‘Come on then.. I must hear this.. If I was dead 300 years you couldn’t shut me up! Well?! Come on then!!’
It’s 1am and I’m in the Grey Apartment of Chillingham Castle, shouting at a portrait of a woman, trying to goad her into haunting me good and proper.
I’ve been in the castle, touted as the most haunted in England, for nine hours now trying unsuccessfully to coax a reaction out of its spectral inhabitants.
I’ve held seances with demonic children, called out the Castle torturer on his outdated methods to spark some backlash and argued with a shadow after I became convinced it moved – nothing has worked and I’m starting to tire.
How did it come to this?
MailOnline reporter John James spent the night in ‘haunted’ Chillingham Castle
Chillingham Castle in bleakest Northumberland is by all accounts one truly evil house
Built in 1344, Chillingham’s location close to the Scottish border means its played a huge and bloody role in the defence of England
Over the course of 700 years, thousands of people have died in the castle
Today the castle is privately owned but it regularly offers ghost tours to the public
As humans we’re fascinated by the supernatural and the mysteries of death which is why ghost tourism is a flourishing industry with more ‘haunted’ spots popping up every week.
But, as with all tourists attractions, it pays to do your research before committing to an experience, as some places that claim to be haunted (The Enfield Poltergeist house) are actually just depressing (The Enfield Poltergeist house).
This is a subtle difference but an important one.
Chillingham Castle in bleakest Northumberland however, is by all accounts one truly evil house.
Built in 1344, Chillingham’s location close to the Scottish border means its played a huge and bloody role in the defence of England before we all learnt to get along.
Over the course of 700 years, thousands of people have died in the castle, some of whom horrifically.
Remnants of this grisly past can still be seen in castle’s old torture chamber which is fitted out with all the old favourites including a rack and rather fetching ornate Iron Maiden.
It’s no surprise then that the castle is apparently crawling with unhappy ghosts.
Indeed, the castle which is privately owned by Sir Humphry Wakefield, has the ignominious reputation as being the most haunted in Britain – which is some claim indeed.
To tap into this rich pedigree, the castle trust has recently begun allowing members of the public to stay in the castle and take part in ghost hunts.
Over the course of four hours, visitors who are strictly prohibited from drinking before, are guided around the nooks and crannies of the dark castle and given the opportunity to interact with ghosties.
The trouble with paranormal investigations though is that any perceived activity is inevitably impossible to rationalise or prove.
Think you’ve recorded a ghostly apparition do you?
Well I think you’re a liar who’s filmed a shadow.
What’s that? You felt a feeling of dread as you entered the red room?
Have you ever considered you might be a deeply unhappy person?
These in my view are perfectly reasonable responses to give to anyone who tells you they’ve seen a ghost.
Fundamentally, most people are too boring for ghosts (if they did exist) to bother haunting.
Drifting eternally through limbo would be ghastly enough without having to plan your calendar around haunting little Jenny Morris from Bolton every fortnight.
With this in mind, I was only too delighted to have the chance to visit Chillingham Castle myself to see whether there was any traction in its reputation, comforted by the knowledge that I too am a deeply tedious person.
I was only too delighted to have the chance to visit Chillingham Castle myself
How haunted could it possibly be, eh?
After arriving at the castle I meet resident ghost hunter Richard Craig who’s been hosting hunts in the chilling house for decades
With his thick Geordie accent, dapper appearance and firm handshake he instantly calmed me
Richard has brought a wide variety of ghost hunting gizmos with him to help us coax out the ghosties
Over the course of one lonely January night I would take part in as ghost hunt before staying by myself in the castle, miles away from the nearest person.
The experience changed me forever.
After arriving at the castle I meet resident ghost hunter Richard Craig who’s been hosting hunts in the chilling house for decades.
With his thick Geordie accent, dapper appearance and firm handshake I am instantly becalmed, comforted in an instant that if some ghoul was to try something fast on us Richard would swiftly defuse the situation with a bear hug or a witty remark.
As guides go he’s perfect, knowing every inch of the castle and being on first name terms with the majority of the spooks inside, including the foul-mouthed demonic child Timothy, but more on him later.
Richard has brought his collection of ghost hunting gizmos with him to help us coax out the ghosties.
The tools consist of radio wave distorters, swinging pendulums and, your friend and mine, a Ouija board.
Richard knew every inch of the castle and was on first name terms with the majority of the spooks
It is fascinating to think how many people have been gruesomely killed, tortured and betrayed here in the past (Pictured: Myself and Richard both agreeing this was fascinating)
Myself and Richard used primitive poles to coax out ghosts and it worked
And yes, you’re probably thinking these tools look incredibly primitive and liable to produce completely unscientific and arbitrary results, and you’d be right to think that, because they are.
We begin our tour and start traversing the castle, stopping occasionally when Richard helpfully points out a shadow has just moved.
One ghost known as six-pence Sally, who Richard explains was once the castle prostitute, seems particularly keen on following us around the place which struck me as odd as I was reeking of Lynx Africa.
For a few hours, we trudge around the castle with Richard giving us a fantastically in depth tour of each room in the castle.
It is fascinating to think how many people have been gruesomely killed, tortured and betrayed here in the past, a thought that warms me as the cold night sets in.
My only criticism so far is that bar John Sage (who as we previously covered was a bonafide psychopath) most of the ghosts Richard has described seem quite harmless.
Frustrated, I turn to Richard and politely ask him if there are any really bad things we’re going to meet.
‘These ghosts are all quite tame aren’t they? It’s not exactly The Exorcist?’
‘Be careful saying things like that’, says Richard, his voice hushed and his eyes boring in on my soul, ‘we haven’t met the castle’s demonic spirit yet. He is Timothy, and he is truly evil.’
In ghost hunting circles, the general rule is you can make fun of ghosts in their presence as they’re essentially harmless but you should be careful around demons as they generally mean business.
I’m inclined to agree as I’ve seen enough horror films to know possession isn’t fun unless you’re quite into the whole dead-eyed, no fingernails, continually retching black vomit vibe.
Myself and Richard discussing the best way to skin a cat in John Sage’s torture chamber
Richard took me to a chapel where we intended to lure Timmy the demon child into a séance
It might not look it, but holding a swinging pendulum for 10 minutes is extremely arduous work on the forearms
Richard informs me we are going to conduct a semi-séance to tempt Timmy out of his favourite room.
This to me seems like a pretty poor idea considering he’s a literal devil who could kill us and I have plans for the weekend, but I bow to Richard’s experience and we shuffle in .
As we set up the equipment a nervous looking Richard says we need to be careful as some of Timmy’s friends might be with him, including a renowned satanist named Crowley who is credited with his possession and murder – which again, is comforting.
After setting up our equipment which distorts FM frequencies so occasional words and phrases are heard, we ask Timmy if he is willing to speak to us.
There is silence in the room broken only by the swinging of my pendulum and Richard’s occasional husky exclamations.
‘I wish to speak with Timothy’ proclaims Richard, ‘or are you going by another name tonight?’
The radio transmitter crackles and I hear what sounds like the beginning of a traffic report.
‘Are you still being controlled by the spirit of Crowley, is he with us?’ continues Richard, ‘Are there more than ten of you?’, my god he’s persistent.
Take That cuts through on the radio transmitter and haunting tones of Gary Barlow fill the room.
It’s probably time to call it.
Oh, what became of the Likely Lads?
Richard showing me one of the castle’s many spare bedrooms
After saying my farewells to Richard, I begin the arduous trek towards the nearby town of Wooler in search of a hot meal and some local hospitality.
I’m intrigued to find out if people living near to the castle are actually bothered by it or if local superstition really does run deep.
I enter the Black Bull Inn and loudly announce my otherness by ordering a Madri in my best cockney accent, reasoning that locals are more likely to strike up a conversation with me (even in spite) if they think I’m some idiot from London who’s lost.
After a while I get chatting to a delightful old woman who tells me she’s lived in the area for generations but never stayed in the castle.
‘Is it haunted though? As in, do you believe the stories?’
‘It’s no more haunted than any other place up here’, she says, ‘this is an old place and we’re very isolated up here. Your mind can play tricks on you yes, but sometimes, sometimes it’s right to.’
Christ..
Outside the pub I get chatting to a drunk man who tells me he used to visit the castle a lot for his work and is confident there’s nothing in it that can frighten him.
‘If you do get in trouble tonight, give us a call’ he says, motioning for me to add his number on my phone (I decline as he really was very drunk), ‘I’ll batter any ghost, no questions asked pal!’
I take my leave.
I was staying in the Castle’s Grey Chamber – apparently the most haunted
But as accommodation goes, it wasn’t too bad if I’m being honest
It sure beats Premier Inn that’s for sure
We’re back in the castle now. I’m cocooned in an armchair with the lights off and the fire is roaring.
Previous to this, I had drawn myself a bath in the chamber’s opulent master bedroom but due to my own ineptitude the water had been luke warm.
A ghastly experience certainly, but in truth the only ghostly thing about it had been my crinkly pale body in the cold tub.
It’s eerily quiet in the chamber which is adorned with a multitude of old looking portraits of regal figures who convey a spooky vibe purely from their distance from the present day.
The fire flickers limply and I add another log, taking perverse pleasure in watching the flames devour the wood, shredding its husk and ripping apart its atoms.
‘That must be what it’s like to be melted in lava’, I ponder aloud, enjoying the echo that reverberates around the room.
In case it’s not obvious: I am extremely bored.
I begin to pace around the chamber, tentatively calling out each of the ghosts and spirits I’d met over the course of the tour, challenging each one of them (with the exception of Timothy as he’s a child) to a fight.
The hours drip on and the fire sinks lower into the grate.
I am down to my last log and as I load it into the furnace, a slight shimmer catches the corner of my eye.
I wheel around violently, my entire body jerking in anticipation and my eyes lock on to a large portrait of a woman in fancy dress – perched at the end of the chamber.
Is she the source of the room’s alleged evil?
I walk over to the figure and try and make myself as impressive as possible (which is a task in my Arsenal pyjamas).
The only ghostly thing about this bath was my crinkly pale body in the cold tub
Room for a small ghost?
I study her face, which is unremarkable with sunken eyes and a tight pursed smile which you can either put down to her being cruel or the portrait artist having no talent.
All in all it’s a pretty average painting that isn’t very flattering to her at all.
I smile at the thought that whomever painted this clearly didn’t like her, so I tell her too.
‘Didn’t make the best first impression with the painter then, did you?’ I goad.
Silence.
‘Yup, real Anne of Cleves aren’t you!’ I jab, hoping that she was alive after Henry VIII’s infamous dumping so she’ll get the reference.
Silence.
‘Come on then! Haunt me!!’ I yell my voice now hoarse, ‘Please! I can’t write an entire article about nothing! Haunt me! HAUNT ME!’
Silence.
For more information on ghost hunts at Chillingham Castle, click here.
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