This is the second in a series of monologues being released as separate blogs. They form an account of an experiment performed at Knaresborough castle for Fright Night, Halloween 2013. Investigators travelled around the castle grounds to discover ghosts, who waited, hungry to tell their stories. As you read the accounts, I invite you to imagine that you are standing where the investigators stood, and having heard the ghostly tales, I challenge you to make the choice each experimenter had to make in light of the evidence given.
Dare you read on? Are you willing to face your fears, your own darkness? Dare you step into the realm of the un-dead and unmask the vampire in our midst?
To read the first account, Steven’s story, click here.
The second account, Elizabeth’s story, was written in collaboration with Sian Pearce, the performer who called her from the shadows.
Have you seen him? My love? He was here. I saw him!
Don’t look at me like that. Don’t you pity me!
You think he’s dead too, don’t you? You vipers! You snakes! They’ve told you he’s dead, haven’t they? Well he’s not. My Peter is alive, alive I tell you. I’ve seen him. I’ve see him in the market square. I’ve seen him walking past Blind Jacks. I see him here, in the castle. He is alive.
You don’t even know him, do you? You don’t even remember what he looked like? Here…
He was my childhood sweetheart. He was fourteen, I was twelve. We were engaged when I was sixteen. But then the war came and tore out my heart, shattered my soul, ripped us apart. He left me – he was ‘called up’. I wrote every day, every day. We kept our love strong. I still have the ink marks on my hand!
And then, one dark day, a man in a black coat came – a man from the government, with eyes that bore into my soul. Usually, the names of the dead are just pinned to the board in the market square. But this man in his black coat, said he had been sent because Peter was special. It was at the Somme, he said, that they found it – Peter’s helmet covered with blood. I saw his mouth curl into a smile as he said the word – blood. But there was no body.
‘What should I do?’ I wailed. ‘My life is over!’
And then he told me. Meet him here every day at sunset, in the place where the memorial now stands, and he would keep Peter alive.
And so here I am. I talk to him every day – to that black coat – to Peter. I tell him about our children and what they’re doing at school. I tell him about our house and what the neighbours have said. I pour out my blood every evening as I speak. But Peter feeds on it, and he stays alive.
You don’t think I have children, do you? I can see it in your eyes. You think I’m insane. Well maybe I am, but I will not let him die! I would give every ounce of blood gladly to keep him alive. I would remain a spectre, trapped in this very spot forever, rather than let him go.
He’s here, I can feel him – somewhere, hidden. Go, find him and you will see! But do not look into his eyes, lest you become like me.
Make sure you hear the next fragment of evidence by following this blog. The next two accounts will be released in the coming days, and then you must make your choice.