The Ghost Of Charnes Hall

During the 17th century Charnes Hall in Stafford was owned by the very well respected Yonge family,who had lived there for many generations as master and mistress of this most splendid of stately homes and grounds. They were a wealthy family, and they enjoyed the service of many servants and grounds men who helped maintain their lavish and enviable lifestyle as Master and Mistress of Charnes.

Mrs Yonge was in good health at the time, and so it came as a great shock to all that knew her, when on a cold day in winter she was suddenly and mysteriously taken quite ill. It was an illness that nobody could quite explain at the time, and so, as the poor unfortunate lady of the house grew steadily more weary she was very quickly taken to her bed in the hope she would soon recover.

Fearing that the worst was about to happen, she called for all her family and servants to gather around her so that she could speak to them all one last time, before it was too late. It came as quite a shock to everyone gathered when she gave her last will and testament, much as you would do just minutes before your death, but they accepted her wishes and gathered near to her bedside.

She announced to everyone that she feared that the time had come to say her farewells, and that her only wish was that her favourite piece of jewellery would not be removed after her death, so when the sad moment did arrive, and Mrs Yonge sadly drifted away, the large ring on her finger that many had claimed to be ‘priceless’ was left where it was to comfort her on the other side.
However, not all the servants were as honest as they should have been and believing it to be 'a most terrible of waste' one of them was already plotting to take it off her dead corpse when she was placed in the family vault later that day.

The coachman was a greedy and loathsome man, and so when he spotted his window of opportunity he stealthily crept down to where she had been placed. Carefully he removed the lid from her coffin, trying his best to keep his plot as secretive as he was. The only sound that was heard was a sardonic sneer to himself, as he put his wicked plan into action.

He was now looking down on the cold body, her arms placed across her bosom laid to rest. He spied the prize for which he had come, the most precious of jewels was there for the taking. It glistened in the dim light of the oil lamp that he had carefully placed on the dead woman’s chest, as he tried in vain to remove her most precious possession from her. He pulled and twisted, but to no avail, as the ring stood fast, seemingly determined to stay put and remain with its owner for eternity.

The coachman began to perspire in pure exhaustion as he tried and tried to pull the ring free from the finger, but to no avail. Finally in pure desperation he reached down to his pocket, and holding her ring hand firmly in place, he quickly took his coachman’s knife from his pocket to finish the task.
He then began the unenviable task of cutting the woman's finger from her hand. He carefully sliced through the skin, only to be taken back in pure horror as blood spurted from her mutilated hand and onto his clean white shirt and face, as Mrs Yonge sat bolt upright in her coffin and gave out the most terrifying of screams as the finger was finally cut free. The now petrified coachman quickly fled, still holding tight to the ring finger and fleeing from the vault in pure horror.

With some difficulty Mrs Yonge managed to clamber from her coffin, blood still pouring from her badly severed hand. Her pure white burial shroud splattered with her warm red blood, as she slowly but surely managed to stagger from the vault that very nearly became her last resting place. She then made her way across the grounds to the Hall, where her husband was sat, still in terrible mourning for the loss of his most beloved wife.

He roused from his sadness by a banging at the window of the room where he was sat. This was then followed by the most awful of wailing. Quickly he rose from his seat and ran to the window. he threw back the long curtains as quickly as he could manage, to see a sight that made his blood run cold and freeze him to the spot in terror .

There he saw the ghostly apparition of his dead wife tapping on the window and crying out into the cold night air ‘let me in, I’m terribly cold’ 'let me in dear husband, let me in I pray'
The terrified husband spotted with utter disbelief his wife's badly mutilated hand and quickly realised that his beloved wife was very much still alive and well, and he joyfully ran outside to comfort her in a loving embrace that he wished would never end.

Mrs Yonge recovered from this most terrible ordeal over the next few days and went on to live for many years to come, however, this is only the beginning of this most gruesome of tales.
Some years later when Mrs Yonge finally was laid to rest in Eccleshall churchyard, the locals claim a ghost with a severed hand still wanders the area to this day, seemingly still searching for her lost ring on the stroke of midnight.

The End

This story is based very loosely on a real legend and will be included in my next book.