Really Creepy Places.

Llanthony Priory was a bit of a pain to get to, I had to drive half an hour out of my way, down very narrow roads which cut through the forest with few passing places for cars coming the opposite direction. It sits half way up the Eastern spine of the Brecon Beacons National Park, so that you can see the Black Mountains just off to the West, and if you aren’t looking out for it, you can very easily miss the turning like I almost did. It sits atop a small hill surrounded by a gorgeous valley called the Vale of Ewyas with very little human activity so it’s quite isolated which really adds to its sense of peace and tranquility.  The priory was founded in 1100 by a Norman nobleman called William de Lacy and the former chaplain to Queen Matilda, Ersinius. Through the years it was home to Augustine monks until in 1538 when Henry the 8th disbanded the priory during the Dissolution of the Monasteries (during which time all Catholic monasteries, priories, convents and friaries in England, Wales and Ireland were disposed of their assets and dismissed by order of the King so that he could solidify his new branch of Christianity) and from that time the priory fell into disrepair and gradually crumbled.  While the priory is likely very creepy at night, as many old buildings seem to be, during the day (specifically early dusk when I visited) it is a beautiful structure which evokes real feelings of peace and tranquility. Thanks to it’s relative isolation, it means that not many people pass through, so you get a real feeling of peace and quiet and a true sense of what it was like to be one of the monks who once lived there. Coupled with the gorgeous vale in which it is nestled, the priory is a really lovely place.  However, there have actually been reports of hauntings at the priory. Some visitors have reported seeing the apparitions of monks walking through the ruins late at night, and a local paranormal investigation team reported recording EVP and seeing a cloaked grey figure in the courtyard. 

The Shadows where the Mewlips dwell Are dark and wet as ink, And slow and softly rings their bell, As in the slime you sink. You sink into the slime, who dare To knock upon their door, While down the grinning gargoyles stare And noisome waters pour. Beside the rotting river-strand The drooping willows weep, And gloomily the gorcrows stand Croaking in their sleep. Over the Merlock Mountains a long and weary way, In a mouldy valley where the trees are grey, By a dark pool's borders without wind or tide, Moonless and sunless, the Mewlips hide. The cellars where the Mewlips sit Are deep and dank and cold With single sickly candle lit; And there they count their gold. Their walls are wet, their ceilings drip; Their feet upon the floor Go softly with a squish-flap-flip, As they sidle to the door. They peep out slyly; through a crack Their feeling fingers creep, And when they've finished, in a sack Your bones they take to keep. Beyond the Merlock Mountains, a long and lonely road, Through the spider-shadows and the marsh of Tode, And through the wood of hanging trees and gallows-weed, You go to find the Mewlips - and the Mewlips feed. 

What began as a joke turned into the primary reason for driving 6 hours up to Yorkshire and into the seaside town of Whitby. Reading the reviews online, I was expecting a tacky, amusing, budget London Dungeons-esque experience, and I wasn’t disappointed. Squatting between a little cafe and a rock candy store, the front of the attraction, with its matte black walls and giant red chiller lettering, really stood out from the surrounding buildings of the Whitby promenade which ran along the River Esk, which surprised me because I wasn’t expecting much more than a single dodgy-looking black door with ‘Dracula Experience’ painted on it. So far so good. 

Stepping inside, I felt like I was inside an alternative clothing shop for those of the Gothic persuasion. The only thing out of place from the Rocky Horror Fan-tailored atmosphere were the two middle-aged guys hanging out behind the counter who wore company t-shirts and who, I thought, were probably also the owners of the place. While the older guy took the entrance fee (£6 for two - fucking bargain) and directed us to a tiny hallway to the side of the shop front, the younger guy disappeared while smirking shiftily to himself. Honestly to begin with it was creepier than I anticipated, it was pitch black so I couldn’t see a hand in front of my face and I was expecting any second to be confronted by a screaming blood coated maniquin all the creepier looking because of its bad quality. My girlfriend Lauren was freaking out as soon as we stepped into the dark and I fed from her fear, drawing the strength that I needed to protect my woman, laughing off and dismissing her trepidation in part to make myself feel better. I needn't have bothered, within moments the humour of the place returned and I enjoyed the various mannequins engineered to move towards you, and the limited sound effects, all in an attempt to get some cheap jumps from you. The place lacked any real sense of horror or dread, but what did I care, I was loving it. 

As we moved down one hallway, we heard the group ahead of us scream, and I braced myself for what horror lurked around the corner. I involuntarily jumped and yelled as a man leaped out from behind a corner wearing a plain white mask like the ones you get for £1 from the factory shop. In fact the only similarity to anything Dracula was the black cape he wore. I felt kinda cheated. After his cheap scare tactic, he ran down a small spiral staircase, cape billowing behind him, and I half expected to hear a villainous ‘muahaha’. The stairway was separated from us by a metal fence and, after looking over it, I saw that the stair led straight back into the shop front. I had a strong suspicion that our antagonist was the younger member of staff who disappeared through a side door as we entered the attraction. He must have just thrown on a mask and a cape and waited at the top of the staircase for his first customers. The grand finale came as we entered the last room where the expert lighting turned on and off, and changed repeatedly between blue and red. There in the middle of the room was Dracula, who mechanically rose and fell from within his polystyrene coffin. Terrifying. 

We left the attraction through a back door and found ourselves in dirty back alley behind the building, I felt like I had voluntarily thrown myself out of the place and it became apparent that it was akin to a factory conveyor belt: Customers fed through the front with their money, only to be spat out through the other end. Very Efficient.  As my eyes adjusted to the sun, my heart began to slow to a normal rhythm and I started to gather my wits and collect myself after my horrifying experience of pure and palpable terror. The Dracula Experience gave me a true encounter with the world of the supernatural. 10/10

Last week me and my girlfriend visited Whitby, the famous port city in Yorkshire to which, in 1885, the Russian schooner Demeter ran aground on a dark and stormy night. The crew were missing and the only body on board was the dead captain, lashed to the wheel, a crucifix clutched in his dead hand. The creature responsible had travelled as cargo, within one of 22 wooden boxes in the hold, sleeping during the day and emerging in the night to feed on the sailors who carried him to Whitby, where he would stalk the streets at night and inflict further misery upon the residents. Bram Stoker made Whitby famous around the world by writing Dracula, but while the story of the Count vacationing in Whitby is fiction, Bram Stoker did visit the seaside town in 1890 to find out if it was suitable for a family holiday. He was apparently smitten with the atmosphere of the town; the red roofs, Whitby Abbey, the church and cemetery and the bats which fly around the many churches, and decided to use it alongside Transylvania as the atmospheric backdrop to his novel. It is also where he likely found the name Dracula, after picking up a general history book at Whitby library:  William Wilkinson's 'An Account of the Principalities of Wallachia and Moldavia'. In all of Stoker’s papers, the only reference to the historical figure of Dracula is within this book.

The northern seaside town is little and quaint with lots of little shops and lovely quintessentially English buildings. Unfortunately we didn’t stay very long because it was incredibly cold and gusty, but we still managed to walk along the river and beach front and indulge in a couple of hot chocolates in a river front cafe, and a portion of classic English takeaway fish and chips in the car. (We are old souls). The town is nestled in a little valley flanked by cliffs through which the river runs into the sea, and you can really get a feel for what Stoker must have felt as he stared out at the sea and envisioned a ghost ship coming through the 18th century harbour breakwaters. The scene is completed by the impressive and spooky shell of the 13th century Whitby abbey which sits on the highest cliff overlooking the town.