Ghost Story: The Haunted Farmhouse, Norfolk
Stewart | On 12, Sep 2017
The Haunting of the Norfolk Farmhouse
Max has sent me his ghost story of the time when he lived in a haunted Norfolk farmhouse…
So my experience isn’t the most terrifying or exhilarating but the atmosphere and event itself certainly is worth mentioning.
A little while after my parent’s divorced (around eight years ago) my mother moved in with my now step-father along with my younger brother and I.
The house we rented was a historic farmhouse with connections to the English Civil War.
It used to be part of a much larger piece of land with numerous buildings but apart from a large garden and a few outhouses that were little more than sheds, most of the surrounding land was now woodland and fields split among several smaller farms.
Not long at all after moving in, my brother (aged 12/13) and I (aged 14/15) were left in the house alone while the adults went to get shopping.
During this time we heard several unusual sounds that put us both on edge.
Pattering noises from the landing upstairs, and a bizarre knocking from a small room which housed the base of the stairs.
The general atmosphere of the house would change periodically and sometimes it was difficult to be in any one room alone.
At this point I hasten to add that no one in my family is a believer in the paranormal, even I am dubious as to whether there really are ghosts as we imagine them, however we all agreed that there was something in that house.
One evening while sitting in the living room watching television, a slightly more unusual event occurred.
To get to the living room from the adjoining room, the dining area, you would have to go through a short hallway, only around three meters long, which was little more than a tunnel.
In the dining room was a dresser upon which sat a crystal wine decanter that my mum owned.
That evening we had been sitting fairly quietly and were about to go to bed.
This silence was shattered however by a loud pinging sound from the dining room and a quiet thud in the room we were sitting in.
Upon investigation we found a piece of crystal in an almost perfect triangle, and while looking for a source we discovered that the decanter had a triangular hole in the side of it that matched the shard.
It is possible that it had something to do with vacuum’s within the decanter itself but I am sure the entire thing would have exploded had that been the case and it would have been difficult for the glass to travel all the way along that hall.
A few weeks later we had a meal with the actual owners of the property, our landlords, who had lived in the house only for a short amount of time and now moved around following the husband’s job in the RAF.
During the meal the subject of the house came up and it was during this time that they revealed that the small room at the base of the stairs used to have another staircase that led to a cellar but that this had been bricked up for over 200 years.
Apparently this had housed a priest-hole at some time or other as well.
The culmination of events came on a quiet Sunday afternoon.
On the side of the house, connected via the kitchen, was a small coat room with the front door and a toilet room located opposite this.
If you continued past these you entered a stone utility room with a fridge and sink (an area that looked like a small, Victorian servants kitchen.)
Embarrassingly this event took place during my use of the aforementioned toilet.
Before leaving I got a sudden chill and I was fully determined to dash from the loo to the safety of the bright warm kitchen where my mum was cooking.
It took a little mental preparation as more than once I had been startled by perfectly natural sounds coming from the boiler and fridge in the room next door.
As I opened the door I was looking down at the floor and my sight was met with a boot moving across the doorway toward the utility room as if someone had walked across a split second before.
Thinking it was just my mum going to the fridge I craned my head round to say something but was met with an empty room.
The only way out was past me and back to the kitchen or through the front door in front of me.
I can tell you, I shot straight into the kitchen and away from that part of the house.
Even now I can describe that boot clearly; brown leather with a thick sole and thick black laces, the sort worn by gardeners or workmen.
I would like to thank Max for sending me this great story and giving me permission to share it with you.