A ghost.
The good people of High Lees [Leas?] near Cromford, and its vicinity, have for some time past been horrified by a report of certain pranks played by some unearthly visitor, at and about the house of Mr Lawrence Fearn, a miner, of that place. Like all other first-rate ghost stories, this is, exactly as it should be, involved in the veil of mystery – no two persons telling it at all alike, but each having some peculiar little horrid embellishment of his own.
In consequence, however, of the strange reports afloat, Fearn’s cottage has been visited within these last few weeks by crowds of country people, all anxious (at least they said so) to get a peep at the apparition; and on Sunday week, there were not fewer than two hundred ghost hunters in the course of the day.
As there is neither beginning, middle, nor end to the tale, we take it up at a very interesting and very wonderful part, and give the narration in nearly the words of Mr J. Statham, of Riber, who appears to take an extraordinary interest in the business. A few months ago, a travelling tinker and his trull were seen, on a certain day, intoxicated and quarrelling, near the (then) unoccupied house spoken of, and incredible as it may appear, on the following morning they had both vanished, and have never been heard of since.
On Fearn becoming tenant, strange noises were heard in the premises at midnight, and strange lights were seen, (blue and crimson, we believe), the doors shook without a breath of wind, and hollow, dismal and sepulchral sounds from time to time horrified the inmates and neighbours.
On one occasion, our correspondent is informed, a queer looking invisible goblin, with goggle eyes and a switch tail, was seen to glide down the chimney at noon, and dart through the window, with a whizzing noise, leaving a sulphureous smell behind him.
In this awful state of affairs, an experienced ghost-seer recommended that all the dark holes about the premises be searched; and in an obscure and almost forgotten closet, the sleeve of a female’s garment, and a cap, were found, both bloody. Digging was next resorted to, and some mortal remains were of course discovered -some say a skull, we say a skeleton – “with fifty mortal gashes on the head.”
We have before hinted, that a good thost tale should have no perceptible termination, any more than a beginning, and it is exactly so with this. The supernatural noises (we hear) are still heard. The invisible goblins (we are told) are still seen, and the visible boobies who run miles by scores to see nothing, for the amusement of some ingenious but mischievous hoaxer are, (we guess) still running.
N.B. Our correspondent refuses to take the responsibility of the truth or falsehood of the reports mentioned, but boldly refers us to the two hundred wondermongers who visited Fearn’s cottage on Sunday se’nnight.
Derbyshire Courier, 4th July 1840.