THE REAL HAUNTING OF THE REAL HILL HOUSE

If you’re sitting comfortably with

this magazine in hand, then I am assuming you’ve seen the Netflix series ‘The Haunting of Hill House.’

After all, if you love ghosts, it was the series not to be missed. The show on everyone’s lips in 2018, it depicted a haunted mansion with a crowd of spirits terrifying enough to chill the blood of the bravest among us. Now imagine a house just as haunted, but a lot more real. An ancient house, shrouded by woodland, nestled high on the side of Howle Hill. I know, could it get

BY LORIEN JONES

any better? There are stories of hidden treasure, buried wells and murders to add to the intrigue, as well as historic associations to the nearby ruined Goodrich Castle. So, sit back, put your feet up and let me take you to the real Hill House.

“As you drive closer to the looming hill and leave civilisation behind, nerves begin to writhe in the pit of your stomach.”

The pink October sky is turning a colder shade as the sun sinks behind the Wye Valley. As you drive closer to the looming hill and leave civilisation behind, nerves begin to writhe in the pit of your stomach. The drive up Howle Hill is a steep one and you are plunged into darkness as the trees close over above. You double back on yourself up an even steeper hill, and your car crunches to a stop on the gravel car park. Stepping out of the car, you stretch and take a deep inhale of the cold autumn evening. The aroma of woodsmoke hangs thick in the air and the evening dampness starts to cling to you. Don’t linger here too long, for wild boar are said to roam these woods. Those and the tall, dark elemental that watches stoically from the trees. Collecting your things, you hasten down the path towards the comfort of the house. That feeling of being watched you’re experiencing. Oh, that’s something you will need to get used to. On your right, you pass the old coach house and the remains of a much older wall, buried with time. Visions of an old boy in a flat cap flash into your mind. He leans against the door frame watching you pass by a vision of leathery, weathered skin and dark, sunken eyes. You turn, expecting to have your imaginings confirmed, but all you see is a dark, gaping doorway. Standing with your back to the house, you take in the twinkling Wye Valley down below. Fog is now blanketing the lower lands which escalates the feeling that you have left your world behind and entered another. Your sense of release is met with anxiety. In summer months, you can enjoy these same views from the hot tub with your skin absorbing the warm setting sun.

But these are different times. Bats swoop around you in the twilight and you finally turn to face the house. It stretches far in both directions; many dark windows look down on you. It’s an unsettling feeling, standing here.

The 1920s foyer casts a warm glow, and you succumb to its allure. Passing through the glass panelled front doors, you are oblivious to the black wispy shadow that snatches at your heels. Closing the door behind, you find yourself standing in the entrance hall, and the oldest part of the house. Your eyes glance down and admire the beautiful parquet flooring. The tiles have become loose over time and tinkle a tune as you walk over them. A sound Duncan, the owner, professes to have heard many a time when alone in the house.

On your left is the old ballroom. Sounds of a large gathering and merrymaking have been heard when appearances would lead you to believe the room was empty. To your right is the Victorian extension, and the part of the house I must admit being most fearful of. The large bay windows leave you feeling exposed to the perils of the woods, when it is the dark shadow lurking behind you that you should be most cautious of.

The dinner gong chimes so you drop your bags by the door and head through to the dining room. As you enter the kitchen, the mouth-watering aromas distract you from the tragic site of the maid long passed. She mournfully watches you from the scullery, babe in her belly, a bump on her brow and blood pouring down over her eye. Dinner by

HAUNTED MAGAZINE

candlelight is a banquet of home cooked courses that never cease to flow from the kitchen. When you are finally full of good food, fine wine, and ghostly tales among friends, you decide to head up to your chamber. Passing back through the kitchen, that same sensation envelops you again. You are being watched, but by who? Reaching the top of the stairs, you take in the long landing before you. The doors you see spread about each give way to their very own personal ghost story. Every room has its own spectral inhabitants from ‘The Watcher’ to the ‘White Lady’ to ‘Blue Face’. You, however, are spending the night in the Dryad Suite. A room of which ‘The Master’ and ‘Elizabeth’ often battle for the hauntship upper hand. The room which has gained the reputation as the most notorious bedroom by all who have rested in

her. As you walk into the room, you are immediately drawn to the sumptuous 4-poster bed, that looks even more inviting with a tummy aching from its fill. The wood burner pops and crackles softly, and yet something feels amiss. It’s as though you have just stepped in on a private conversation, the air feels tense. Shaking the feeling, you dump your bags down on the red velvet armchair and head into the bathroom to freshen up. Whilst in there, you distinctly hear footsteps crossing the floor of your room, followed by the sound of someone calling your name. You hurry to dry your face and leave the bathroom to discover you are still alone. Confused, you check your phone to see if you have been missed. As you sit thumbing through your messages, you hear a dull clunk. Glancing up, you watch in horror-stricken awe as the wardrobe door slowly swings open. The guest book would tell you that this is a common phenomenon. Past guests also reports the lights being switched on in the middle of the night by unseen hands, the feelings of being touched about the face and head whilst trying to sleep as well as the sensation of something walking about on the end of the bed. Property has been damaged, growls have been heard from within the room, furniture moves of its own accord and disembodied footsteps are heard crossing the floor frequently. This is merely touching the surface on the supernatural delights that this room has to offer, never mind the rest of the house! My personal experiences far outweigh this brief introduction. My advice to you now? Head down to the bar and order yourself a stiff drink in front of the open fire. You are going to need it!

Lorien Jones xx

“I have a life-long passion for all things spooky. I turned this love into my business when I created The Ghost Book in 2013. I explore, investigate, and document haunted places around the UK. The older and duster the better. I feel it’s essential to know the history of a building before investigating and believe in the importance of having knowledge of those who lived and worked there throughout history. How can we ask for communication without knowledge and respect?”

If you are interested in reading more about Hill House, want to plan a visit or dare to book a ghost hunt, visit The Ghost Book for more information’

Find out more:

Visit The Ghost Book

https://www.theghostbook.co.uk/ http://howlinghillhouse.com/