There was a satanic shrine in the coach house in the stable block
presumably to service the coven that actively operated in Heytesbury
in the 1980s. They used to turn up at the Angel and show upside down
crucifixes to one another when not visiting Salisbury Plain for a
session of nude levitation.
During the refurbishment of the house a number of paranormal
activities took place. On one occasion a builder was working on the
exterior of the main house and was pulled from the scaffolding by an
unseen force. The developer himself was also visited one night in is
caravan by an amorphous being that exuded pure evil (as they do) and
consequently relocated his caravan to a less hostile pitch.
A number of horror films have been made at the house. One involving
Nazi zombies running amok in the woods and another about a post
apocalyptic world of deformed mutants. The latter involved a
sequence filmed in one of the flats in the courtyard where the new
messiah was in the process of being delivered by a deranged
scientist. As the camera pans in to the scene the face of an elderly
lady can clearly be seen moving across shot and as there were no
scowl-faced crones at the shoot this proved somewhat of a surprise.
Other known apparitions:
The Puritan. It does what it says on the tin. He
removes bedclothes whilst one is busy doing other things and used to
appear on the third step up on the servant's staircase. As his perch
was destroyed in the fire he must now, presumably, hover in mid-air
mouthing hell-fire and damnation in somebody's fitted wardrobe or
gold-plated jacuzzi.
The Grey Lady. Essential 'must have' for any stately pile. She glides about rather pointlessly.
The amorphous presence Part 2. The author required
a large intake of the Grouse to deal with this particular night as
the entity chose to stay with him in the north bedroom brooding and
breathing with an irritatingly loud death rattle type noise. On
reporting this to George in the morning he informed me that it was
an owl at roost in the rafters and asked after his whisky.
Multiple choice: The Bricked Up Virgin or Ex-Landlord of Red
Lion in Victorian Gown Holding Riding Crop in Stable with Zoe the
Ewe. One of these is true.
All of the above reports are definitely true and from a number of sources. Any more please?
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The night of the encounter had come after days of drenching remorseless rain. It was a Friday and, as usual for a Friday, I had driven across the fields from East Hill, through the woods and had parked up five minutes, soaking wet, walk away from The Angel Inn.
By eleven thirty it was time to drink up and go home and I remember being pleased that the rain had stopped for my quick walk back to the Landrover. The night was entirely black in the way that only Salisbury Plain can be. No streetlights, no habitation, no humans. The weak moonlight that faintly glowed through overcast sky was all that I had to guide me back to my ride home.
At the time I lived at East Hill Farm Cottages which are separated from Heytesbury Wood by a field. I will admit that I was fairly merry that night but as the journey home was through a private wood then over this open field I was neither breaking the law nor being a danger to anyone but myself.
The real danger was completely unexpected and an instantly sobering experience. I had driven, slowly, through the wood and as I broke through the tree line and into the open field something very disturbing began to happen.
As I inched forward in the Landrover I could see lights ahead of me. Not vehicle lights but something else entirely.
There were two lights at more or less ground level about thirty yards apart and matching them and way above them was another set of lights. The four lights were white, extremely bright and were clearly attempting to signal me. The ground level lights were rhythmically flashing on and off as I drove forward toward them.
I tried returning the signal with full beam and dipped headlights and in response the on off light pattern of the craft, as I now assumed it was, speeded up. I cut my lights completely and stopped dead. Clearly, the alien lights had been a warning not to approach because as I sat there with the engine idling the ground level pattern slowed down and then remained constant.
To test the warning theory. To see if the light sequence initiated as I approached, I slipped into first gear and drove, lights off, towards the craft at speed. The alien light sequence initiated and accelerated and my engine cut. Completely. Zero power. This was serious now, seriously alien and abduction by balloon headed silver suited beings with giant eyes and the probing of my nether regions seemed an immediate probability.
Terrified, I opened the driver’s door to make a run for it and promptly fell into a lake.
And understood.
The ‘lake’ was a flash flood that had only appeared in the field
that evening. The alien spacecraft
light display was actually the two porch lights of the houses ahead of
me reflecting in the water. The bottom set flashed on and off
because of the bow wave created by the Landrover washing back and
forth across the surface of the pool.
The engine? The engine cut out because the exhaust was under the water and had stalled the engine.
By eight in the morning all of the neighbours were aware of the
Landrover in the middle of the field in the middle of a lake. By
nine a small and appreciative crowd had gathered to watch me attempt
to tow it out and proceed to get the second Landrover stuck. How I
laughed.
Anyone with fond visions of cosy thatched
cottages with ancient chimneys curling wisps of wood smoke and chaps
with caps heartily greeting fellow sundowners over frothing ale will
be mildly disappointed.
There is no well endowed wench behind the bar
nor huddle of bubbling conversation with oldest friends. The spindly
spinsters patching patchwork quilts and the apple-red faced farmers
have long since passed away along with the young families and local
ties and tied cottages.
This is New England and Little London has long
since enveloped the village.
But there is still news