The Ghost of Madrigal Hall
written by: Jacqueline Erasin
@Jac_Erasin
Madrigal Hall
Oxfordshire
England
23rd October 2024
Dear Mr G. Reaper,
My apologies for troubling you at what I know is a very busy time.
I am Lord Pecksniff of Madrigal Hall, which has been my home for nearly two hundred and fifty years. I have been very happy here; free to do as I please and bothering no one. Happy, that is, until now.
All of my descendants are dead. Not that I mind: the majority were idiots. No backbone, if you get my meaning. While some died from natural causes, others needed a helping hand: a push down the stairs, or from an open window – is it my fault if they leaned out too far? – or electrocution from a faulty bit of wiring. The best one – you’ll love this – was my great-great-nephew, Ignatius Pecksniff. One evening, when I saw him enjoying the finest of my wine cellar, I crept up behind and tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned and saw my hand making a grab for his throat, he had a heart attack and died there and then. I laughed about that one for days.
Perhaps I went a bit too far, killing them all off, for now the place has been bought by a business group who want to turn it into something called a Theme Park. The grounds of Madrigal Hall were designed by Capability Brown. The theme was Nature. What could be better than that?
I had envisaged the estate being managed by the National Trust. Tasteful brochures on sale at the entrance; local ladies acting as tour guides for the interested and the simply curious, all the while keeping an eye open to ensure nobody swipes the best porcelain; homemade cakes and cream teas in the stable block, you know the sort of thing.
But no, nothing so sedate. Instead, they hold Haunted House weekends whereby people actually pay money to be frightened. You may suppose I would like that, just more of the same, you might say. Well, you’d be wrong. These are not family who would treat the place with respect. No, they are Teen Agers (ridiculous term), and they are animals!
They run from room to room, banging doors and screaming, constantly switching lights on and off and jumping on my sofas and beds. I even saw one spinning round and round in my William Morris curtains! I felt so weak I had to lie down. I had barely recovered when a terrifying noise blasted through the house. Such tortured screeching and screaming. It scared me half to death. And they call it music!
I really can’t take anymore, so I’m begging you, please help me. Could you come visit – next Saturday would be perfect – and rid me of this pestilential plague? You have carte blanche to be as imaginative as you wish!
Yours, in trembling anticipation,
Lord Pecksniff
P.S.
You can even stay in the second-best bedroom.
- The Ghost of Madrigal Hall - January 24, 2025
- Finding Cinderella - September 3, 2024
- A Full English - February 7, 2023
