The Screaming Waitress Of Devon

One night my uncle and I were passing the time playing cards as we usually did on Saturday evening. It was approaching the midnight hour. Suddenly, our concentration from the game was broken by a loud crashing sound in one of the back rooms. We both rushed to scene to find that a vase had fallen on the floor. There seemed to be no apparent reason for this occurrence, and we spent the the next several minutes trying to figure out some rational for it. At some point in our discussion, which covered the entire scientific and metaphysical rheims, he ask me if I believed in the supernatural as an explanation for things that could not be explained by the natural laws of physics. In other words he wanted to know if I believed in ghost. I told him that I was not really a believer in the supernatural, and that I had never witnessed any event or sighting to prove to me the existence of the other world. I then ask him quite frankly if he had ever seen or heard a ghost, or if believed in the supernatural.1

He then lowered his spectacles, and looked me straight in the eyes. It seemed that his stare was enough to answer my question. "Boy," he said, as he as he raised his eye glasses, "I used to be just like you. I never believed in ghost or anything having to do with the supernatural...That is until.... until I witnessed something so strange and inexplicable, that I have never been able write it off as a natural occurrence, and I really doubt....He paused. I doubt that it can be. Then he looked at me with a grin, as he again removed his spectacles and wiped them off. "I tell you boy, I am convinced that there are things that happen in this world that cannot be explained and I believe there are forces that should never be tampered with." I could now tell by the serious expression on his face and the tone of his voice, that he believed every word of what he was telling me, but I was also wondering if it was not the result of his having too much to drink, which sometimes happened with him. Yes uncle Henry, I said. I believe you. I mean I believe you saw something.... but I...."Listen boy," he interrupted with some consternation in his voice, "I know what you are thinking. Your thinking that I was drunk, but I swear to you by all that is holy, that I was as sober as you are now, and that I was in complete control of my faculties boy." Yes I don't doubt you, but why don't you go ahead and tell me your story, as you have now aroused my curiosity, Isaid. "Now young man," he said, please understand, that every word of what I have to tell you is true, but may I warn you that this occurrence is indeed so singular,that even after fifty years, just thinking about it now sends shivers down my spine boy, and I will try my best to relate it without losing my composure." I was now just a little on edge, as could tell that he seemed more then just a little frightened. At this point, I was thinking about telling him that we should change the subject, but since I did not want to injure his ego, I let him proceed with his tale. Then once again he removed his spectacles, and began to relate his story.2

"It was on an August evening in 1952, that I received a letter from my cousin, inviting me to spend some time with him on his wealthy estate in Devonshire England. At that time I was single, and the prospects of spending some time in another country seemed very appealing to me, so I sent him back a letter accepting his offer. That evening I had my clothes and all my stuff packed, and the next evening my plane landed at the London airport, where my cousin greeted me, and we drove to his estate, a distance of one hundred miles through the beautiful rolling countryside of Southern England. Everything about the landscape looked so different from any place I had visited here in the states. Lovely hills with all shades of green, rose gently in front of us, interspersed with rows of lush evergreens, and elfin wooded valleys cradled thatched cottages, surrounded by beautiful flowered gardens, and verdant pastures, grazed by wild sheep and cattle, which created images in my mind of a fairy tale land, and the occasional ruins of old stones castles, completed the picturesque and romantic scene as we continued down the winding highway. 3

It was late in the afternoon, when we arrived at his estate. I was amazed at how immense it appeared. The house itself was a very old manor, that had been constructed in the 15th century and had been occupied by an old noble family for hundreds of years, until the last remaining heir of the line had died in 1980. The estate was then put up for sale, and remained unoccupied until it was purchased my cousins uncle, and then passed to him when he died a few years later, leaving him the only living occupant. The inside was even more impressive. The elegant, stately interior was graced with red oak polished floors, lovely stain glass windows, decorative carpets, and rookwood fireplaces. A sweeping staircase led to the many rooms and bedrooms upstairs, and each room was provided with original antiques and period furnishing, so that one has the feeling of being transported back to the the age of queen Elizabeth the 1st. On the walls were original paintings by the masters and the ancient family coat of arms. My cousin must have noticed how fascinated I was with this pageant of history right before my eyes, as he spent the next several hours taking me on personal tour through each of the rooms, which he concluded by showing me his personal library, which contained an impressive selection of books on just about every subject. He then related to me the history of manor and this part of England, and I was amazed at how he was able to relate each event with such specific detail, as though he had actually been there, and he seemed to know about the personal lives of all the counts, nobles, viscounts, and dukes, who were even remotely associated with the manor and its history. He must have spent at least two hours presenting me with this history, and he had my undivided attention for the whole time. Not only did he relate to me the history of the region, but he also related to me about the legends of the many ghost which are said to haunt the various inns castles, manors, and hotels in the region. At the time, I was not a believer in ghost or the supernatural, but I found the subject fascinating. Just about every place there had its own ghost. There is a legend of the wet ghost. It is said that a woman dripping with water can be seen running downstairs after which, she runs into the kitchen and disappears into the wall. According to legend, she is buried somewhere beneath the floor of the building. There are also stories of headless ghost who roam aimlessly through the dark interiors of dungeons and castles, and there is the story of the strange woman in red who runs screaming though a hotel as her ghostly pursuers chase her with axes in their hands. Of course, at the time, I dismissed it all as legend, but yet I was so intrigued by it that I decided to actually tour some these so called ghostly haunts, just to see what was going on there.4

I spent most of the next day in my cousin's library, perusing through the volumes, trying to find out more on the subject. As I read some of these tales, I could not help but smile to myself. It seemed that around here, there must be a ghost hideout in every nook and cranny. In some places, even pedestrians walking down the street, especially at night, can hear the noise of a cart rolling along and the voice of the driver coaxing his animal, only to turn around and see nothing but the dark, empty street. Later that day I told my cousin that I was interested in seeing some of these haunted places that he had been talking about, but I let him know that it was only for my pleasure and curiosity, not that believed that I would see a ghost. He laughed and told me that I would not have to go far to see a ghost, as I should find a haunt on every street corner. We both laughed at this little joke of his, as I agreed that there must be more than a thousand legends of ghost. He then told me that he had no interest in the subject what-so-ever. In fact, he said that he was quiet bore with the subject, and that if I wanted to do any ghost hunting, I would have to do it on my own, as he wanted no part of it. I was surprised at his negative reaction, as the day before, he seemed so enthusiastic while he was telling me the stories, and I found this change in his behaviour a bit strange. He then told me that there was a certain Inn where I might find someone who could give me more information about whatever ghost I wanted to see. When I ask him why he couldn't, he told me that he did not want to hear anymore on the subject and left the room. 5

The next morning, I rented a car and drove to the Inn that he had told me about. It was a lovely and picturesque old building with stone walls, surrounded by flower gardens and cobblestone walkways. As soon as I entered though the door, I was greeted by a pretty waitress. She had a lovely face with dimples that showed on her rosy cheeks every time she smiled and long black flowing hair that cascaded in ringlet over shoulders and down to the small of her back. She walked with a little wiggle that caught all her customer's attention, including mine. Yet the there seemed to be something out of place about her. She was wearing an old fashioned dress, that looked like it dated from the 18th century, but I assumed it was a costume she wore, to lend more authenticity to the place. What was even more strange was that she seemed to know exactly why I had come, as though she could read my thoughts. This made me feel quite uneasy, but I thought that perhaps my brother had phoned her, and told her that I would be coming. She was indeed very talkative, and she told me more than I needed to know in my ghost hunting, which ghost inhabited which castle or inn and so forth. In fact, she seemed to be a walking encyclopedia of the paranormal, and I found her as interesting as she was charming. We talked until long after the place had closed. I will admit that I was actually falling in love with her, and by the time our conversation was finished, it was on longer ghost that I was looking for. In fact, I felt that I had made so much progress with her, that I ask her if she would have dinner with me the next evening. She eagerly excepted and I agreed to meet her at 10:00 pm the following day. which was the time that she would be off from work. Before I left. I ask her name. She told me that her name was Betsy. As I went out the door, she waved at me and gave me a sweet smile, that sent my heard thumping.6

You can imagine how excited I was. For the first time in my life, I was in love, and it was like wine to me. The next morning I told my cousin all about my new found love and my dinner date I had with her. When I told him that her name was Betsy, a cloud seemed to come over his features. When I ask him what was wrong, he told me he was not aware of anyone working at the inn by that name. This did not make me feel at all comfortable, as he seemed to be keeping something back from me, but being as smitten by love as I was, I dismissed it all from my mind, and continued to think only of meeting my Betsy. I spent most of the next day with grooming and getting ready for my date. Just before I left my cousin remarked to me that it seemed I had completed forgotten about ghost and ghost hunting. I just smiled at him as I walked out the door. 7

I arrived at the Inn at exactly 10:00 pm. As I pulled up on the curve, I was surprised to find that there was not a light on in the place, and even the streets were completely deserted. Needless to say, I found this very odd. At first, I thought I might have gone down the wrong street, but I could tell by the curb address that I was at the right place. At this point, common sense told me I should leave right away, but my curiosity and determination led me to walk right up to the door. When I pulled the knob, I found it was unlocked, so I opened it and went inside. I found myself in almost complete darkness, except for the dim street lights shining through the windows. The whole place was filled with the pungent musty oder of age, and the tables were all worn and covered with dust . It appeared that the place had not had a human inhabitant in perhaps more than a century, but what was even worse, was the almost sinister quietness that pervaded. It was almost as if I had walked into a tomb. I felt a terrible feeling of fear and dread come over me. I was just about to turn for the door when I heard a noise in the back. Then I saw the form of waitress I had talked to the day before, staring straight at me from the corner of the room. But my lord, what a difference in her. Her skin was an off coloured white and cracked looking and her eyes were almost completely black without a trace of white, and the wild expression on her face made my blood run cold. It appeared that she had no substance, and she seemed to be floating above, rather than standing on the floor. As she looked at me, she began to scream out in the most blood curdling sound. Then, as I looked on in horror, she began to move quickly from one side of the inn to the other at an incredible speed, while still looking at me. For a while, I was virtually frozen in fear, unable to move as I watched the horrible spectra. Then, as I turned to run toward the door, she lunged straight at me. I screamed and ran out of the place as fast as I could and jumped the car. As I stated the engine, I could see her nightmarish face, staring at me from the dark windows, as she seemed to dart with lightening speed from one window to the next, and it looked like to me that her head was at times detached from her body. I started the engine and sped away from the place as fast as I could. I must have been a mile or so down the road, when I happened to look into my rear view mirror. A terrible fear came over me, as I saw her sitting in the back sit of my car with the same nightmarish expression on her face and starring at me. In a panic, I nearly lost control of my car, as I swerved from one side of the road to the other . She then let out an ear piecing scream and vanished right before my eyes." After seeing such a horror, It is just a miracle that I was able to gain control of the car and that I did end up going down a cliff. He sighed, and I then briefly paused in his narrative. I could see fear on his face.8

"When I arrived at the estate, my brother immediately noticed my agitation." "Why my dear fellow, he said, "what is the matter. You look as though you have seen a ghost." "Without even giving him an explanation, I told him that I would be leaving the next day, and headed back to the states. He did not seem one bit surprised, and he consented to my departure without question. This made me wonder what he might have known all along but did not tell me. I did not ask him questions, but proceeded to pack my luggage for my departure. I caught the earliest plane back to the states, and I have never gone back, and I tell you, I in all honesty, that I would not, for all the gold on earth, go back around that inn again or even go any where near it. I see now that you are looking at me funny, but what I tell you boy is the truth. For many months and even years afterwards, I would wake up at night in a cold sweat, imagining that I could see her shadow floating in the darkness and her nightmarish face staring at me. My lord I will never forget that hideous face." I could now see his agitation and the look of fear in his eyes. "I tell you boy," he said with a nervous tremble in his voice, even to this day, she still haunts my dreams and my.... look," he said, pointing straight ahead of him. When I look around, I saw nothing. When I looked back. I noticed that Henry was stone dead, with a look of fear frozen on his face as he looked toward the wall.9