Tis the season for chills up the spine, and this is great tale for a windy October night – another wonderful story from Freaky Folktales.
I have studied all manner of ghost and demon in my quest to better understand this realm betwixt Heaven and Hell but there is little in this study that has proved more intriguing — and downright flesh-creeping — than that of the Croglin vampire. On a dark autumnal day such as this, having struggled against sheets of rain and the swirl of stray leaves in the lonely path across the cemetery, my mind creeps towards that of a real churchyard horror, set upon the Lancashire moorlands.
It happened in the last century. Croglin Low Hall was a low, one-storeyed house on a slope looking down its gardens and cross a small park to the churchyard two hundred yards away. Along the front of the house ran a wooden verandah, like an African stoep. Two brothers and a sister took the house for the summer. I will not give their names…
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Oh, Great! Thanks a lot, Morgan. Now I will get NO sleep tonight! Seriously, though, that is a perfect story for an early autumn night.
It reminded me of the lunacy that persuaded me to read Dracula late at night when I was 16, and my room was the only one on that end of the house. There were nights when I took a clove of garlic to rub around the exterior door frame – just in case.