Some Of The Stories
Nemesis The Hellbound Cat
Ghosts, light humour and serious beliefs, item 4
There is one unmistakable kite mark of quality in a place and that’s a cat. Be it library, café, prison or of course a pub then a cat is an unmistakable sign of a homely comfortable welcome. That and someone is keeping an eye on the local mouse population…..a murderous eye.
Now there used to be a cat here, a fierce old one-eyed Tom by the name of Nemesis. No one knew quite how old Nemesis was; he’d been here longer than anyone remembered. Maybe even before the pub had first been built, before man had first brewed beer…it would be easy to picture Nemesis squaring up to a velociraptor before mankind had ever set foot upon the earth. Certainly Nemesis appeared after the notorious local highway man in the 17th century Bad Ned was sentenced to death by the local judge Nasty Neil. Who himself hanged a few months later.
Nemesis demanded only two things of the pub and its regulars.
A bowl of raw meat once a day and no dogs, there would have been a third rule about no petting or stroking, but even the most affectionate drunk would look at the thick fur and yellow fangs and think better of laying a hand upon his fur.
And as for dogs, Nemesis disliked them and the few times they arrived the battles could be heard from several streets away. So Nemesis was left to sleep by the fire his bowl of raw meat and an occasional poorly guarded pint of beer. Only the most foolish rodent would dare his lair so there wasn’t much work for him.
And this situation would probably have carried on for as long as Nemesis was living upon this earth.
If Nemesis was ever truly alive….. To peer into the eyes of Nemesis was to see into the eyes of an ancient, evil intelligence. One that perhaps belonged to a highwayman or maybe the hangman, who hanged them,
If only he hadn’t met Mr Pickles, in an encounter that was to prove fatal for Mr Pickles. Mr Pickles was a pure bread Chihuahua and the exact size of a well-fed rat. Mr Pickle’s owners (or as they preferred to be called his parents) brought him to the pub one fateful Tuesday.
Pickle’s parents weren’t the kind of people to be put off by a mere sign reading
“No dogs.”
And laughed at the one that read
“Beware of the cat.”
And laughed even harder at the one that read
“No really beware of the cat.”
Mr Pickles lived exactly three seconds after Nemesis spotted him and thought
“That’s a particularly cheeky looking rat sauntering in.”
All that was left was of poor Mr Pickles was his pink diamante collar, which is a shame as it didn’t suit Nemesis even slightly.
Well, enough was enough; the occasional scratching or piece of malodorous poop was one thing, but the crime of homicide (as the devouring of small dogs is called) was too much. Mr and Mrs Pickle wrote to the council and a death warrant was issued for Nemesis.
On the day the animal control officers descended upon the pub, the clouds gathered, the rain fell and thunder and lightning struck.
To this day none of the officers will speak of how Nemesis met his end or how he fought. But of the three of them that were there that day, two of them had their hair turn white. Except Chris, who was bald as an egg and his girlfriend say the fluffy hair on his bottom turned white.
Nemesis may no longer patrol here. But to this day no mouse dare enter Nemesis’s lair and you’d be best advised to leave the dog with the neighbours.
Ghost, Spiritual Or Historic Stories For Pubs And Restaurants
The suit of armour
Ghosts, light humour and serious beliefs, item 35
This isn’t a story that begins with a once upon a time, or one that finishes with a happy ending, so if that’s what you’re looking for, get out now.
A few miles away from here is one of the most notoriously haunted artefacts in the country. You might be wondering why you haven’t heard of it, or where exactly it’s kept- but there’s good reason for that. Authorities (some allegedly of an ancient or supernatural nature) have attempted to keep the existence of this particular piece of historical memorabilia under wraps for more than three hundred years. But they can’t stop us telling the story of how a suit of 18th-century armour came to be one of the biggest secrets the area would ever keep.
In the early seventeen hundreds, a famous British commander by the name of Lord Buxington became engaged to Harriet Kinnerman, a low-level noble from a neighbouring district. Now, you might think you can see where this story is going- the Lord returns from battle to find his fiancé has been cheating on him, and commits a series of sins so ungodly that he is cursed to walk the earth forevermore. But there was no doubt that Lord Buxington, who was renowned across the land for his skilful control and command of soldiers at the very height of battle, was deeply in love with his fiancé, and she with him. But what Buxington didn’t know was that his wife-to-be was allegedly part of a local coven. And Harriet’s father, a powerful mystic and head of the coven, disapproved strongly of his daughter’s desire to mix with a person of non-magical blood.
The commander officially retired from his work in the army, planning to organise his wedding and begin a family with Harriet. But there were many people furious with his decision to abandon his troops, especially when they were being sent abroad to fight on foreign soil without him for the first time. Pressure on Buxington mounted, and eventually he was bribed back into the saddle by his father-in-law- by a beautifully handcrafted suit of armour, with deliberate but invisible cracks that would allow through bullets and buckshot. Buxington, delighted with his gift, kissed his fiancé goodbye and left once more for battle, while Harriet prayed for his safe return.
Her prayers were not answered.
It wasn’t long till news returned from the front that Buxington had been killed; a stray musket shot had slipped through a crack in his suit of armour, leading to an infection that killed him slowly as his troops attempted to hold back the enemy. Eventually, after the savagery of the battlefield had claimed hundreds of Buxington’s charges, they admitted defeat- the first time Buxington had ever had to concede a battle. He died minutes later, leaving Harriet heartbroken and her father overjoyed that his plan had succeeded.
Life carried on in the district as though nothing had changed. Until one day, when the members of Harriet’s household were awoken by a scream. Hurrying to see what the matter was, a maid was discovered cowering in the corner of Harriet’s father’s bedroom, where his beheaded body lay splayed across the bed. And, standing over the corpse, sword in hand, was the breathtakingly beautiful suit of armour that he had gifted to Buxington. Terrified, the observing members of the household removed the body and immediately blocked up the door with solid stone, hoping to seal the cursed armour inside forever. The room was never re-opened, but it is said that particularly quiet visitors can hear the soft clanking of the armour as Buxington continues to search for Harriet and get back to the life he left behind.
Ghost, Spiritual Or Historic Stories For Pubs And Restaurants
Beechworth Asylum
Ghosts, light humour and serious beliefs, item 20
Beechworth Lunatic Asylum in Victoria, Australia, was open from 1867 through 1995. In its heyday the asylum housed 1,200 patients at any one time. Over the 128 years of the asylum’s operation, approximately 9,000 patients died within its walls. (That is the equivalent of 1 person dying every 5 days for 128 years.)
Covering 106 hectares of land, the hospital was largely self-sufficient growing most of its own food and providing entertainment facilities for patients and carers all – a few of who enjoyed the stay so much, they have decided to never leave. Among those who have decided to stay on indefinitely is Matron Sharpe (Or Mrs. Elizabeth Sharp, according to a report from the Inspector of Lunatic Asylums dated 31 December 1880). One of tour operators at Beechworth related his experience: “A few weeks after I started working on the tour, I saw Matron Sharp. She walked through the doorway in front of me and walked away through a bricked up window.”
His is not the only experience with Matron Sharp. La Trobe University currently uses the former dormitory as their computer rooms, where students have witnessed the Matron descending the granite staircase and wandering through the classrooms. Other visitors to the asylum have seen the Matron in the Grevillia wing, where the electro-shock treatments were carried out. Former nurses who worked Beechworth, have reported they would see the Matron sitting with patients who were due to receive treatment. Also seen in this wing of the asylum is a doctor who wanders the corridors at night. To date, no one has identified the doctor….or what he might be doing on those late night walks.
In the last ten years, the shade of the woman thrown from an upper story window by another patient has been seen standing at the spot where her body fell and lay in front of the hospital for two days before being removed. The victim had been arguing with another patient over a few cigarettes.
The ghost of a male patient who died during a possible escape has been seen wandering the grounds at the entrance to the asylum. Though efforts were made by the staff to locate the patient after he disappeared from his ward, no trace of him was found and the search was abandoned. A few months later the asylum’s dog, Max, was found at the gate house chewing on a human leg. Another search of the grounds near the gate house was commenced and the patient’s body was found wedged in the branches of a tree. The leg had fallen from where the patient was perched as the body had decomposed.
Children were also housed at Beechworth and continue to play and laugh as they did during their time at the asylum. Adults have reported hearing their small voices and giggles as they walk through the corridors of the building. A mum on the tour noticed her ten year old son, who was standing alone away from the group, appeared to be having a very animated conversation. When she asked him who he was talking to, he turned to her and said, “A boy called James. He lives here.”
Ghost, Spiritual Or Historic Stories For Pubs And Restaurants