December 15, 2025 • 42 mins
For forty-one years, the halls of Martingdale echoed with unexplained footsteps and banging doors every Christmas Eve — until the night we stayed to watch, and the dead finally showed us what happened.
Hello, children – it’s Santa! I ho ho ho hope you like my podcast! If you like the stories I’m telling in my podcast, please tell your friends and family about the Spooky Santa podcast so they can listen too! Thank you very much, and Merry Christmas!
STORY AND MUSIC CREDITS/SOURCES…
“A Strange Christmas Game” by Mrs. J.H. Ridell: http://bit.ly/36zAo3S
“The Flames of Sligachan” by Amy Brannigan and Caroline Brannigan: http://bit.ly/2LVTMAa
“Clockwork Christmas” by Richard Ankers: https://adbl.co/2PMnQzh
All music used with permission of the artists. Spooky Santa theme by Midnight Syndicate (http://amzn.to/2BYCoXZ). All other music by Nicolas Gasparini (http://bit.ly/2LykK0g).
I always make sure to give authors credit for the material I use. If I somehow overlooked doing that for a story, or if a credit is incorrect, please let me know and I’ll rectify it the show notes as quickly as possible.***Spooky Santa™ and Weird Darkness® are creations and trademarks of Marlar House Productions and Weird Darkness, LLC. Copyright © Weird Darkness, 2023
"I have come into the world as a light, so that no one who believes in me should stay in darkness." — John 12:46
https://weirddarkness.com/SpookySanta1215
#WeirdDarkness #ChristmasGhostStory #HauntedHouse #VictorianGhostStory #GothicHorror #ScaryStories #HolidayHorror #TrueScaryStories #ParanormalStory #ChristmasHorror
Hello, children – it’s Santa! I ho ho ho hope you like my podcast! If you like the stories I’m telling in my podcast, please tell your friends and family about the Spooky Santa podcast so they can listen too! Thank you very much, and Merry Christmas!
STORY AND MUSIC CREDITS/SOURCES…
“A Strange Christmas Game” by Mrs. J.H. Ridell: http://bit.ly/36zAo3S
“The Flames of Sligachan” by Amy Brannigan and Caroline Brannigan: http://bit.ly/2LVTMAa
“Clockwork Christmas” by Richard Ankers: https://adbl.co/2PMnQzh
All music used with permission of the artists. Spooky Santa theme by Midnight Syndicate (http://amzn.to/2BYCoXZ). All other music by Nicolas Gasparini (http://bit.ly/2LykK0g).
I always make sure to give authors credit for the material I use. If I somehow overlooked doing that for a story, or if a credit is incorrect, please let me know and I’ll rectify it the show notes as quickly as possible.***Spooky Santa™ and Weird Darkness® are creations and trademarks of Marlar House Productions and Weird Darkness, LLC. Copyright © Weird Darkness, 2023
"I have come into the world as a light, so that no one who believes in me should stay in darkness." — John 12:46
https://weirddarkness.com/SpookySanta1215
#WeirdDarkness #ChristmasGhostStory #HauntedHouse #VictorianGhostStory #GothicHorror #ScaryStories #HolidayHorror #TrueScaryStories #ParanormalStory #ChristmasHorror
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:04):
Scary ride burned a pod.
Speaker 2 (00:19):
I'm bard of you by because I'm coming to the blow. Hello, children,
it's Santa with another episode of Spooky Santa. Well, I
have some new scary stories to share with you, so
be sure to talk to your mom or dad and
make sure that you have permission to listen. And I
(00:41):
do have some very scary ones today. I have a
strange Christmas game. It's written by missus J. H. Riddle.
It's about a brother and a sister who spend Christmas
in a haunted house and they witness the ghostly reenactment
of a murder. We'll also have a spooky holiday tale
called Clockwork Christmas by Richard Anchors. Plus, I have an
(01:06):
extra special story that was emailed to me from two
of my children on my good list. Yes, two children sisters.
They wrote a scary story together. It's called The Flames
O Sligation by Amy and Caroline Brannigan. So are you ready?
Bult your doors, locked your windows, turn off your lights,
(01:28):
and come with Spooky Santa for another holiday chiller a
(01:53):
Clockwork Christmas by Richard Acres. Somewhere in a distant past
of cop and Brass, a small girl witnessed a miracle.
This is her tale of a most unusual Christmas Eve.
Georgiana did not like Christmas. No matter how much or
(02:14):
how hard she wished for something, she never once received it.
The fact that she always wished for the same thing,
it didn't matter, at least not to her. In nine
years of hoping and praying and writing letters to me,
she never once received that elusive present. She tried not
(02:34):
to let it bother her, but whireless time slipped by.
Her smile became a frown, and poor Georgiana forgot how
to be happy. It was not because Georgiana's parents were poor,
or that she was on my naughty list. No. In fact,
she was a very good girl. If goodness were measured
by politeness and correct manners. It was just a simple
(02:58):
case of wells understanding. But like all things in life
that are left to fester, Georgiana came to resent that misunderstanding.
She came to resent it very much. Georgiana had not
told her parents what she wanted to do, so would
have broken her wish. She was a very wise child
(03:20):
in such ways. But well, it did not mean that
she didn't want to tell them. She really wanted to.
She yearned to. How they could not know was both
a frustration and a bitter disappointment to poor Georgiana. To
her mind, it was an unwritten rule that one's parents
should know their child's innermost secrets. One's parents should know
(03:43):
when a child pleads for companionship, to never be left alone,
as she was day after day after long day. The
whole affair made her very miserable. She came to believe, therefore,
that it was her parents who made her miserable. She
did not wish to be so, and she vowed one
(04:05):
day to not be by whatever means necessary. Yes, Georgiana
would make them pay for turning a good girl into
a bad one. When Christmas Eve arrived, Georgiana went to
bed early. After kissing her Mama and Papa good night
with her usual downcast face, She made the long walk
(04:26):
up to her bedroom with her chin on her chest,
looking so sad. It hurt her parents to see her
that way, especially at Christmas, but what could they do.
She could be a very determined girl at times so
difficult to figure out. Georgiana knelt beside her bed to
say her prayers, remembering at the very last moment to
(04:49):
add an extra prayer for Yours truly Father Christmas, just
in case well. She then blew out the candle that
flickered in her bedside lantern and crawled into bed. Within
a few minutes she had fallen sound asleep. Georgiana awoke
to the sound of something scraping, like the workings of
(05:10):
the grandfather clock that her Papa wound up without fail
every Sunday morning, and at first she thought maybe it
was snowflakes hitting the window. However, that was a silly
thing to think something. Snowflakes were silent, like a white
silk sheet cast over a bed. Perhaps maybe she had
just imagined the sound. She strained her ears with all
(05:34):
her might, but no sound was forthcoming. Relieved she was
not going mad, Georgiana placed her head back on her
pillow before shooting upright. The scraping had returned. Georgiana knew
her parents would have forbidden it, but she got out
of bed with the stealth of a mouse. She slid
(05:55):
into her slippers, threw her dressing gown upon her shoulders,
and crept out of the room. Not a sound escaped
into the night. Even the creaky candlelit landing was silent.
She crept on tiptoes up to the balcony and peeked
over the balustrade. The Christmas tree rested where it should,
(06:16):
presents piled beneath it, and a life sized model of
me Santa Claus stood before that, observing it in quiet tranquility.
Georgiana almost fell over at that sight. They possessed no
life sized model of Father Christmas. It was the moment
all children dream of, and no less for Georgiana when
(06:39):
she witnessed Santa Claus in her own home. There was
only one course of action. Her chance might never come again. Therefore,
with the stealth and agility of a cat, Georgiana crept
down the stairs and snuck right up to the vision
in red. Hello. Georgiana tried to be polite so as
(07:00):
not to startle or scare me away. Well, the figure
shuddered and made a strange grinding noise. My name is Georgiana,
she persisted. I'm very pleased to meet you, Father Christmas.
She said it a little louder this time, and she
held out a small, pale hand, just like her Papa
had taught her. Well, Father Christmas moved and in slow
(07:23):
motion as though made of crystal and frightened of shattering.
It was with the utmost care that the figure in
the red suit turned around to Georgiana, his body twisting
all the way around atop his legs, but his legs
remained where they were. Georgiana gasped as the figure looked
(07:43):
her up and down. Georgiana knew Father Christmas was a
big barrel bellied man, and red, a great white beard,
and a jolly face. But the fellow before her was
none of those things. It wasn't me at all. It
was about the height that the little girl imagined I
would be, and well, it did wear the correct attire,
(08:06):
But this was no man. His face was comprised of
jagged metal parts, just as Georgiana had seen in her
papa's watch when he stripped it down for cleaning. There
were cogs and gears, brass and copper, and eyes of
ruby quartz. He had great, big teeth of sharp metal,
(08:26):
and a tongue that continually licked them, as if to
keep them well oiled. Just when she thought the clockwork
man to have gotten stuck, he spoke Hello, Hello, Hello,
A metallic voice boomed out, I think you mean ho
ho ho Georgiana corrected, not the least bit scared of
(08:47):
this creature. Sorry, The thing replied, its mechanical jaw opening
and closing out of time with its voice. Why are
you pretending to be Father Christmas? Georgiana interrogated him. She
set the creature with a stare of ice cooled penetration.
The clockwork man backed away, gears whirring and a small
(09:08):
chiming emanating from within his chest. Father is unwell, it said,
I am delivering Christmas this year with my mechanical brothers.
The clockwork jaw did not finish moving until some seconds
after the impostor had finished speaking brothers. She asked, yes,
I have eight ninety six brothers. The clockwork Santa replied,
(09:33):
why so many, asked Georgiana, cocking her head to one
side to take a better look at the odd looking man.
We are clockwork, whereas Father is magic. But I so
hoped to see Father Christmas. I need to ask him
something personal, Georgiana said. I know, replied the clockwork man,
(09:55):
his red hat bobbling with his jerky movements, and that's
why I'm here. I have made it for you. I'm sorry,
but if it is a gift, that is made. Then
it is not the gift I have dreamed of, Georgiana said,
Her face went downcast and her eyes started to fill
with tears. But it is, the man said, it is funny, choppy,
(10:18):
metallic way. He spun back around on his legs, his
feet never moving, and bent down to collect something from
the sack that he had left on the floor for you, Georgiana.
The clockwork Father Christmas passed her a red box tied
with a green silk bow that perfectly matched her eyes.
(10:39):
Georgiana took the gift, which was very heavy, and said
thank you. She could not hold it for long, though,
so she put it on the floor and untied the bow.
When she removed the lid, tears overflowed from her eyes.
It is what you wished for, asked the mechanical man. No,
it's but he she replied, throwing her arms about the
(11:03):
large clockwork man with a clunk. The action caught him
so off guard he almost toppled over. He's my dream
come true, said Georgiana. Thank you, Father Christmas. Thank you
from the bottom of my heart. Well, the clockwork Father
Christmas buzzed and word and then bowed at the waist
(11:24):
his legs staying in place. He collected his sack and
then turned back to Georgiana. I hope to see you
next year, Georgiana. Hello, hello, hello, he added. No ho
ho ho, she laughed, But with a puff of gray
smoke and the stench of gear oil, he was gone.
(11:45):
Georgiana was sad to see the metal man go. He
was such a nice clockwork fellow. In addition, she saw
that he had been thoughtful enough to leave her another
small gift in his wake. There on the floor sat
a small can of oil. Perfect, she said, as the
little clockwork puppy in the box gave a mechanical hip.
(12:09):
He clicked and word buzzed and grated as his sharp
metal tail wagged from side to side. Well with a
smile that would light up the night. Georgiana took the can,
and she stooped down to collect up her brass puppy.
He gleamed in the candlelight, standing on his back legs
to lick her face with his rough metal tongue, and
(12:30):
then he nuzzled into her dressing gown. You really do
have the sharpest little teeth I've ever seen, she commented,
all the better for crunching on bones and things I expect.
What do you say, Cruncher, because that's what I shall
call you, Cruncher. Well, her new metallic robot puppy, Cruncher
looked up at her, his fiery red eyes eager to please,
(12:54):
his small jaw snapping up and down. Now, I know
you're probably hungry, or we shouldn't be up, so we'll
go to bed and find you some food come morning.
At that, Georgiana giggled and led the puppy upstairs. She
whispered as they snuck across her parents doorway. Mamma and
(13:14):
Papa sleep there, she hissed. And I don't like Mamma
and Papa anymore. Georgiana's parents would never know who sent
her such a wonderful present, nor would they see how
she played and played and played with the little brass
dog with the razor sharp teeth. They wouldn't even get
to tell her to clean the red liquid off of
(13:36):
its hungry looking face, and the stairs and the carpet. No,
her parents would never again wonder what she desired most
for Christmas. Cruncher saw to that. By the way, kids,
(13:57):
just to let you know, I do not metallic Santa
Claus men to take my place if I'm not feeling well.
It's just a story. And if you do ask for
a puppy, you don't expect a metal one that might
hurt your parents. I would never give a gift like that.
(14:18):
Up next, I'll share that email that I received from
one of my wealth too, actually of my good children,
with their own scary story they wrote for me. We'll
have that in just a moment.
Speaker 1 (14:33):
Email email.
Speaker 2 (14:35):
We get your email every day.
Speaker 1 (14:40):
Here's your man day.
Speaker 2 (14:44):
Welcome back to Spooky Santa. Who. It's me Canta Claus
and I have a brand new story that was emailed
to me from Amy and Caroline Brannigan. They live in London, England,
and they got together. These sisters wrote a scary story
for us. Here it is. It's called the Flames of Sligation.
(15:08):
Zoe peered out the train window at the late afternoon sunshine,
poring over the huge granite gray shape of a big
old house. Are we there yet? Moaned her brother Andrew
beside her. It's been ages and ages, grumbled his twin Anthony,
who was sitting beside Andrew with his arms stolded and
(15:29):
looking grumpy. Not far now, answered Zoe, feeling quite the
little mother to her nine year old brothers, even though
she was only eleven herself. Not taking her eyes off
the huge house, which was so close now she could
see its grimy windows, she felt a nervous fluttering in
her stomach. Andrew and Anthony stared at the train window.
(15:51):
Who that can't be where we're going, can it? Asked Andrew,
looking in disgust at the building with its little turret
and rounded quarters. It was a cross between a house
and a castle. No, I don't think so, Mom said,
Slygation was quite a big house, but I don't think
it was going to be as big as that, explained Zoe.
(16:15):
She thought back to her day and that her parents
had told them the three children were to have a
special treat to go and stay with Miss McDougall at
Slygation House. It it all sounded wonderful back then to
leave their home and Newcastle to go to the Scottish
house where her mother had stayed as a child, But
it didn't sound as good when she heard that her
(16:36):
parents would not be going with them. They had to
visit Granny in London, who was not very well, and
Mom said it'd be very boring. For the children. But
now the dark, gloomy mansion had come into view around
the corner of the railway track. She wasn't so sure
now she hoped that wasn't where they were going yet
(16:57):
there were no other buildings to be seen, and announcement
over the carriage speaker said their stop was fast approaching.
It was in just the right place, and her mother
described it at the foot of a mountain and a
wood behind, and the railway track just in front. Suddenly
Anthony cried out, look, look, there's somebody at the window
(17:18):
watching us, all pale and strange. But when the other
two looked where he was pointing, there was nothing to
be seen. Stop pulling our legs, said Zoe, angry, for
she was already beginning to worry about how menacing'slygation house appeared.
I'm not pulling your leg I really did see something,
(17:39):
argued Anthony. Do us a favor. Anton, shut up, yaunt Andrew.
The train was slowing down now and finally pulled with
a clanking noise into a station. Old metal columns curled
up toward a leaf strewn class canopy, making the platform gloomy.
Zoe said loudly. Over All the This must be our station.
(18:02):
Don't forget your suitcases and mind the gap when we
get out. I don't want you falling under the train.
Zoe liked bossing her brothers around, apparently woo well. She
stepped gracefully down onto the platform and her brothers tumbled
out behind her. Andrew pretended to get his legs stuck
(18:23):
in the gap, but Zoe wasn't fooled. Stop messing about,
she said, crumpily. At first, there seemed to be nobody
there to meet them, but suddenly a shadowy figure loomed
toward them. For a moment, they couldn't see who it was,
and they jumped in fright. A dark outline seemed to
support a face so pale as to be almost floating
(18:46):
in space. Then a gentle Scottish voice said, hello, you
must be the Bramley children. I'm missus McDougall, so please
to meet you. Now. Let's get back to Slaggation House
before it gets too dark. Andrew whispered into his sister's ear,
I thought you said it was miss sh Zoe didn't
(19:09):
want to offend the woman who stood in front of her.
Anthony gaped at the curly, gray haired little woman, who
was now leading the way out of the station toward
a battered old cart, in front of which stood a
dappled gray pony, pawing at the ground with its hoof.
Anthony hissed at Zoe, I'm sure that's the person I
saw at the window, but when I saw her there,
(19:31):
she was ghostly white. Zoe ignored him with her nose
in the air. Missus McDougall helped them into the cart,
looking them up and down. Those are very thin, odd
looking clothes you've got on, she said. It's tweeds and
woolens for the highlands, you should know. The three children
were surprised their mom had knitted them warm new coats
(19:55):
in the latest waterproof fabric. Who would want to get
soaked in heavy wool? Zoey looked out at Missus dougall's
thick black skirt, almost brushing her ankles, and the scratchy
looking cloak which hid the upper half of her body.
After a short ride bumping over the rough potholds track,
Missus McDougall pulled the pony and cart to a stop
(20:18):
outside the huge, dark bulk of slagation house. Zoe's heart
sank when she saw that it was indeed the place
they had seen from the train. Missus McDougall led them
up to a heavy oak door, which she opened with
a strong shove of her shoulder. It creaked loudly. I
(20:39):
don't like this, said Andrew. As they followed the woman inside,
they found themselves in a high hallway where a staircase
disappeared up and around the corners into the darkness of
another story. Suddenly, he grabbed Zoe and whispered, did you
see that? See what? Whispered Zoe impatiently. She was getting
(21:00):
very annoyed now with her brothers. Andrew pointed and a
big painting of a very important, rich looking man on
the wall. He scowled at me and he waved his fists.
Stop talking rubbish, muttered Zoe. That's impossible. After steaming bowls
of Scotch brought soup in the cavernous and chili dining room,
(21:21):
the children were shown to their bedrooms. Anthony and Andrew
were sharing one bedroom, Zoe had her own. They'd been
looking for lights to switch on, but there were no
light switches. No electricity here, Missus McDougall told them, handing
them a lit candle each on a little dish in
the town. Yes, but it'll be a long time before
(21:43):
electricity gets to a place like this. She closed the
curtains against the night, and added, there's a box of
matches for you in your rooms if you need a
light in the night, but be very careful. We don't
want to fire. Alone in her room, in a big,
old bed and under piles of blankets, Zoe lay awake
for hours, unable to sleep. She couldn't face being in
(22:07):
the dark, and she watched the candle burn lower and lower.
Then suddenly it went out, just as if somebody had
blown it out. Oooh, just a draft, Zoe told herself,
not altogether reassured, and burrowed deeper and deeper under the covers,
her eyes now shut tight. Soon exhausted, she fell asleep.
(22:30):
Then the door burst open and footsteps thundered across the
bare floorboards. Something was pulling the blankets from her face.
It was still pitch black. She could see nothing and
cried out in terror. Shut up, Zoe came a familiar
voice as she realized it was Anthony, and judging by
the deep breaths of somebody else nearby, andrew as well,
(22:54):
Why are you in here. You gave me such a fright,
said Zoe angrily. There was a scratching sound and a
light flickered from the match as Anthony lit the candle
he was carrying. We see a ghost, cried Andrew. It
was the man. I saw the portrait on the wall,
walking along, all gray and misty. It was horrible. I
(23:15):
saw it too, squealed Anthony. He was coming to get us.
I'm sure there are no ghosts, not here, not anywhere,
said Zoe, angry, but rather frightened as well. As they
sat in the small pool of light from the candle,
aren't there? Croaked a voice from the shadows behind her.
(23:35):
They all spun around to see the gray shape of
a man in old fashioned clothes, floating just inches of
bullet chair. There was no need to say anything. The
three children leapt up, The candle fell from Antony's hands,
and they ran out of the room, falling over each
other as they piled through the door, tiny screams trying
(23:56):
to get out of their mouths, which the fear had
left dry as dust. The soft moonlight glowed through the
windows as they crashed along the landing and sprinted down
the stairs. At the bottom They stopped dead as the
figure of Missus McDougall, gray and shadowy, appeared in front
of them. Where did she come from? Hissed Zoe, But
(24:19):
nobody had any answers. You cannot leave, she said sternly,
and then she threw her head back and gave a loud,
cackling laugh. And the children heard a strange crackling noise
from above, and turned in horror to see an orange
glow and thick clouds of smoke coming from what had
(24:42):
been Zoe's room. Mixing with the black smoke was the
strange gray glow of the ghostly man they had seen
in there. Now there were more a dozen figures, some gray,
some pearly, white men and women, even small children, their
strange forms lofting in and out of view. Without thinking, Zoe,
(25:04):
Anthony and Andrew stormed forwards to push Missus dougal out
of the way, but instead they found that they passed
straight through her, feeling as if a bucket of ice
cold water had been tipped over them. As they rushed
toward the front door, flames seemed to engulf the entire house,
and the door disintegrated before their eyes. Yet as they
(25:27):
rushed through the gap. They felt no heat, only another chill.
They didn't stop running until they were right down at
the station. Looking back to where Sligation House had been,
they could see only the wood that had been behind it,
and instead of a fire, they could see only the
rosy glow of the slowly rising sun. Shocked and exhausted,
(25:51):
they turned toward the station and gasped in amazement. Gone
with the old iron columns and the glass canopy, and
instead a brightly lit, modern ticket hall stood before them.
A lone ticket seller was just opening his booth. Come
to collect your things, then, he asked, and to their amazement,
(26:12):
they saw that all of their suitcases were piled in
a corner. Looking down, they were no longer in their pajamas,
but in the clothes that they had worn for their journey.
You're off to see miss McDougall at new Slagation House,
aren't you, he went on. Suddenly all the children started
speaking at once. They'd been to a big house. There
(26:32):
had been a fire there. The railway man cut them short.
I know all of that. The old Slagation House burned
down fifty years ago when some kid dropped a candle.
At least that's the way the story goes. The children
looked at him in a mixture of horror and amazement.
Fifty years ago, gasped Zoe. Oh yes, said the man.
(26:54):
I've had lots of children coming and telling stories about
seeing the old house as if it was real, and
the housekeeper too. They all talk about missus McDougall. She
was grandmother of the miss McDougall that you're going to
see in the new house that they built down the
road after the fire. She'll be along soon to pick
you up. I can't think of how it was that
(27:16):
you got here so early. Though. The children looked at
each other, reaching out and gently feeling hands and sleeves
to reassure themselves that they were all still real. The
man walked back toward his office. Lo a nonsense, of course,
he said. Funny thing is they all tell me the
same story. And then he stopped in his tracks and
(27:36):
he looked back at them, sniffing suspiciously. And they all
smell of smoke, just like you do. I would love
to read a scary story that you write for me.
You can send it to letters at Spookysanta dot com. Please,
(27:57):
I would love to read it well. Are you ready
for our third and final story of this episode. This
next story is called Strange Christmas Game. It's a ghost
(28:19):
story written by Missus J. H. Riddell. It was written
way back in eighteen sixty eight. It's about a brother
and sister who spent Christmas in a haunted house and
they witnessed the ghostly reenactment of a murder. Are you ready?
Here's the story. It was the middle of November when
(28:43):
we arrived at Marningdale and found the place anything but
romantic or pleasant. The walks were wet and sodden, The
trees were leafless. There were no flowers save a few
late pink roses blooming in the garden. It had been
a wet and the place looked miserable. Claire would not
(29:04):
ask Alice down to keep her company in the winter months,
as she had intended, and for myself. The Cronsons were
still absent in New Norfolk, where they meant to spend
Christmas with old Missus Cronson. Now recovered altogether, Morning Dale
seemed dreary enough, and the ghost stories we had laughed
at while sunshine flooded the room became less unreal when
(29:27):
we had nothing but blazing fires and wax candles to
dispel the gloom. They became more real also when servant
after servant left us to seek situations elsewhere, when noises
grew frequent in the house, when we ourselves, Claire and I,
with our own ears, heard the tramp tramp, the banging,
(29:48):
and the chattering which had been described to us, My
dear child, you doubtless are free from superstitious fancies, right
you poo poo the existence of ghosts, and you only
wish you could find a haunted house in which to
spend a night, which is all very brave and praiseworthy.
But wait till you are left in a dreary, desolate,
(30:10):
old country mansion filled with the most unaccountable sounds, without
a servant, with none save an old caretaker and his wife,
who living at the extremest end of the building, heard
nothing of the triumph bang bang going on at all
hours of the night. At first, I imagined the noises
(30:31):
were produced by some evil disposed persons who wished, for
purposes of their own, to keep the house uninhabited. But
by degrees Claire and I came to the conclusion that
visitation must be supernatural. And Marningdale by consequence untenantable, still
being practical people, unlike our predecessors, not having money to
(30:54):
live where and how we liked, we decided to watch
and see whether we could trade any human influence in
the matter. If not, it was agreed we were to
pull down the right wing of the house and the
principal staircase for nights. And nights we sat up till
two or three o'clock in the morning, Claire engaged in needlework,
(31:17):
I reading with a revolver lying on the table beside me.
But nothing, neither sound nor appearance, rewarded our vigil. This
confirmed my first ideas that the sounds were not supernatural.
But just to test the matter, I determined that on
Christmas Eve, the anniversary of mister Jeremy Lester's disappearance, to
(31:39):
keep watch myself in the red bed chamber. Even to Claire,
I never mentioned my intention. At about ten, tired out
with our previous vigils, we each were tired to rest
somewhat ostentatiously. Perhaps I noisily shut the door of my room,
and when I opened it half an hour afterwards, no
(32:02):
mouse could have pursued its way along the corridor with
greater silence and caution than myself. Quite in the dark,
I sat in the red room for over an hour.
I might as well have been in my grave, for
anything I could see in the apartment. But at the
end of that time, the moon rose and cast strange
(32:23):
lights across the floor and upon the wall of the
haunted chamber. Hitherto I kept my watch opposite the window.
Now I changed my place to a corner near the door,
where I was shaded from observation by the heavy hangings
of the bed and an antique wardrobe. Still I sat on,
(32:44):
but still no sound broke the silence. I was weary
with many nights of watching, and I was tired of
my solitary vigil. I dropped at last into a slumber,
from which I awakened by hearing the door softly opening.
John said my sister, almost in a whisper. John, are
(33:06):
you here, Yes, Claire, I answered, but what are you
doing up at this hour? Come downstairs, she replied, they're
in the oak parlor. I did not need any explanation
as to whom she meant, but crept downstairs with her,
warned by an uplifted hand of the necessity for silence
(33:26):
and caution by the door. By the open door of
the oak parlor. She paused, and we both looked in.
There was the room we left in darkness overnight, with
a bright wood fire blazing on the hearth, candles on
the chimney piece. The small table pulled out from its
accustomed corner, and two men seated beside it, playing at cribbage.
(33:52):
We could see the face of the younger player, and
it was that of a man about five and twenty,
of a man who had lived hard and wicked, who
had wasted his substance and his health, who had been
wild in the flesh. Jeremy Lester. It would be difficult
for me to say how I knew this, how in
a moment I identified the features of the player with
(34:14):
those of the man who'd been missing for forty one years.
Forty one years that very night. He was dressed in
the costume of a bygone period. His hair was powdered,
and round his wrists there were ruffles of lace. He
looked like one who, having come from some great party,
(34:34):
had sat down after his return home to play cards
with an intimate friend. On his little finger there sparkled
a ring in the front of his shirt there gleamed
a valuable diamond. There were diamond buckles in his shoes,
and according to the fashion of his time, he wore
knee breeches and silk stockings, which showed off advantageously the
(34:56):
shape of a remarkably good leg and ankle. He's at
opposite the door, but never once lifted his eyes to it.
His attention seemed to concentrate on the cards. For a time,
there was utter silence in the room, broken only by
the momentous counting of the card game in the doorway.
(35:17):
We stood holding our breath, terrified and yet fascinated by
the scene which was being acted out before us. The
ashes dropped on the hearth softly, and like the snow.
We could hear the rustle of the cards as they
were dealt out and fell upon the table. We listened
to the count fifteen two, fifteen four, and so forth,
(35:40):
but there was no other word spoken to At length,
the player, whose face we could not see, exclaimed, I
win the game is mine. Then his opponent took up
the cards, sorted them over negligently in his hand, put
them close together, and flung the entire pack in his
guest's face, exclaiming she liar take that there was a
(36:02):
bustle and confusion, a flinging over of chairs, and fierce gesticulation,
and such a noise of passionate voices mingling that we
could not hear a sentence which was uttered all at once. However,
Jeremy Lester strode out of the room in so great
a hurry that he almost touched us where we stood,
(36:23):
out of the room, and tramp up the staircase to
the red room, whence he descended in a few minutes
with a couple of rapiers under his arm. When he
re entered the room, he gave, as it seemed to us,
the other man his choice of the weapons, and then
he flung open the window, and, after ceremoniously giving place
(36:43):
for his opponent to pass out first, he walked forth
into the night. Air Claire and I followed. We went
through the garden and down a narrow, winding walk to
a smooth piece of turf, sheltered from the north by
a plantation of young fir trees. It was a bright
moonlit night by this time, and we could distinctly see
(37:05):
Jeremy Lester measuring off the ground. When you say three,
he said at last to the man whose back was
still towards us. They had drawn lots for the ground,
and the lot had fallen against mister Lester. He stood thus,
with the moonbeams falling upon him, and a handsomer fellow
I would never desire to behold one began the other two,
(37:31):
and before our kinsman had the slightest suspicion of his design,
he was upon him, and his rapier threw Jeremy Lester's breast.
At the sight of that cowardly treachery, Claire screamed aloud.
In a moment, the combatants had disappeared, the moon was
obscured behind a cloud, and we were standing in the
(37:51):
shadow of the fir plantation, shivering with cold and terror.
But we knew at last what had become of the
late owner of Martingdale. That he had fallen not in
a fair fight at all, but foully murdered by a
false friend. When late on Christmas morning I awoke, it
was to see a white world, to behold the ground
(38:14):
in trees and shrubs, all laden and covered with snow.
There was snow everywhere, such snow as no person could
remember having fallen for forty one years. It was on
just a Christmas as this that mister Jeremy disappeared, remarked
the old sexton to my sister, who had insisted on
dragging me through the snow to church, whereupon Claire fainted
(38:37):
away and was carried into the vestry, where I made
a full confession to the vicar of all we had
beheld of previous night. At first that worthy individual rather
inclined to treat the matter lightly, But when a fortnight
after the snow melted away and the fur plantation came
to be examined, he confessed there might be more things
(39:00):
in heaven and earth than his limited philosophy had dreamed of.
In a little dear space just within the plantation, Jeremy
Lester's body was finally found. We knew it by the
ring and the diamond buckles and the sparkling breastpin. And
mister Cronson, in his capacity as a magistrate, came over
(39:22):
to inspect the is relics, and he was visibly perturbed
at my narrative. Pray, mister Lester, did you, in your
dream see the face of the gentleman your kinsman's opponent? No,
I answered, He sat and stood with his back to
us all the time. There is nothing more, of course,
to be done in the matter, observed mister Cronson. Nothing,
(39:45):
I replied, and there the affair would doubtless have terminated.
But that A few days afterwards, when we were dining
at Cronson Park, Claire all of a sudden dropped the
glass of water she was carrying to her lips and exclaimed, look, John,
there he is. And she rose from her seat, and,
with a face as white as the tablecloth, pointed to
(40:07):
a portrait hanging on the wall. I saw him for
an instant when he turned his head towards the door
as Jeremy Lester left it. She exclaimed, that is he.
Of what followed after this identification, I have only the
vaguest recollection. Servants rushed hither and thither. Missus Cronson dropped
(40:27):
off her chair into hysterics. The young ladies gathered round
their mama. Mister Cronson, trembling like one in a fit,
attempted some kind of explanation, while Claire kept praying to
be taken away, Only to be taken away. I took
her away, not merely from Cronson Park, but from Martingdale.
(40:48):
Before we left the latter place. However, I had an
interview with mister Cronson, who said the portrait Claire had
identified was that of his wife's father, the last person
who saw Jeremy Lester alive. He's an old man now finished,
mister Cronson, a man of over eighty, who has confessed
everything to me. You won't bring further sorrow and disgrace
(41:10):
upon us by making this matter public, will you? I
promised him I would keep silent, but the story did
gradually ooze out and the Cronsons left the country. My
sister never returned to Martingdale. She married and is living
in London. Though I assure her there are no strange
noises in my house, she will still not visit Bedfordshire,
(41:34):
where the little girl she wanted me so long ago
to think of seriously is now my wife and the
mother of my children. Well did you like the stories
(41:54):
I told today? If so, do me a favor and
tell your friends and family members about Spooky Santa so
that they can listen to and remember. You can write
your own scary story and email it to me at
letters at Spookysanta dot com. If you want to learn
more about the stories that I've told, or the authors
(42:15):
who wrote them. You can find links in the episode's
show notes. Spooky Santa is a registered trademark of Marlar
House Productions, copyright Marlar House Productions, twenty nineteen. Now be
a good little girl or boy and join me next
time for more creepy tales from Spooky Santa.
Speaker 1 (42:35):
O
Scary ride burned a pod.
Speaker 2 (00:19):
I'm bard of you by because I'm coming to the blow. Hello, children,
it's Santa with another episode of Spooky Santa. Well, I
have some new scary stories to share with you, so
be sure to talk to your mom or dad and
make sure that you have permission to listen. And I
(00:41):
do have some very scary ones today. I have a
strange Christmas game. It's written by missus J. H. Riddle.
It's about a brother and a sister who spend Christmas
in a haunted house and they witness the ghostly reenactment
of a murder. We'll also have a spooky holiday tale
called Clockwork Christmas by Richard Anchors. Plus, I have an
(01:06):
extra special story that was emailed to me from two
of my children on my good list. Yes, two children sisters.
They wrote a scary story together. It's called The Flames
O Sligation by Amy and Caroline Brannigan. So are you ready?
Bult your doors, locked your windows, turn off your lights,
(01:28):
and come with Spooky Santa for another holiday chiller a
(01:53):
Clockwork Christmas by Richard Acres. Somewhere in a distant past
of cop and Brass, a small girl witnessed a miracle.
This is her tale of a most unusual Christmas Eve.
Georgiana did not like Christmas. No matter how much or
(02:14):
how hard she wished for something, she never once received it.
The fact that she always wished for the same thing,
it didn't matter, at least not to her. In nine
years of hoping and praying and writing letters to me,
she never once received that elusive present. She tried not
(02:34):
to let it bother her, but whireless time slipped by.
Her smile became a frown, and poor Georgiana forgot how
to be happy. It was not because Georgiana's parents were poor,
or that she was on my naughty list. No. In fact,
she was a very good girl. If goodness were measured
by politeness and correct manners. It was just a simple
(02:58):
case of wells understanding. But like all things in life
that are left to fester, Georgiana came to resent that misunderstanding.
She came to resent it very much. Georgiana had not
told her parents what she wanted to do, so would
have broken her wish. She was a very wise child
(03:20):
in such ways. But well, it did not mean that
she didn't want to tell them. She really wanted to.
She yearned to. How they could not know was both
a frustration and a bitter disappointment to poor Georgiana. To
her mind, it was an unwritten rule that one's parents
should know their child's innermost secrets. One's parents should know
(03:43):
when a child pleads for companionship, to never be left alone,
as she was day after day after long day. The
whole affair made her very miserable. She came to believe, therefore,
that it was her parents who made her miserable. She
did not wish to be so, and she vowed one
(04:05):
day to not be by whatever means necessary. Yes, Georgiana
would make them pay for turning a good girl into
a bad one. When Christmas Eve arrived, Georgiana went to
bed early. After kissing her Mama and Papa good night
with her usual downcast face, She made the long walk
(04:26):
up to her bedroom with her chin on her chest,
looking so sad. It hurt her parents to see her
that way, especially at Christmas, but what could they do.
She could be a very determined girl at times so
difficult to figure out. Georgiana knelt beside her bed to
say her prayers, remembering at the very last moment to
(04:49):
add an extra prayer for Yours truly Father Christmas, just
in case well. She then blew out the candle that
flickered in her bedside lantern and crawled into bed. Within
a few minutes she had fallen sound asleep. Georgiana awoke
to the sound of something scraping, like the workings of
(05:10):
the grandfather clock that her Papa wound up without fail
every Sunday morning, and at first she thought maybe it
was snowflakes hitting the window. However, that was a silly
thing to think something. Snowflakes were silent, like a white
silk sheet cast over a bed. Perhaps maybe she had
just imagined the sound. She strained her ears with all
(05:34):
her might, but no sound was forthcoming. Relieved she was
not going mad, Georgiana placed her head back on her
pillow before shooting upright. The scraping had returned. Georgiana knew
her parents would have forbidden it, but she got out
of bed with the stealth of a mouse. She slid
(05:55):
into her slippers, threw her dressing gown upon her shoulders,
and crept out of the room. Not a sound escaped
into the night. Even the creaky candlelit landing was silent.
She crept on tiptoes up to the balcony and peeked
over the balustrade. The Christmas tree rested where it should,
(06:16):
presents piled beneath it, and a life sized model of
me Santa Claus stood before that, observing it in quiet tranquility.
Georgiana almost fell over at that sight. They possessed no
life sized model of Father Christmas. It was the moment
all children dream of, and no less for Georgiana when
(06:39):
she witnessed Santa Claus in her own home. There was
only one course of action. Her chance might never come again. Therefore,
with the stealth and agility of a cat, Georgiana crept
down the stairs and snuck right up to the vision
in red. Hello. Georgiana tried to be polite so as
(07:00):
not to startle or scare me away. Well, the figure
shuddered and made a strange grinding noise. My name is Georgiana,
she persisted. I'm very pleased to meet you, Father Christmas.
She said it a little louder this time, and she
held out a small, pale hand, just like her Papa
had taught her. Well, Father Christmas moved and in slow
(07:23):
motion as though made of crystal and frightened of shattering.
It was with the utmost care that the figure in
the red suit turned around to Georgiana, his body twisting
all the way around atop his legs, but his legs
remained where they were. Georgiana gasped as the figure looked
(07:43):
her up and down. Georgiana knew Father Christmas was a
big barrel bellied man, and red, a great white beard,
and a jolly face. But the fellow before her was
none of those things. It wasn't me at all. It
was about the height that the little girl imagined I
would be, and well, it did wear the correct attire,
(08:06):
But this was no man. His face was comprised of
jagged metal parts, just as Georgiana had seen in her
papa's watch when he stripped it down for cleaning. There
were cogs and gears, brass and copper, and eyes of
ruby quartz. He had great, big teeth of sharp metal,
(08:26):
and a tongue that continually licked them, as if to
keep them well oiled. Just when she thought the clockwork
man to have gotten stuck, he spoke Hello, Hello, Hello,
A metallic voice boomed out, I think you mean ho
ho ho Georgiana corrected, not the least bit scared of
(08:47):
this creature. Sorry, The thing replied, its mechanical jaw opening
and closing out of time with its voice. Why are
you pretending to be Father Christmas? Georgiana interrogated him. She
set the creature with a stare of ice cooled penetration.
The clockwork man backed away, gears whirring and a small
(09:08):
chiming emanating from within his chest. Father is unwell, it said,
I am delivering Christmas this year with my mechanical brothers.
The clockwork jaw did not finish moving until some seconds
after the impostor had finished speaking brothers. She asked, yes,
I have eight ninety six brothers. The clockwork Santa replied,
(09:33):
why so many, asked Georgiana, cocking her head to one
side to take a better look at the odd looking man.
We are clockwork, whereas Father is magic. But I so
hoped to see Father Christmas. I need to ask him
something personal, Georgiana said. I know, replied the clockwork man,
(09:55):
his red hat bobbling with his jerky movements, and that's
why I'm here. I have made it for you. I'm sorry,
but if it is a gift, that is made. Then
it is not the gift I have dreamed of, Georgiana said,
Her face went downcast and her eyes started to fill
with tears. But it is, the man said, it is funny, choppy,
(10:18):
metallic way. He spun back around on his legs, his
feet never moving, and bent down to collect something from
the sack that he had left on the floor for you, Georgiana.
The clockwork Father Christmas passed her a red box tied
with a green silk bow that perfectly matched her eyes.
(10:39):
Georgiana took the gift, which was very heavy, and said
thank you. She could not hold it for long, though,
so she put it on the floor and untied the bow.
When she removed the lid, tears overflowed from her eyes.
It is what you wished for, asked the mechanical man. No,
it's but he she replied, throwing her arms about the
(11:03):
large clockwork man with a clunk. The action caught him
so off guard he almost toppled over. He's my dream
come true, said Georgiana. Thank you, Father Christmas. Thank you
from the bottom of my heart. Well, the clockwork Father
Christmas buzzed and word and then bowed at the waist
(11:24):
his legs staying in place. He collected his sack and
then turned back to Georgiana. I hope to see you
next year, Georgiana. Hello, hello, hello, he added. No ho
ho ho, she laughed, But with a puff of gray
smoke and the stench of gear oil, he was gone.
(11:45):
Georgiana was sad to see the metal man go. He
was such a nice clockwork fellow. In addition, she saw
that he had been thoughtful enough to leave her another
small gift in his wake. There on the floor sat
a small can of oil. Perfect, she said, as the
little clockwork puppy in the box gave a mechanical hip.
(12:09):
He clicked and word buzzed and grated as his sharp
metal tail wagged from side to side. Well with a
smile that would light up the night. Georgiana took the can,
and she stooped down to collect up her brass puppy.
He gleamed in the candlelight, standing on his back legs
to lick her face with his rough metal tongue, and
(12:30):
then he nuzzled into her dressing gown. You really do
have the sharpest little teeth I've ever seen, she commented,
all the better for crunching on bones and things I expect.
What do you say, Cruncher, because that's what I shall
call you, Cruncher. Well, her new metallic robot puppy, Cruncher
looked up at her, his fiery red eyes eager to please,
(12:54):
his small jaw snapping up and down. Now, I know
you're probably hungry, or we shouldn't be up, so we'll
go to bed and find you some food come morning.
At that, Georgiana giggled and led the puppy upstairs. She
whispered as they snuck across her parents doorway. Mamma and
(13:14):
Papa sleep there, she hissed. And I don't like Mamma
and Papa anymore. Georgiana's parents would never know who sent
her such a wonderful present, nor would they see how
she played and played and played with the little brass
dog with the razor sharp teeth. They wouldn't even get
to tell her to clean the red liquid off of
(13:36):
its hungry looking face, and the stairs and the carpet. No,
her parents would never again wonder what she desired most
for Christmas. Cruncher saw to that. By the way, kids,
(13:57):
just to let you know, I do not metallic Santa
Claus men to take my place if I'm not feeling well.
It's just a story. And if you do ask for
a puppy, you don't expect a metal one that might
hurt your parents. I would never give a gift like that.
(14:18):
Up next, I'll share that email that I received from
one of my wealth too, actually of my good children,
with their own scary story they wrote for me. We'll
have that in just a moment.
Speaker 1 (14:33):
Email email.
Speaker 2 (14:35):
We get your email every day.
Speaker 1 (14:40):
Here's your man day.
Speaker 2 (14:44):
Welcome back to Spooky Santa. Who. It's me Canta Claus
and I have a brand new story that was emailed
to me from Amy and Caroline Brannigan. They live in London, England,
and they got together. These sisters wrote a scary story
for us. Here it is. It's called the Flames of Sligation.
(15:08):
Zoe peered out the train window at the late afternoon sunshine,
poring over the huge granite gray shape of a big
old house. Are we there yet? Moaned her brother Andrew
beside her. It's been ages and ages, grumbled his twin Anthony,
who was sitting beside Andrew with his arms stolded and
(15:29):
looking grumpy. Not far now, answered Zoe, feeling quite the
little mother to her nine year old brothers, even though
she was only eleven herself. Not taking her eyes off
the huge house, which was so close now she could
see its grimy windows, she felt a nervous fluttering in
her stomach. Andrew and Anthony stared at the train window.
(15:51):
Who that can't be where we're going, can it? Asked Andrew,
looking in disgust at the building with its little turret
and rounded quarters. It was a cross between a house
and a castle. No, I don't think so, Mom said,
Slygation was quite a big house, but I don't think
it was going to be as big as that, explained Zoe.
(16:15):
She thought back to her day and that her parents
had told them the three children were to have a
special treat to go and stay with Miss McDougall at
Slygation House. It it all sounded wonderful back then to
leave their home and Newcastle to go to the Scottish
house where her mother had stayed as a child, But
it didn't sound as good when she heard that her
(16:36):
parents would not be going with them. They had to
visit Granny in London, who was not very well, and
Mom said it'd be very boring. For the children. But
now the dark, gloomy mansion had come into view around
the corner of the railway track. She wasn't so sure
now she hoped that wasn't where they were going yet
(16:57):
there were no other buildings to be seen, and announcement
over the carriage speaker said their stop was fast approaching.
It was in just the right place, and her mother
described it at the foot of a mountain and a
wood behind, and the railway track just in front. Suddenly
Anthony cried out, look, look, there's somebody at the window
(17:18):
watching us, all pale and strange. But when the other
two looked where he was pointing, there was nothing to
be seen. Stop pulling our legs, said Zoe, angry, for
she was already beginning to worry about how menacing'slygation house appeared.
I'm not pulling your leg I really did see something,
(17:39):
argued Anthony. Do us a favor. Anton, shut up, yaunt Andrew.
The train was slowing down now and finally pulled with
a clanking noise into a station. Old metal columns curled
up toward a leaf strewn class canopy, making the platform gloomy.
Zoe said loudly. Over All the This must be our station.
(18:02):
Don't forget your suitcases and mind the gap when we
get out. I don't want you falling under the train.
Zoe liked bossing her brothers around, apparently woo well. She
stepped gracefully down onto the platform and her brothers tumbled
out behind her. Andrew pretended to get his legs stuck
(18:23):
in the gap, but Zoe wasn't fooled. Stop messing about,
she said, crumpily. At first, there seemed to be nobody
there to meet them, but suddenly a shadowy figure loomed
toward them. For a moment, they couldn't see who it was,
and they jumped in fright. A dark outline seemed to
support a face so pale as to be almost floating
(18:46):
in space. Then a gentle Scottish voice said, hello, you
must be the Bramley children. I'm missus McDougall, so please
to meet you. Now. Let's get back to Slaggation House
before it gets too dark. Andrew whispered into his sister's ear,
I thought you said it was miss sh Zoe didn't
(19:09):
want to offend the woman who stood in front of her.
Anthony gaped at the curly, gray haired little woman, who
was now leading the way out of the station toward
a battered old cart, in front of which stood a
dappled gray pony, pawing at the ground with its hoof.
Anthony hissed at Zoe, I'm sure that's the person I
saw at the window, but when I saw her there,
(19:31):
she was ghostly white. Zoe ignored him with her nose
in the air. Missus McDougall helped them into the cart,
looking them up and down. Those are very thin, odd
looking clothes you've got on, she said. It's tweeds and
woolens for the highlands, you should know. The three children
were surprised their mom had knitted them warm new coats
(19:55):
in the latest waterproof fabric. Who would want to get
soaked in heavy wool? Zoey looked out at Missus dougall's
thick black skirt, almost brushing her ankles, and the scratchy
looking cloak which hid the upper half of her body.
After a short ride bumping over the rough potholds track,
Missus McDougall pulled the pony and cart to a stop
(20:18):
outside the huge, dark bulk of slagation house. Zoe's heart
sank when she saw that it was indeed the place
they had seen from the train. Missus McDougall led them
up to a heavy oak door, which she opened with
a strong shove of her shoulder. It creaked loudly. I
(20:39):
don't like this, said Andrew. As they followed the woman inside,
they found themselves in a high hallway where a staircase
disappeared up and around the corners into the darkness of
another story. Suddenly, he grabbed Zoe and whispered, did you
see that? See what? Whispered Zoe impatiently. She was getting
(21:00):
very annoyed now with her brothers. Andrew pointed and a
big painting of a very important, rich looking man on
the wall. He scowled at me and he waved his fists.
Stop talking rubbish, muttered Zoe. That's impossible. After steaming bowls
of Scotch brought soup in the cavernous and chili dining room,
(21:21):
the children were shown to their bedrooms. Anthony and Andrew
were sharing one bedroom, Zoe had her own. They'd been
looking for lights to switch on, but there were no
light switches. No electricity here, Missus McDougall told them, handing
them a lit candle each on a little dish in
the town. Yes, but it'll be a long time before
(21:43):
electricity gets to a place like this. She closed the
curtains against the night, and added, there's a box of
matches for you in your rooms if you need a
light in the night, but be very careful. We don't
want to fire. Alone in her room, in a big,
old bed and under piles of blankets, Zoe lay awake
for hours, unable to sleep. She couldn't face being in
(22:07):
the dark, and she watched the candle burn lower and lower.
Then suddenly it went out, just as if somebody had
blown it out. Oooh, just a draft, Zoe told herself,
not altogether reassured, and burrowed deeper and deeper under the covers,
her eyes now shut tight. Soon exhausted, she fell asleep.
(22:30):
Then the door burst open and footsteps thundered across the
bare floorboards. Something was pulling the blankets from her face.
It was still pitch black. She could see nothing and
cried out in terror. Shut up, Zoe came a familiar
voice as she realized it was Anthony, and judging by
the deep breaths of somebody else nearby, andrew as well,
(22:54):
Why are you in here. You gave me such a fright,
said Zoe angrily. There was a scratching sound and a
light flickered from the match as Anthony lit the candle
he was carrying. We see a ghost, cried Andrew. It
was the man. I saw the portrait on the wall,
walking along, all gray and misty. It was horrible. I
(23:15):
saw it too, squealed Anthony. He was coming to get us.
I'm sure there are no ghosts, not here, not anywhere,
said Zoe, angry, but rather frightened as well. As they
sat in the small pool of light from the candle,
aren't there? Croaked a voice from the shadows behind her.
(23:35):
They all spun around to see the gray shape of
a man in old fashioned clothes, floating just inches of
bullet chair. There was no need to say anything. The
three children leapt up, The candle fell from Antony's hands,
and they ran out of the room, falling over each
other as they piled through the door, tiny screams trying
(23:56):
to get out of their mouths, which the fear had
left dry as dust. The soft moonlight glowed through the
windows as they crashed along the landing and sprinted down
the stairs. At the bottom They stopped dead as the
figure of Missus McDougall, gray and shadowy, appeared in front
of them. Where did she come from? Hissed Zoe, But
(24:19):
nobody had any answers. You cannot leave, she said sternly,
and then she threw her head back and gave a loud,
cackling laugh. And the children heard a strange crackling noise
from above, and turned in horror to see an orange
glow and thick clouds of smoke coming from what had
(24:42):
been Zoe's room. Mixing with the black smoke was the
strange gray glow of the ghostly man they had seen
in there. Now there were more a dozen figures, some gray,
some pearly, white men and women, even small children, their
strange forms lofting in and out of view. Without thinking, Zoe,
(25:04):
Anthony and Andrew stormed forwards to push Missus dougal out
of the way, but instead they found that they passed
straight through her, feeling as if a bucket of ice
cold water had been tipped over them. As they rushed
toward the front door, flames seemed to engulf the entire house,
and the door disintegrated before their eyes. Yet as they
(25:27):
rushed through the gap. They felt no heat, only another chill.
They didn't stop running until they were right down at
the station. Looking back to where Sligation House had been,
they could see only the wood that had been behind it,
and instead of a fire, they could see only the
rosy glow of the slowly rising sun. Shocked and exhausted,
(25:51):
they turned toward the station and gasped in amazement. Gone
with the old iron columns and the glass canopy, and
instead a brightly lit, modern ticket hall stood before them.
A lone ticket seller was just opening his booth. Come
to collect your things, then, he asked, and to their amazement,
(26:12):
they saw that all of their suitcases were piled in
a corner. Looking down, they were no longer in their pajamas,
but in the clothes that they had worn for their journey.
You're off to see miss McDougall at new Slagation House,
aren't you, he went on. Suddenly all the children started
speaking at once. They'd been to a big house. There
(26:32):
had been a fire there. The railway man cut them short.
I know all of that. The old Slagation House burned
down fifty years ago when some kid dropped a candle.
At least that's the way the story goes. The children
looked at him in a mixture of horror and amazement.
Fifty years ago, gasped Zoe. Oh yes, said the man.
(26:54):
I've had lots of children coming and telling stories about
seeing the old house as if it was real, and
the housekeeper too. They all talk about missus McDougall. She
was grandmother of the miss McDougall that you're going to
see in the new house that they built down the
road after the fire. She'll be along soon to pick
you up. I can't think of how it was that
(27:16):
you got here so early. Though. The children looked at
each other, reaching out and gently feeling hands and sleeves
to reassure themselves that they were all still real. The
man walked back toward his office. Lo a nonsense, of course,
he said. Funny thing is they all tell me the
same story. And then he stopped in his tracks and
(27:36):
he looked back at them, sniffing suspiciously. And they all
smell of smoke, just like you do. I would love
to read a scary story that you write for me.
You can send it to letters at Spookysanta dot com. Please,
(27:57):
I would love to read it well. Are you ready
for our third and final story of this episode. This
next story is called Strange Christmas Game. It's a ghost
(28:19):
story written by Missus J. H. Riddell. It was written
way back in eighteen sixty eight. It's about a brother
and sister who spent Christmas in a haunted house and
they witnessed the ghostly reenactment of a murder. Are you ready?
Here's the story. It was the middle of November when
(28:43):
we arrived at Marningdale and found the place anything but
romantic or pleasant. The walks were wet and sodden, The
trees were leafless. There were no flowers save a few
late pink roses blooming in the garden. It had been
a wet and the place looked miserable. Claire would not
(29:04):
ask Alice down to keep her company in the winter months,
as she had intended, and for myself. The Cronsons were
still absent in New Norfolk, where they meant to spend
Christmas with old Missus Cronson. Now recovered altogether, Morning Dale
seemed dreary enough, and the ghost stories we had laughed
at while sunshine flooded the room became less unreal when
(29:27):
we had nothing but blazing fires and wax candles to
dispel the gloom. They became more real also when servant
after servant left us to seek situations elsewhere, when noises
grew frequent in the house, when we ourselves, Claire and I,
with our own ears, heard the tramp tramp, the banging,
(29:48):
and the chattering which had been described to us, My
dear child, you doubtless are free from superstitious fancies, right
you poo poo the existence of ghosts, and you only
wish you could find a haunted house in which to
spend a night, which is all very brave and praiseworthy.
But wait till you are left in a dreary, desolate,
(30:10):
old country mansion filled with the most unaccountable sounds, without
a servant, with none save an old caretaker and his wife,
who living at the extremest end of the building, heard
nothing of the triumph bang bang going on at all
hours of the night. At first, I imagined the noises
(30:31):
were produced by some evil disposed persons who wished, for
purposes of their own, to keep the house uninhabited. But
by degrees Claire and I came to the conclusion that
visitation must be supernatural. And Marningdale by consequence untenantable, still
being practical people, unlike our predecessors, not having money to
(30:54):
live where and how we liked, we decided to watch
and see whether we could trade any human influence in
the matter. If not, it was agreed we were to
pull down the right wing of the house and the
principal staircase for nights. And nights we sat up till
two or three o'clock in the morning, Claire engaged in needlework,
(31:17):
I reading with a revolver lying on the table beside me.
But nothing, neither sound nor appearance, rewarded our vigil. This
confirmed my first ideas that the sounds were not supernatural.
But just to test the matter, I determined that on
Christmas Eve, the anniversary of mister Jeremy Lester's disappearance, to
(31:39):
keep watch myself in the red bed chamber. Even to Claire,
I never mentioned my intention. At about ten, tired out
with our previous vigils, we each were tired to rest
somewhat ostentatiously. Perhaps I noisily shut the door of my room,
and when I opened it half an hour afterwards, no
(32:02):
mouse could have pursued its way along the corridor with
greater silence and caution than myself. Quite in the dark,
I sat in the red room for over an hour.
I might as well have been in my grave, for
anything I could see in the apartment. But at the
end of that time, the moon rose and cast strange
(32:23):
lights across the floor and upon the wall of the
haunted chamber. Hitherto I kept my watch opposite the window.
Now I changed my place to a corner near the door,
where I was shaded from observation by the heavy hangings
of the bed and an antique wardrobe. Still I sat on,
(32:44):
but still no sound broke the silence. I was weary
with many nights of watching, and I was tired of
my solitary vigil. I dropped at last into a slumber,
from which I awakened by hearing the door softly opening.
John said my sister, almost in a whisper. John, are
(33:06):
you here, Yes, Claire, I answered, but what are you
doing up at this hour? Come downstairs, she replied, they're
in the oak parlor. I did not need any explanation
as to whom she meant, but crept downstairs with her,
warned by an uplifted hand of the necessity for silence
(33:26):
and caution by the door. By the open door of
the oak parlor. She paused, and we both looked in.
There was the room we left in darkness overnight, with
a bright wood fire blazing on the hearth, candles on
the chimney piece. The small table pulled out from its
accustomed corner, and two men seated beside it, playing at cribbage.
(33:52):
We could see the face of the younger player, and
it was that of a man about five and twenty,
of a man who had lived hard and wicked, who
had wasted his substance and his health, who had been
wild in the flesh. Jeremy Lester. It would be difficult
for me to say how I knew this, how in
a moment I identified the features of the player with
(34:14):
those of the man who'd been missing for forty one years.
Forty one years that very night. He was dressed in
the costume of a bygone period. His hair was powdered,
and round his wrists there were ruffles of lace. He
looked like one who, having come from some great party,
(34:34):
had sat down after his return home to play cards
with an intimate friend. On his little finger there sparkled
a ring in the front of his shirt there gleamed
a valuable diamond. There were diamond buckles in his shoes,
and according to the fashion of his time, he wore
knee breeches and silk stockings, which showed off advantageously the
(34:56):
shape of a remarkably good leg and ankle. He's at
opposite the door, but never once lifted his eyes to it.
His attention seemed to concentrate on the cards. For a time,
there was utter silence in the room, broken only by
the momentous counting of the card game in the doorway.
(35:17):
We stood holding our breath, terrified and yet fascinated by
the scene which was being acted out before us. The
ashes dropped on the hearth softly, and like the snow.
We could hear the rustle of the cards as they
were dealt out and fell upon the table. We listened
to the count fifteen two, fifteen four, and so forth,
(35:40):
but there was no other word spoken to At length,
the player, whose face we could not see, exclaimed, I
win the game is mine. Then his opponent took up
the cards, sorted them over negligently in his hand, put
them close together, and flung the entire pack in his
guest's face, exclaiming she liar take that there was a
(36:02):
bustle and confusion, a flinging over of chairs, and fierce gesticulation,
and such a noise of passionate voices mingling that we
could not hear a sentence which was uttered all at once. However,
Jeremy Lester strode out of the room in so great
a hurry that he almost touched us where we stood,
(36:23):
out of the room, and tramp up the staircase to
the red room, whence he descended in a few minutes
with a couple of rapiers under his arm. When he
re entered the room, he gave, as it seemed to us,
the other man his choice of the weapons, and then
he flung open the window, and, after ceremoniously giving place
(36:43):
for his opponent to pass out first, he walked forth
into the night. Air Claire and I followed. We went
through the garden and down a narrow, winding walk to
a smooth piece of turf, sheltered from the north by
a plantation of young fir trees. It was a bright
moonlit night by this time, and we could distinctly see
(37:05):
Jeremy Lester measuring off the ground. When you say three,
he said at last to the man whose back was
still towards us. They had drawn lots for the ground,
and the lot had fallen against mister Lester. He stood thus,
with the moonbeams falling upon him, and a handsomer fellow
I would never desire to behold one began the other two,
(37:31):
and before our kinsman had the slightest suspicion of his design,
he was upon him, and his rapier threw Jeremy Lester's breast.
At the sight of that cowardly treachery, Claire screamed aloud.
In a moment, the combatants had disappeared, the moon was
obscured behind a cloud, and we were standing in the
(37:51):
shadow of the fir plantation, shivering with cold and terror.
But we knew at last what had become of the
late owner of Martingdale. That he had fallen not in
a fair fight at all, but foully murdered by a
false friend. When late on Christmas morning I awoke, it
was to see a white world, to behold the ground
(38:14):
in trees and shrubs, all laden and covered with snow.
There was snow everywhere, such snow as no person could
remember having fallen for forty one years. It was on
just a Christmas as this that mister Jeremy disappeared, remarked
the old sexton to my sister, who had insisted on
dragging me through the snow to church, whereupon Claire fainted
(38:37):
away and was carried into the vestry, where I made
a full confession to the vicar of all we had
beheld of previous night. At first that worthy individual rather
inclined to treat the matter lightly, But when a fortnight
after the snow melted away and the fur plantation came
to be examined, he confessed there might be more things
(39:00):
in heaven and earth than his limited philosophy had dreamed of.
In a little dear space just within the plantation, Jeremy
Lester's body was finally found. We knew it by the
ring and the diamond buckles and the sparkling breastpin. And
mister Cronson, in his capacity as a magistrate, came over
(39:22):
to inspect the is relics, and he was visibly perturbed
at my narrative. Pray, mister Lester, did you, in your
dream see the face of the gentleman your kinsman's opponent? No,
I answered, He sat and stood with his back to
us all the time. There is nothing more, of course,
to be done in the matter, observed mister Cronson. Nothing,
(39:45):
I replied, and there the affair would doubtless have terminated.
But that A few days afterwards, when we were dining
at Cronson Park, Claire all of a sudden dropped the
glass of water she was carrying to her lips and exclaimed, look, John,
there he is. And she rose from her seat, and,
with a face as white as the tablecloth, pointed to
(40:07):
a portrait hanging on the wall. I saw him for
an instant when he turned his head towards the door
as Jeremy Lester left it. She exclaimed, that is he.
Of what followed after this identification, I have only the
vaguest recollection. Servants rushed hither and thither. Missus Cronson dropped
(40:27):
off her chair into hysterics. The young ladies gathered round
their mama. Mister Cronson, trembling like one in a fit,
attempted some kind of explanation, while Claire kept praying to
be taken away, Only to be taken away. I took
her away, not merely from Cronson Park, but from Martingdale.
(40:48):
Before we left the latter place. However, I had an
interview with mister Cronson, who said the portrait Claire had
identified was that of his wife's father, the last person
who saw Jeremy Lester alive. He's an old man now finished,
mister Cronson, a man of over eighty, who has confessed
everything to me. You won't bring further sorrow and disgrace
(41:10):
upon us by making this matter public, will you? I
promised him I would keep silent, but the story did
gradually ooze out and the Cronsons left the country. My
sister never returned to Martingdale. She married and is living
in London. Though I assure her there are no strange
noises in my house, she will still not visit Bedfordshire,
(41:34):
where the little girl she wanted me so long ago
to think of seriously is now my wife and the
mother of my children. Well did you like the stories
(41:54):
I told today? If so, do me a favor and
tell your friends and family members about Spooky Santa so
that they can listen to and remember. You can write
your own scary story and email it to me at
letters at Spookysanta dot com. If you want to learn
more about the stories that I've told, or the authors
(42:15):
who wrote them. You can find links in the episode's
show notes. Spooky Santa is a registered trademark of Marlar
House Productions, copyright Marlar House Productions, twenty nineteen. Now be
a good little girl or boy and join me next
time for more creepy tales from Spooky Santa.
Speaker 1 (42:35):
O
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