached she saw it was a man hanging from the branch, a noose firmly around his neck. She stumbled away from the macabre site and ran crying hysterically back through the cemetery calling for help. Two of her neighbors returned to find Vicar Peters hanging from the branch, his thin and bony frame swinging freely in the wind. Before they could find a ladder and climb up to extricate the body of the Vicar, a cold and biting rain began to fall, smearing the note that was attached to the Vicar’s coat.

  It was kept quiet in the aftermath, as the people of Abberfield did not want to have this horrible postscript added to the disaster of the fire outside of their small village. They all knew that Vicar Peters had been highly upset following all that had happened, but never did they think he might be tempted to take his own life. But that was just what the note on his coat had said…in the Vicar’s own unmistakable hand. He was accepting personal responsibility for the death of Charles Breeden, saying it was he who had brought the man here. That if he had not offered him the position at Abberfield, that he might still be alive. Though it never became more public than in the environs of Abberfield, the fallout of the fire and Vicar Peter’s apparent suicide were the end of the church.

  There were simply too many horrible and tragic memories for them all of what had happened, and the doors of the Abberfield Church were permanently shuttered, and the church closed in December of 1935, just before Christmas. And that was how the church remained for almost eighty years…

  Leaving Las Vegas...Oops...I Mean Sheffield

  Sheffield, UK

  August 2015

  Louise Enfield, now Louise Baker, had been a school teacher in Sheffield for over a decade. She loved her students, but still clung to her love of the countryside even more and her small flat in Bamford in the Peak District National Park region just west of town. Though Sheffield was not exactly a bustling metropolis, the pull and draw of Bamford was stronger than giving up the short commute back and forth. For as long as she could recall, even as a young girl, Louise had wanted to be a mother. However, due to the demands of her job and just seeming to never really be meeting anyone who she was really serious about, in terms of creating a family with, as she approached her mid-20’s, Louise was beginning to resolve herself that perhaps this was just not in the cards for her.

  However, all that changed one day when this charming and dashing young man, Darren Baker, appeared at the primary school where Louise taught to oversee a project that was to add new classrooms to the existing structure. Darren was a couple years younger than Louise, but as soon as he spotted her, it was like electricity struck them both. Like Louise, Darren was a country boy at heart, having grown up in the Yorkshire Dales, but as he was trying to grow his construction business, he had taken a rental in Sheffield. Louise was immediately impressed with the maturity and confidence in Darren soon after they met, as she had never met anyone before so young who was operating his own business. As the project went on, Louise also saw that Darren was as skilled at his craft as he was confident in the design and proposal.

  Their relationship was not exactly love at first sight, but the attraction they had for each other was strong, and a light courtship evolved into a deep love quickly, and they were married only a year or so after having met. Though it was a difficult decision for her, Louise reluctantly gave up her small flat in Bamford, and she and Darren took on a larger place right in Sheffield. His old place was not nearly roo
my enough for the two of them, and they both decided it would be a better start on their lives together to begin in a place that was new to the both of them. And in just a few years, this proved to be fortuitous in more ways than one as Darren and Louise added to their family with a daughter, Ava, soon after they married, and a son, Logan, just two years after Ava was born.

  Ava, though just turning five, was quite curious and inquisitive, and was more likely than not to say whatever was on her mind at the time. Both Darren and Louise laughed over this constantly, figuring she had inherited her father’s confidence. As soon as she had begun talking, this trait had appeared. Logan, on the other hand, was a different kettle of fish. Unlike Ava, he had taken much longer to begin talking and often seemed lost in his own world some days. Louise, from her work in the school in Sheffield, suspected that Logan might have a mild touch of autism as his attempts to communicate with them orally were a bit stunted. It was not a huge deal to her, as she knew even if he did have some degree of autism, that these kids often had skills and gifts that eluded the more “normal” children. Even in his really silent moments with them, it seemed to Louise as if he was maybe sensing or picking up on things that might be eluding them. This was one of the hidden benefits she had read about in her research on autism: that these kids were not retarded in any way, but just saw the world in a different way. In fact, many extraordinarily talented people in history, such as Michelangelo, Albert Einstein, Emily Dickenson, and Mozart were said to have had some degree of this condition. The autism was said to have been vital to offer them the level of the genius they possessed.

  The new place in Sheffield was adequate, but deep down both Darren and Louise knew they wanted more room…and as was near and dear to both of them, they had strong aspirations to get out of Sheffield and relocate to a more rural setting. Ava was just reaching the age of entering a primary school, and they had heard of lots of goings on in Abberfield up in the Dales near where Darren had grown up. He had known of the small settlement, but by name only. Darren’s family had lived in Pateley Bridge, just south of the Gouthwaite Reservoir, which was many hours north of Abberfield. The small village had apparently given in to the inevitable growth of the region after years of trying to ignore it, and along with this had come a new school system as well as some other additions to the main village to give it a real sense of community.