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Moray horror story


By Alistair Whitfield

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Calder House once stand on the corner of Elgin's High Street and North Street.

.

Built in the 1600s, it had fallen into disrepair at the date this Halloween tale is set.

It had also gained a reputation for being haunted.

In ‘Out of the Cold’, Elgin author Steve Storey expertly weaves strands of truth and fiction together.

There's an interview with Steve to follow at the end.

But first settle down with a chilled glass and dimmed lights for:

'OUT OF THE COLD ' by Steve Storey

THE YEAR IS 1855.

It is late into a chilled November evening with the cusp of winter close at hand.

A small gathering meets within the grandeur of the renowned Athenaeum Club in London’s St. James’s – as they have regularly over previous years.

They meet to supper and take pleasure in the company of knowledgeable men, with whom they debate ideas, and share views and opinions.

The evening concludes within the Club’s elaborate Drawing Room in a state of relaxation made manifest by fine wines and spirits, and stories exchanged for the members’ entertainment.

Silas John Rowland Rises to Speak

Rowland compliments the gathering: ‘Good Sirs, it is my honoured duty to undertake the final contribution toward this evening’s assemblage.

'Firstly however, I wish to express my glad appreciation to this fine gathering.

'It has been my excellent fortune to sit amid such venerable company, and I praise you each on the calibre of discussion.

'It is apparent that the goddess of wisdom – whose golden image adorns our portico and gives this Club its revered name – has seen fit to favour us with her presence.

'So, gentlemen now, as the hourglass drains its last; the days long shadows are lost to darkness; and Hypnos whispers promises of the warmth and comfort of a fine bed; I shall begin my account.'

Rowland introduces his tale

'Scotland has long been a place avoided by intrepid gentlemen from the Kingdom’s splendid cities; but in the early years of this century, they – and indeed a number of stout women – travelled that land in ever greater numbers.

'I myself journeyed to the north country in the ‘20s.

'My then intent was to compile a journal of my experiences, and in short-time produce first-hand literature for the aid and benefit of those wishing to explore the country associated with the great Romanticists; to engage with its landscapes, its peoples and their customs.

'That was some forty years ago, and whilst recently contemplating an anecdote for your pleasure this evening, I found myself reading through my old notebooks, and discovered former memories rekindled.

'I recalled one particular yarn told me by a travelling teller of tales; his name was Callum Muir.

'He was damaged of the eye, yet saw with clarity the troublesome ways of men.

'I was privileged to find myself in his presence one evening in the town of Elgin – once an old cathedral city and Royal Burgh – and recorded his tale in a written transcript that I will now convey.'

Rowland tells Muir’s tale

'The night sky was filled with only blackness; a blackness of such deep solidity that neither the light of the stars nor of the bright moon could hope to penetrate its heavy cloak.

'Through this shadowless veil ventured the young Liam Grant.

'He had wanted to make Elgin well before nightfall, but bogged ground and his weighty pack had slowed his long path.

'Eventually the dimming way of the road and distant lights led him to the old West Port of the town, and it was here he presented himself.

'The curfew drum had sounded some time previous and the bell would shortly be rung.

'He had little time to reach the dwelling of Duncan Grant and to take himself off the streets. Liam walked on at an urgent pace.

'Although he had never visited the town before, finding the abode of Duncan, his wife and daughter should be straightforward, for he knew it to be sited on the High Street close to the old stone tollbooth, and would be found atop his street-fronting workshop.

'It was Liam’s hope that Duncan – his uncle and a carpentry craftsman – would apprentice the young man following the loss of his parents to one of the frequent smallpox outbreaks which struck at the rural communities.

'As soon as his parents had been laid to rest, and Liam was satisfied the resurrectionists would not recover their bodies, he travelled the thirty mile journey from Dalcross – close by Inverness.

'As he moved through the town he became increasingly aware of the strong smell of cooking.

'The odour filled his nostrils and enticed him to slow his pace and investigate the lodgings about him.

'In short-time he came across the derelict Calder House.

'Once proud and austere, this one hundred year old grand building had been the family home of the Calder’s; but now it lay abandoned, save for – as far as Elginites believed – the dark haunting.

'Looking through the cracked, distorted crown glass of a lower casement window Liam could make out a great fire in the hearth, and just observe a large cooking pot suspended over the flames; a basket of chopped wood; and a rocking chair sat before.

'Some few moments later he was suddenly confronted by the distorted face of an old woman carrying a lit candle staring back through the window.

'The deformed view of the woman took Liam Grant aback, and it required of him a couple of deep cold breaths to regain his equilibrium by which time the woman had opened the window and was beckoning him close before speaking, “I sense that you have travelled far, and would want to share the warming broth from my cooking pot.

“You are welcome to enter my frail house; sit upon my comfortable chair and warm your bones before my fire. Come you in, out of the cold.”

'At that moment the curfew bell rang out, and the hungry Liam – to his eternal damnation – required no second invitation. He entered the dilapidated house and was escorted to the old kitchen.

‘Liam’s host, Nellie Holmes, gripped her fleece shawl tightly about her.

“This fine rocking chair was made by your uncle, the woodcrafter. He fashioned it to my exacting wants.”

'Then, after a short pause, “Liam Grant; your parents died of the red plague, and now I must tell you solemnly that your uncle, Duncan Grant, succumbed to the deadly arrow-bolt of cholera morbus only two weeks since. He lies wrapped in cotton and doused in coal-tar within a deep grave lacking all mortality.”

'Not for the first time Liam Grant was taken aback by the old crone.

“How is it you know my name and the purpose of my coming to Elgin?” he enquired.

“Ah, well; there is much knowledge to be acquired simply by sitting upon my rocker and looking into the flames burning within the warming hearth.”

'Although perplexed, Liam was at this stage both too tired and too hungry to enquire further.

'Within the kitchen, all was as he observed when peering through the distorted glass of the window.

'The only addition was the range of tools hung to either side of the fireplace: a short handled shovel; poker; bellows; tongs; and a dustpan and brush.

'Tinder lay about the floor with flint and steel. Oddly, there also hung a single large bright cleaver with an excellent edge and ornate wooden handle.

'Sitting himself comfortably upon the rocking chair, it was but a few moments experiencing the gentle motion of the chair before Liam Grant fell into a deep sleep.

'Liam stirred from his first sleep to the sound of scurrying and unfamiliar sounds akin to the playfulness of small children. Almost immediately he awoke all fell silent, and he soon returned to his slumber.

'Liam awoke with from his second sleep with a frightful jolt. This time the situation that confronted him was altogether the more harrowing!

'Before him, the sharp-edged cleaver he had previously spied aside the fireplace was now clutched in an outstretched hand moving menacingly toward him.

'Trapped in the chair, he saw not his wretched host Nellie Holmes who had bade him welcome at the time of the towns curfew, but a shuffling unnatural creature.

'This abomination, that could not in faith name the good Lord as its creator, now stood stooped before him; the blade held mere inches from his pounding chest.

'Devoid of soul, this unhallowed form stared, as though it were through him, before speaking in near incomprehensible mumblings that struck the young Grant’s cursed ears without compassion.

“Oh begone! I will not hear you”, cried Liam.

'But the devil form was determined to inflict his ears, so yet as he tried deny himself the horror that had befallen him; he was compelled to listen to its sinister words:

“My own lungs, my own liver;

They have fed the devil’s own,

And seek me now for other.

So be it yours I’ll try.

And if, aye, do fit;

I’ll keep thine for mine thereafter.”

'Unknown to Liam Grant was the macabre function of the rocking chair in which he sat.

'The action had been so fashioned as to throw the occupant forward upon attempting to stand.

'The rocker runners were shaped long and shallow, with sharply curved portions towards the front.

'This ensured the chairs action was smooth and balanced, but would act more abruptly to aid the sitter to stand when the seat was tipped forward.

'The frantic Grant was catapulted forward, and tripping on the fireplace surround, fell headlong into the boiling pot.

'Ugly, was the demise of the nephew of Duncan Grant; but the creature paid no heed to the suffering of the lad.

'Instead, it was soon at work with the sharpened blade to remove the young man’s lungs and liver.

'As for the remaining body parts; the abhorred monster had already planned their consumption as it stirred the pot to a muttered rhyme:

“A broth of flesh

With oats and beans for taste.

Come feast my dark brethren horde;

Come gather ye in haste.”

'Alas for the desperate creature, the lad had been the more tall and stocky. So much so, that neither the lungs nor liver could be fitted within the void of its bloody torso. The unholy creature’s search continued.

'That tyranny of despair experienced by Liam Grant was common to many a waif who had fallen prey to the dark powers inhabiting the old Calder House.

'Elginites knew only too well the evil within their midst. Every child; in every family; in every home; was acquainted with the verse:

“Take heed good Elgin folk, and be sure to tell your own;

If the road be dark, the night be cold and you venture into town,

Ne’er pass to close to old Calder House if you be there alone,

For Nell, she’ll bid you welcome, and you’ll ne’er be coming home.”

'With the telling of his short tale complete, I recall Callum Muir drank down a beaker of ale; then sat and smoked his pipe of clay by the warming fireside.

'This account was one of many in a repertoire of local anecdotes, and to the satisfaction of those present he was soon to continue his evening’s entertainment.'

Rowland Concludes

'Gentleman, this Age of the Enlightenment in which we reside; in which we ‘dare to know’ – Sapere aude – has witnessed humanity’s release from self-incurred immaturity.

'Long established beliefs that once served well – but were born of ignorance – have been redefined or swept away with the coming of this age of reason.

'Oh yes, I accept Muir’s tale will evoke indignation; providing an evidential challenge to the enquiring mind.

'Whilst I humbly accept this outcome, I cannot deny a part of my being, in all sincerity, hankers for that cultural enrichment afforded by tales such as those of the wordsmith Callum Muir.

'Good gentlemen, I say now that it is my new-found resolution to return to the coastal plain of Elginshire to comprehensively gather tales of former beliefs; of the old ways, before they are sadly forever lost.

'And it is my plan to formulate them, and to reconcile their invention within a new volume of work bequeathed to posterity.

'Dear friends, it is time that my contribution and our gathering should draw to a close.

'I wish to bid you each a goodnight, and prey Morpheus grants you sweet visions. I thank you all most sincerely.'

********************

Elgin author Steve Storey has been writing since he was a teenager. He's aged 60 now.

A published poet, his day job nowadays is as a technical writer dealing with aviation matters.

And, incredible as it might sound – given his abilities and the fact he was a finalist in an international short story competition three years ago – he has mild dyslexia.

Steve says: "I have to double check a lot of things, but it doesn't get in the way of my writing.

"A lot my current work is inspired by folklore and the merger of truth with fiction.

Elgin author Steve Storey
Elgin author Steve Storey

"I'm interested in local tales, myths and legends, sayings and customs – especially from the north-east of Scotland. They provide a rich cache to stir the imagination."

Some of Steve's inspiration came from the book ‘A History of the Province of Moray’.

Within its pages he read about Calder House and its reputation for being haunted, and about a ghostly apparition called Nelly Holmes – or Homeless as she was sometimes known – who was a local legend in times past.

Another character mentioned in 'Out of the Cold' is Callum Muir, the storyteller who originally related the tale.

Callum Muir features in other short stories by Steve, and may yet feature in more to come.


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