The Hammersmith Haunting (RH): GM- Brian

Settings and Time Period: 27 April,1863. Ghost fever grips the London suburb of Hammersmith. Locals are having terrible nightmares and there are reports of a ghostly medieval woman stalking the streets. Rose House dispatches a team to investigate. 

Father Percy Eaton (Bill): 43yo 5’7” Catholic Priest. Grey hair and brown eyes. His priestly black garments hide his frail-looking frame. His yellowed collar (once white) looks as worn as his pensive expression (wrinkled eyes and forehead). Somewhat twitchy and watchful.

Major Hector Ferguson (Alistair): 6’ with greying hair and full muttonchop sideburns. Invalid British Army veteran now dresses in tweed suit. Seeks to cleanse his name as his entire unit lost. Inconclusive board of inquiry led to his retirement and tarnished name.

Miss Abigail Burroughs (Fraser): 17yo aristocrat writer (pen name Abby O’Shea). Green eyes and red hair she pins up. Wears latest fashion clothing, mostly silk.

 

Letter of Introduction: Percy stuck a candle in his 2-day old biscuit for a quiet celebration of his birthday when the doorbell dinged. The courier handed him a letter. Percy settled in his chair and tore it open in excitement, “Someone from the Rose House remembered my birthday! Oh, it’s from Vicar Collins of the Hammersmith parish west of London. A 700-year-old chest from the age of the Templars? In Hammersmith? What could the letter within the chest possibly say that portends to change the history books?”

Percy entered the Rose House library and asked the clerk to pull any books related to the Templars. While the books being found, Percy entered the study to address other members who happened to be there. "Ah, Major Ferguson, Abigail. What fortune I found you. Do you have time for a mystery? A colleague of mine in the man-of-god community, Vicar John Collins, requests help. He’ll explain all at the A Priori Club."

Abigail cooed with decadent excitement, "Gentlemen’s club? I’ve heard my father describe it as a bunch of high-brows. Philosophers and scientists. Says John Stuart Mill visits there from time to time. I’ve read some of his writings where he blends old Enlightenment ideals with current Romantic philosophy. He's probably one of the most influential language philosophers of our time! I’ll wear something special." Pondering what she knew of her father’s dealings there, her eyes brightened, "Do you think I should have need of a pipe? It makes one look more sophisticated and philosophical." She posed holding a pencil as though it were a pipe and gazed at nothing across the room.

Resources: Hector entered the Rose House workshop to clean and oil his pistol. As he exited, he bumped into Abigail who was bent over stuffing a knife into her boot. “Need help? I can carry that hurricane lamp.”

29 April, A Priori Club: They timed their carriage ride to arrive early before the 3-story brown stone building. The butler let them in, caught off guard by a woman entering with them, “But, but…”  Abigail handed him her feather hat, “Be a good man and try not to bruise it.” The butler not the only one tongue-tied as conversation within the smoking lounge stopped and cigars hung on the lips of the elder patrons. The Major tipped his soldier’s cap to other veterans in the room as Percy asked the butler, “We are here by request from Vicar Collins.” But the conversation interrupted by Abigail coughing and turning green from the lit cigar at her lips.

It was John Stuart Mill himself who offered her a drink to clear the foul taste. “What brings you to our humble club?” Abigail downed the drink in one gulp, “Just back from Scotland where I encountered German fairies abducting children. Used dollhouses to lure them.” Mill countered matter-of-factly, “Fairies? Not unicorns as rumored on the streets of London?” Was he mocking her? Hector entered the conversation, congratulating the man on his recent publication, “I must say your ‘On Liberty’ book was most… enlightening. Democracy a threat to free-will and individuality due to forced conformism by majority rule.”

In the background, Percy asked the butler, “We were to meet the vicar at 3pm prompt. It is already a quarter after… is he late or in another room?” And that’s when they learned, “He hasn’t been in for almost a week. Perhaps you should seek him at his church.” To which a member added, “I hear bricklayers are renovating his church in Hammersmith. Perhaps he is overseeing their work.”

Carriage Ride: They stood in the light rain waiting for a carriage. Percy allowed the others to enter first before announcing to the driver their destination. The man almost recoiled, “Hammersmith?! Aye, there be ghosts reported there. Haunted of late. Why just yesterday heard the ghost a medieval woman in white roams the streets. No one wants to cross the bridge. Rumor once across, ya never get back. Cost ye double just to be let off at the bridge. I’ll not drive closer. Nor could I as me horses would protest.”

4pm Hammersmith: No wonder the carriage driver was scared. An unnaturally thick fog hung over the streets on the other side of the bridge. At least he offered instructions, “Try for the Black Lion Inn down the street. Owned by Ashak from India. Maybe 50 paces on the right.” Their lamp barely cut through the fog as they walked across the bridge. 50 steps later, and no sight of an Inn’s placard hanging overhead, Percy called out, “Hello? Anyone there? Are we near…” A shotgun blast rang out. “Alright ghost, we got yer now!” Shadowy forms coalesced into a woman and a few armed men. Hector jumped down their throats, “Blindly firing? You could have killed us!”

But the woman not deterred, “Who might you be? You crossed the bridge at your own risk. The ghost can play tricks on ye mind. People have gotten lost in this devilish fog. Even died like our Vicar Collins. Died of freight he did just 2 days ago in his own church office I hear. The Inn? Another block further. We’ll be on our way… ghost to kill.”

Black Lion Inn: Percy called out before knocking and entering where they found a dozen locals gathered. As Ashak sat them at a table, Hector spoke Hindi to order drinks. Ashak impressed the man fluent. Yet no sooner did he pour their ales and delivered tea to Abigail, he rushed to the door to interrupt a man trying to enter. “I said no. No drinks till you pay your tab.” Afterwards, Hector objected to Ashak, “Dangerous out there. Mob with guns firing at anything that moves.” Percy interrupted, “We came looking for Vicar Collins but learned he recently died. Perhaps you could direct us to his church.” Abigail asked, “Did the fog appear before or after the vicar’s death? Day before? And his body now at the morgue? Could you add that to the map?”

The Morgue: The fog made navigation difficult were it not for the brick pattern work of the streets. But along the way, Hector kicked something in the street. A farmer’s spade of Indian construct? Yet as he looked to tell his companions, they gone. He alone in the muddy ruts of Bangladesh surrounded by a horde yelling in Hindi, “Murderer!” His mind transported back to his war days when he lost his entire unit to include an Indian contingent. He jolted back to reality when Abigail touched his shoulder, “Are you all right? You seemed frozen in thought.” Hector sighed relief and resumed walking.

They came upon the described building. A street urchin helper happened to step out to empty his piss-bucket and just missed splashing them. When asked about the vicar, “Boss not in. The body in the back room.” Percy told how he there to give ‘Last Rights’ to the deceased. Blocks of ice kept the back room near freezing. Percy stepped to each of the 3 tables that held bodies: an elder man with shotgun wounds, an older woman apparent suicide, and Collins. His belly distended and eyes closed. “You say he was brought in 2 days ago?! I’m no doctor but sure seems in advanced decay!” Percy said prayers over each body while anointing each with oil and holy water. The others quietly observed while noting no physical trauma to Collins. As if the story him dying of fright true. At least they found a key in his clothing stacked at the foot of the table.

Collin’s Church: Referencing their crude map, they passed thru the neighborhood. Abigail suddenly paused to listen to a distant ship horn. The smell of salt water teased her nose as she queried only the fresh water Thames nearby. Not seawater nor with ships other than barges. And that’s when she realized her friends gone. And felt her feet wet, only to look and see water rising toward her chest! Waves crashed in the distance where she saw a ship wrecked upon rocks and cracked in two. People screaming. Abby recognized, “Mother?” Hector was just about to shake her, when Abigail gasped for breath as if chocking on water. Glazed eyes, she asked, “Did you see my mother too?”

A church steeple came into view. Fog at the base of the church seemed to pulse with movement. Hector readied to defend. Percy called out, “Hello? Is this Vicar Collin’s church?” A young man stepped forward with brick and mortar in hand. John explained, “Yes, but the vicar is dead. I was paid upfront and the job not done. Seems water damage caused a collapse on the back wall. Not an easy repair as there appears to be a tunnel beneath. Could be catacombs; the church does date back several hundred years. 700-800? Anyway, I’ll need to make a foundation first before I can rebuild the wall. Now that you mention it, the vicar did enter the tunnel and returned with something. Probably left it in his office.”

Office: Father Eaton genuflected upon entering the church before making his way to the back office. Hector used the key retrieved from the vicar’s clothing. A very tidy office as expected from someone so prompt and orderly. Books neatly lined the shelves. They read the spines: church records, theology, poetry. Percy pondered one book from the Protestant Reformation (Martin Luther’s 95 Theses), “Those were just letters yet this book very thick.” He pulled it down and found it a hollow case. Inside: a large key and letter and note (“Found beneath church. Check with Rose House friends. If true, quite sensational.”).

The Letter: Written in Latin, it detailed Templar Knights in Hungary encountering a witch named Diafrith who lived in a forest, constantly shrouded in fog. “Tasked to find a Lord’s missing son, we entered the forest and found his lifeless body (eyes white as snow). Tracks led us to a hidden castle not listed on any map; also shrouded in mist. Thus named the Castle of Mist, where we found a woman seated upon a throne. While she appeared as a beautiful maiden, her true visage was a ghoul from Hell (her hair a whip to grasp men in her clutches!). A she-devil able to drive men mad, else to serve her devilry! Yet we found strength that day as we pierced her heart with a blessed spear and locked her body in a coffin which we carried across the sea to England. God help us if she ever breaks free.”

While Percy ‘Blessed’ the Major’s battle saber (as a spear substitute), Abigail sat at the vicar’s desk. With paper before her and pencil in hand, she fell into a trance (auto-writing per spirit’s guidance). Sweat rolled from her temples as she sought Inspiration [Push: Mental condition]. Whether her mother or the vicar guided her hand in thoughts of anything to use against the witch… she drew a small shack.

Father Eaton knew not what she had accomplished, only that she looked strained. He offered Absolution, “Perhaps if you’ll confess what troubles you, I can ease your burden.” Abigail hesitated per painful memories of her past (when she endured forced exorcism). But seeing the father’s sincerity, she quietly confessed. “I was thinking maybe the shack where the spear might be.” Percy puzzled, “Shack? I thought that an outhouse.” Hector questioned, “For all we know, they left the spear in Hungary.” Abby furrowed her brow at their disbelief and pointed to the far corner, “Well, there is a set of spiral stairs that lead to the catacombs below.” Hector reasoned, “The collapse is a direct route. No telling where the stairs would take us.”

The Collapse: Percy’s knuckles turned white as he clutched his rosary, “You want to go down there?” Percy and Abby helped Hector, holding his hands as he dangled his feet into the opening before dropping about 8 feet into darkness. They handed him the lantern. Abby next: her hand slipped out of Percy’s grip. She fell but was braced by Hector, taking minor sprain she shook off. [1 Physical injury but she used her Memento to heal.] Percy was the last, unaided. Off-balanced, he took a hard fall [1 Physical-Exhausted].

Water dripped down the sides of a crypt chamber that held several sarcophagus in ankle-deep water. To the left: an archway. In front: a fresco painting of knights engaged in battle with a woman in medieval dress being pierced by a spear. Above the knights: the hand of God as protector. Hector explained, “Few if anyone in the dark ages were literate. Thus, drawings to tell the story.” Gaps in the brick worked wall implied another passage behind. “That could be the stairway from inside the church. This area sealed off.”

The Crypt: They followed the archway that led into another chamber with a lone sarcophagus; its stone lid pushed aside. A statue of a Knight Templar stood in each cardinal corner. 3 knights held swords. The 4^th held empty palms up, as if he once held something. “Probably the chest the vicar found.” Percy held his crucifix high as he inched toward the open casket. Empty. “Crack.” He looked under his foot and saw a broken bone. Their lantern light revealed it fresh with marrow but also carved with spirals and geometric patterns. Abby reasoned it artwork and the bone simple medium. Percy warned, “Don’t touch it! It could be a witches’ hex or spell.” He sprinkled holy-water on it. Hector scoffed as he picked it up, “It’s just a dog’s bone.” Cupping their hands, they lifted Abby up thru the opening. She found John who gathered a rope to aid the others’ climb.

About to enter the church, they heard a nearby shotgun blast. Hector confronted the vigilantes, “Go home before you kill some innocent. We already saw one dead in the morgue from shotgun blast. I’m sure the London constables will be interested. Law doesn’t recognize the excuse of mistaken belief in ghosts.”

The interior stairs descended to more recent burials. Inscriptions listed a 30-year string of prior priests and prominent locals. And one wall with discernable cracks in the bricks, “Probably bricked up centuries ago to hide the witches’ crypt.” They returned topside and found John who told them where the vicar lived. “His rectory is just around the corner.” It was a small, simple place. They found a small medieval style chest under his bed. Empty.

Black Lion Inn: They retraced their steps to the pub to ask locals if they recognized Abby’s drawing. Along the way… Percy caught himself just before he fell into a pit. He looked down… fright as he noticed diggers trying to shore the walls of the riverside dock construct. Suddenly the walls collapsed as the river flowed in, drowning the men. Realization he was witnessing his father’s sins. And the fey mocked him. Hector shook him back to the now (from his vision) and offered his flask.

Ashak welcomed them back, “God must be with you, you not lost.” Abby feasted on fish-n-chips and tea while the men drank ale and dug into their shepherd’s pie. Patrons studied Abby’s drawing till Ashak spoke up, “Looks like Alfred’s hut. The one with tab not paid. Careful, him not right in the head. Tries to sell his disgusting artwork.”

Alfred’s Hut: Another distant shotgun blast welcomed their return to the streets. Fog thickened with ebbing light from nearing dusk. Luck they were able to find the hut. A lantern shone from his window. Yard art hung from tree branches, made from bones. Realization, “HE stole the witches’ bones!”

Alfred answered the knock and eyed Abby with interest. Hector showed him the dog bone, “We found some of your artwork beneath the church.” Anxious, Percy asked, “Tell me you haven’t sold THOSE bones yet!” Hector easy realized Alfred lied in his denial knowing what they talked about. [Manipulation attempts] Hector tried to reason, “I’ll gladly buy them from you.” Alfred tried to slam the door in his face, but a foot-wedge kept it open. Abby pleaded, “I’ll gladly pay off your bar tab AND extra for your most interesting art.” Alfred’s eyes grew wide as she pulled coins from her purse. He reached; she pulled back, “Bones first.”

Alfred opened a trapdoor, “My workshop is down there.” Boxes full of bones. Knives, chisels, paint. But the skeleton laid out on a table drew their focus. Ancient and hollow; no marrow. Hector found a sack and put them inside. As Abby paid the man, she just happened to ask, “Did you find anything else in the church?” Alfred pointed to a spear leaning against a far wall. Abby gladly paid more! Percy exited the hut as squire to his soldier, carrying the spear.

Back to the Crypt: The fog thickened, as if trying to get them lost. Then reentered the crypt and laid out the bones. Father Eaton sprinkled holy-water on the bones while saying prayers of exorcism. But as they lifted the heavy stone lid to reseal the sarcophagus, an overwhelming wind blew down the archway passage forcing Percy and Abby backwards. The lid teetered on the edge of the sarcophagus. Hector all alone over the open coffin. Fog poured into the crypt and into the sarcophagus. Flesh began to materialize over the bones. The trio fought off fear that stabbed at their souls as they witnessed the ghostly white figure push aside the lid and sit up in her stone bed.

CLIMAX

Abby instructed her allies, “Call out her name 3 times to banish her! Diafrith, be gone!” But the witch glared at the priest holding the instrument of her prior entombment. Fortune her too weak to complete a spell upon her lips to cast a cold blast throughout the room. She lashed out with her long hair as if a whip but caught a support pilar instead. Exposure that allowed Hector to stab with his saber but she quick enough to dodge. Abby put down the lantern and drew the knife from her boot. Percy stepped closer and stabbed with the spear but only chipped the lip of the stone coffin. He could only curse, “Diafrith, be gone!” She slashed back with her claws, wounding the priest.

Hector drew his pistol and fired but only managed to hit the side of the stone coffin. Abby slashed while repeating the witches’ name in banishment. Percy too wounded to act could only pass the spear to their warrior. Which meant Diafrith targeted her new threat… she missed. Hector jabbed with the spear and hit while Abby barely missed with her knife. Percy had little strength to lend aid, other than to weakly spat her name.

And that’s when Diafrith climbed out of the sarcophagus and moved out of reach, but close enough to whip her hair at Hector who dodged. Abby closed and slashed, drawing a horrific scream that reverberated throughout the crypt, deafening them. Her hatred of all priestly things caused her to attack Percy who slumped to his rump near death. But her distraction allowed Hector [stab miss, Push: 2 success] to impale her with the spear! The witch dissolved before their eyes as the bones clattered to the floor. Hector gathered the bones and quickly put them in the sarcophagus, “Abby, help me put the lid on. Then tend to the priest.” Abigail jubilantly assisted, “As I told you! You have to say her name three times to banish her. You’re welcome.”

EPILOGUE

They carried the priest outside where it was dark from nighttime. “Look! The fog has gone.”

Father Eaton was in a coma for 2 days. He awoke in the Rose House with nurses tending him, “What happened?” Abby sat in the corner writing, “Shush. I’m composing our report. Guess I need to delete the entry about our priest dying.”

John Mills leaned forward to light Hector’s cigar, “Now tell me again, where did the Templars find this witch?! Hungary? Why would they carry her to London?! Damn French invading our lands.”

The carriage crossed over the bridge and stopped before the Black Lion Inn. The Scotland Yard Inspector got out and entered the pub, “Can anyone point out the woman firing her shotgun? I’ve reports she killed 2 men.”

INTERESTING SIDE NOTE

The Hammersmith Ghost murder case of 1804 set a legal precedent in the UK regarding self-defence: that someone could be held liable for their actions even if they were the consequence of a mistaken belief.

Near the end of 1803, many people claimed to have seen or even been attacked by a ghost in the Hammersmith area of London. Local people said the ghost was of a man who had committed suicide the previous year and had been buried in Hammersmith churchyard. The contemporary belief was that suicide victims should not be buried in consecrated ground, as their souls would not then be at rest. The apparition was described as being very tall and dressed in all white, but was also said to wear a calfskin garment with horns and large glass eyes at other times.

Stories about the ghost soon began to circulate. Two women, one elderly and the other pregnant, were reported to have been seized by the ghost on separate occasions while walking near the churchyard; they were apparently so frightened they both died from shock a few days afterwards.^[7][8] A brewer's servant, Thomas Groom, later testified that, while walking through the churchyard with a companion one night, close to 9:00 pm, something rose from behind a tombstone and seized him by the throat. Hearing the scuffle, his companion turned around, at which the ghost "gave me a twist round, and I saw nothing; I gave a bit of a push out with my fist, and felt something soft, like a great coat."^[5]

On 29 December, William Girdler, a night watchman, saw the ghost while near Beaver Lane and gave chase; the apparition threw off its shroud and managed to escape. With London not having an organised police force at the time, and as "many people were very much frightened," according to Girdler, several citizens formed armed patrols in the hope of apprehending the ghost.^[5][8]

On 3 January 1804, a 29-year-old excise officer named Francis Smith, a member of one of the armed patrols set up in the wake of the reports, shot and killed a bricklayer, Thomas Millwood, mistaking the white clothes of Millwood's trade for a shroud of a ghostly apparition. Smith was found guilty of murder and sentenced to death, later commuted to one year's hard labour.