View Full Version : Ghost Stories

28-06-2011, 01:35
One Sunday afternoon in April 1962 in Liverpool, England, three children from Erkskine Street converged on the new swing park that was situated next to the Collegiate on Shaw Street. The park had a good sand pit and even a commando net, as well as the usual swings. Marty, Rodney - both 13 - and Rodney's 10-year-old sister Susan, spent a good hour or so at the park until a 15-year-old bully from Everton Brow known locally as Masher turned up and not only threw sand in Marty's face; he also lifted little Susan up by the pigtails on either side of her head. Rodney did absolutely nothing, until he and his crying sister and his friend Marty were about 100 yards away. Rodney shouted names to Masher, and said that he had nits and that his mother had corned beef legs. Masher always got a note off the nit nurse, and his mother had a skin complaint of some sort, hence the name corned beef legs.

Masher had muscley legs and was an amazing runner, and he chased the three children halfway down Islington until his own father bumped into him and collared him. The children ended up on Lime Street and the heavens opened. To escape the heavy April shower, they huddled in the doorway of an old Grade II Listed building that was once the North Western Hotel. Today, the building provides accommodation for students. Rodney leaned against the old door of the building, and it creaked open. Curiosity got the better of Rodney and Marty, and they went in the old derelict hotel, which had hundreds of rooms on its five storeys. Little Susan was very nervous, and thought the place was spooky.
The children crossed the magnificent entrance foyer. They looked at the polished stone columns and veined marble walls. Daylight shone in through a cut glass rooflight window. As the rain hammered down outside, the children went upstairs. Susan nervously held onto her older brother's jumper, but he said: 'Don't worry Sue, this can be our new den [secret hiding place].'

Suddenly there was a flash of lightning through the windows, and the roll of thunder shook the foundations of the old building. Susan screamed, but Marty reassured her, saying the thunder was only 'St Peter moving the furniture about'. By now the children were on the first storey, and they looked into each of the empty rooms with grimy windows, when suddenly, Susan saw the ghost at the end of the landing. He was dressed in a long hammer-tailed coat, and knee breeches. He had square-toes shoes with buckles on, and looked like someone from the early 1800s. But what scared Susan was the way his hair was pointing upwards to a tapered point like a paint brush. And this was the weird part. He was levitating about a foot off the ground with his arms and legs pointing in the air so he looked like the letter X. Susan later told me that when she saw the TV comic Harry Worth perform his levitation illusion in the shop window with his reflection, it reminded her of the the way that ghost looked that day.
Anyway, Susan screamed and her brother and Rodney stopped mooching about and came running out of the room. Susan suddenly couldn't speak, she was so terrified, but she pointed at the sinister figure down the landing.

Rodney and Marty trembled when they saw the weird stranger, and they watched in horror as the figure suddenly pulled something from its belt. They thought it was a knife at first, but it wasn't. It was a huge pair of scissors. The ghost shouted something unintelligible and chased the kids down to the foyer. Rodney and Marty tried to get through the small opening at the same time, they were in such a panic. Poor little Susan screamed for them to get out the way, and when they got outside, they ran up Lime Street and told an old man at a newspaper kiosk about the terrifying encounter, and he said a strange thing. He said, 'That's the Scissor Man.'
Then Susan let out a yelp and started to cry, because she suddenly noticed that one of her pigtails had been mysteriously snipped off. Sure enough, when the police heard the children's weird tale, two policemen went into the derelict hotel, and they found Susan's pigtail on the first floor. It had been cut off.

I have researched this story for a few years, and think the Scissor Man may be the ghost of a mad tailor who had a premises on Lime Street hundreds of years ago. His name was Nearey Spinks, and he went mad after he found out that he wasn't the father of his three children. He was in fact sterile, and the real father of his children was his wife's half brother. It is recorded that Spinks tied to stab his wife and her half-brother with his scissors. Spinks was committed to the old lunatic asylum that was once situated on the plateau where St George's Hall was. There are also records that the ghost of the Scissor Man was active in the 1890s, and I have also received reports of a ghost from students currently staying in the former hotel building.

More to stories to follow...

Added after 10 minutes:

The arrow of time always appears to point in the same direction, from the past into the future, but if the following story is true, it would seem that because of forces unknown to modern science, events of the past are sometimes reenacted, in this case with spine chilling results.
In 1937, a 50-year-old jewellery and clock repair man from Wavertree named George Dickson Phillips moved into a second floor flat at a house in Percy Street in the city centre.
Mr. Dickson Phillips had moved from his Wavertree home after a drunken quarrel with his wife. She owned the house and had sternly given him a harsh ultimatum - if he couldn't kick the demon drink habit, she'd divorce.
For three days the clock-mender struggled not to open the bottle of gin he had purchased, and on the third night he decided to have an early night to resist the temptation.
He switched off the light, sat on the mattress of his bed, and as he was pulling off his boots he saw a light out of the corner of his eye. It was a dim lamp burning in the second floor window of a house across the road in Canning Street.
As the jeweller glanced to the window, he saw a sight which was to haunt him for the remainder of his life.
A woman was sitting at a dresser, gazing into a mirror. Her raven black hair was piled up in a bun. Suddenly, a man came behind her and put a bag or pillowcase over her head and held the woman in a headlock.
The woman seemed to knock over the lamp. The window was suddenly in darkness.
Convinced he had witnessed a murder, Mr. Dickson Phillips put his boots back on and ran downstairs.
He told the landlord, a Mr Creasy, about the scene he had observed, but wasn't believed. The landlord had seen the jeweller carrying the bottle of gin in a brown paper wrapper into his room, and surmised he was drunk.
Mr Dickson Phillips made inquiries at the Canning Street house, but an elderly woman reassured him that nothing was amiss there. In fact, she claimed that the damp upstairs room had lain empty for almost three months.
All the same, the jeweller notified a policeman on the beat, and the constable visited the Canning Street house again. This time the old woman allowed the policeman to have a look around.
The constable emerged some 10 minutes later and apologised to the old lady for pointlessly calling at such a late hour.
The jeweller not only felt embarrassed, he began to question his own sanity, and wondered if the whole thing had been some hallucination. However, the policeman told him an eerie tale. He related that his late father - who had also been a police constable - had told him that over the years, scores of people living in the vicinity of Percy Street and Canning Street had reported seeing a man murdering a woman by suffocating her with a bag at an upstairs window.
Each time the reports were made, the same address in Canning Street was given, and despite a thorough investigation of the premises, no such couple was ever found there.
In the end, the hard-boiled streetwise policemen reluctantly concluded that what people had in fact witnessed was perhaps the ghostly reenactment of a murder of bygone days - but whose murder has never been established.
Incidentally, the jeweller never touched alcohol again after that spooky incident, and was reconciled with his long-suffering wife.

28-06-2011, 08:31
Spooky Al, the first one sent shivers done my spine.

28-06-2011, 16:18

Just up the road from me.........

gary d
28-06-2011, 17:00
not as scary as the ghost in the castle lol

28-06-2011, 20:32
Thanks Al. This I will mull over for a while.
Maybe something will come of this

28-06-2011, 21:28



06-07-2011, 20:45



Trouble is that no=one can prove Zarion was real either..!!!!

06-07-2011, 20:48
I used to take girlfriends down to the church grave yard ........to put the Willies up them !!!!

07-07-2011, 19:36
I used to take girlfriends down to the church grave yard ........to put the Willies up them !!!!

Supported the 'Stones did You..?

13-07-2011, 01:30
More Liverpool Stories

In 1786, Castle Street was widened to allow more traffic and pedestrians better access to the burgeoning thoroughfares of Dale and Lord Streets. Before the widening of Castle Street, only two carriages could pass one another in its narrow lane. Many old crumbling houses were pulled down by during the redevelopment, and new private properties were erected in their place. An old tenant named Mary Gore was forced to move out of her ancient wooden home on Castle Street, and the little compensation money she was given was stolen from her by the foreman of a group of builders who were erecting Heywoods Bank. Mary Gore cursed the foreman, and went to stay with her sister Isabel, who worked at the Golden Lion Inn on Dale Street. The foreman, whose name was Collins, was told by one of the Irish workmen that Mary Gore was a witch, and that her coven were to be avoided at all costs. The Irishman advised his boss to give back the money he had stolen from Mary or face the lethal magic of her coven.
Collins told the Irishman to get on with his work, and ridiculed the old woman and the idea of her being a witch, but, unknown to the foreman, Mary Gore was a witch, and belonged to a coven that was feared across England. Most of the witches of the coven lived at an old house situated in a dark alleyway off Dale Street. When Mr Collins went to the Golden Lion Inn on Dale Street during the afternoon break, he heard more about these witches from an old sea captain he got into conversation with. The captain, a Mr Harrison, said that the witches had a great black metal cauldron which they used to boil unholy concoctions made from the parts of corpses stolen from churchyards. The witches had also been seen flying out of the garret window of the house on brooms, and sailors and captains had even seen the witches flying high above their ships at sea. The witches flew to Wales, the Isle of Man, and some even went as far as Ireland on mysterious journeys.

‘Nonsense,’ said Collins, but he seemed so nervous.

The old woman Mary Gore came up to the foreman in the tavern and pointed him out to her sister Isabel, saying, ‘This is the man who stole my money from me, I have cursed him to die a slow and painful death.’
Mr Collins hurled his flagon of ale at the old crone, and she tried to claw at his face, but her sister Isabel pulled back the old woman and took her upstairs to her room in the tavern.

Later that day, the builders left the site on Castle Street and started to travel back to their homes, when a dense fog came creeping up James Street from the Mersey. It blotted out everything, and within minutes, the foreman Mr Collins was stumbling over the mounds of rubble at the Castle Street demolition site as he tried to make his way home. Then people in the area heard a man shouting, and screams – and these sounds seemed to come from above.

When the fog cleared on the following morning, no one could find Mr Collins anywhere. Then one of the workers noticed something very strange. There was something on the weather vane of the Exchange building in the distance. Those with good eyesight said it looked like a man, and when they got nearer to the building, they saw it was a man, impaled through his mid-section on the weather vane.

A captain unfolded his telescope and looked at the grisly sight, and saw that it was a red-headed man. His blood had trickled down the weather vane and dripped upon the domed roof of the Exchange. A crowd began to gather, and people wondered who the man was. A balloonist named Lunardi had recently flown over the area, and some wondered if the impaled man atop of the Exchange had perhaps fallen out of a balloon, but one of the people who looked through the captain’s telescope at the man who had been spitted on the weather vane recognised him as Mr Collins, the foreman of the Castle Street builders. How on earth had Collins ended up skewered on the weather vane hundreds of feet in the air? He wondered. As the crowd watched, a number of large black birds flew from the north and circled the roof of the Exchange. It was a muster of crows, and they flew at the impaled corpse and pecked at it. To the carrion crows the body of Collins was just a carcass. As the authorities made plans to retrieve the body, the crows tore its flesh apart until it was a bloody mess. At one in the afternoon, a violent thunderstorm struck the town, and as stinging hailstones pelted down on the morbid sightseers who had gathered to see the impaled man, a powerful bolt of lightning hit the weathervane. The body was partly scorched by the lightning and it fell apart and dropped from the weather vane. The legs, torso, arms, intestines, and head bounced off the domed roof and fell onto the crowd. The extensive bloodstain on the dome remained for several weeks, until the rains washed it away, and the parts of Mr Collins’ body was buried in a pauper’s grave at a local churchyard. The workers continued building the bank on Castle Street, but each day during their lunch break, they would speculate upon how their late foreman had ended up run through by a weather vane. A slow-witted lad named Samuel, who helped out on the building site, said he had seen what had happened to Mr Collins that day. The boy struggled to find words to describe what he remembered in his mind, but finally he told his engrossed listeners: ‘The women came down and they took him up into the air.’
‘What women Sam?’ one of the builders asked, eager to know more.
‘Women in black sitting on brooms, they took him up,’ Samuel replied, and started to grin as he recalled how the witches swooped down on Mr Collins and grabbed him. Then they had impaled him on the cast iron weather vane, their punishment for stealing from a member of their coven named Mary Gore.
The builders found it hard to believe Samuel’s incredible story, yet they knew the boy never lied, because of his cretinism.
Anyway the witches of that coven have descendants all over Merseyside. They descended into families with surnames Bridges, Molloy, Loftus, as well as more familes with commoner surnames such as Jones and McGloughlin. Perhaps you have witch-blood flowing in your veins...

13-07-2011, 01:43
It's defo the witching hour, time for your bed Al :devil:

13-07-2011, 19:18
Town Hall end of Castle Street and bottom of Dale St are most likely spots..
When do You start the Tours Al..?

13-07-2011, 19:35
"Al Acorah".......:)

13-07-2011, 21:00
Town Hall end of Castle Street and bottom of Dale St are most likely spots..
When do You start the Tours Al..?

Not a bad idea Warbs, mmmmmmmmmm! *Now where's that top hat* :D:hat:

15-07-2011, 00:59
Sefton Park Liverpool

In Victorian times Sefton Parks delightful fairy glen was always a popular meeting point for courting couples. The Glen is spanned by a unique Iron Bridge and it was this bridge that Oliver and Cathleen used as their regular meeting point. Oliver was from an upper class background and his beautiful Cathleen was from a middle class background but despite this class
difference they where madly and deeply in love. However one cold Valentines night as they met on the bridge, Oliver had some devastating news. He told Cathleen that he was being forced into an arranged marriage. This happened a lot in Victorian times when two wealthy families would arrange a marriage so that their wealth would combine and they would become a greater force in Liverpool's business world and this was what was happening to poor Oliver. Despite this, Oliver begged Cathleen to meet him in 12 months time, on Valentines night at 11.00 pm on the bridge at Sefton Park. Cathleen reluctantly agreed!
12 Months passed and Oliver stood on the bridge waiting and hoping that Cathleen would appear.11 o'clock chimed , 5 past, 10 past, the quarter hour chimed and Oliver was just about to leave when he saw at the far end of the bridge, his beautiful Cathleen. Oliver's heart leapt with joy and he ran to her with outstretched arms. But as he reached her she passed right through his body. She Turned. Gave Oliver a delightful smile and a gentile wave and
Cathleen vanished into the darkness!
Oliver was of course shocked and devastated, but on making further enquiries he discovered that poor Cathleen had been struck by the dreadful Cholera epidemic and she had died that fateful night at exactly 11.15 but her last dying words where " I must meet my love on the bridge at Sefton Park" Her Ghostly spirit kept that tryst.
But it is said that now, every Valentine night at exactly 11.15, both Oliver and Cathleen mysteriously appear and they cross the bridge hand in hand and this signifies a true love, which will live forever.

Added after 14 minutes:

Spring Heeled Jack... 1904

In a Liverpool backstreet in the autumn of 1904 a baying mob of over one hundred people rounded a corner to be confronted with one of the most terrifying paranormal figures in England's history.
The figure was instantly recognisable as it became illuminated by torchlight, as the townspeople chased it leapt from roof to roof through the centre of Liverpool. From beneath the folds of its black cloaks were skeletal claws where hands should be, the eyes of the creature flared burning red from beneath a broad outlandish hat. Its grinning mouth stood open and blue flames licked outwards.
The dead-end alleyway in which the creature stood was surrounded by 30 ft walls on all sides. Such a demonic vision instantly stopped and silenced the crowd who then stood and watched as the creature flung its body skywards with unnatural force and leapt the 30 foot wall in one clean spring. The dumbstruck mob had encountered an apparition that terrified the cities of England for more than sixty years; Spring Heeled Jack.
The first documented sighting was by a young girl on her way home one evening in 1837 in Clapham, London. Her name was Polly Adams. Miss Adams claimed that a dark figure had launched over a high wall as she cut through Clapham churchyard.
The girl reported that the figure had looked like a man but had bird claw hands and burning, glowing eyes. The creature leered over her and groped at her body before hearing the shouts of approaching witnesses and turning to leap over another impossibly high wall to make its escape.
The next year another girl was attacked in the same churchyard and witnesses began to report an escalating number of sightings around the area. The beast was even seen scaling the church tower with unerring precision and speed.
One witness sent a letter to the Mayor of London who had it published in the press. This prompted many more witnesses to come forward. It seemed that the creature had been around for some time and witnesses were not prepared to put themselves forward for ridicule at the hands of a disbelieving public. London was starting to believe that the devil himself was walking the streets.
More to follow...

15-07-2011, 01:55
Gahhhhhhhhhhhh nightmares :run::run::run: