S04 Episode 19: A View from a Hill (RERUN)

a little thin on the ground. The tale of the so called Cooneen Ghost House in Ireland just so happens to be considered one of the most compelling haunted house stories of all time. This is Unexplained, Season four, episode nineteen, A View from a Hill. Any regular listeners of this show will have gathered that Unexplained is rather fond of

a good old haunted house story. Such stories often have the magical ability to conjure a sense of unique and specific places, while at the same time leave us feeling as though the hauntings are in fact occurring wherever we happen to be, as if the story itself were the portal through which distant, ghoulish specters can seep into our lives.

The story of the Coonian Ghost House of Ireland is just one such tale, a strange and troubling thing, owing mostly to the fact that, despite it often being regarded as one of the most compelling supposed true life hauntings, there is so little on record with which to support

this claim. Much like the apparent ghost or spirit at the heart of it, the story is a slippery and amorphous one, seemingly rooted in real time tangible things, but existing mostly as fable told and retold over the years, passed from one generation to the next, never quite keeping still,

the facts, never quite staying fixed. What we do know is the Murphy family, the owners of the home at the time and apparent focus of the phenomena, were very much real, appearing in a census recorded in nineteen eleven. The house too, very much existed and in fact still stands in the County of fer Manor, located today just

to the north of the border in northern Ireland. That we have anything of record about it at all is due largely to the work of Sir Sean Leslie, a writer with many broad and varied interests and avid chaser of supposed true life ghost stories, born John Randolph in eighteen eighty five, the sun of wealthy socialite Leone Jerome and aristocrat John Leslie, the second Shawn Lesley grew up within the palatial walls of the family stately home, Castle Leslie,

in County Monaghan, just twenty miles to the east of Coonyon. The castle is said by many to itself be haunted, though it isn't known whether Leslie, who changed his name to the Irish shorn out of affection for his homeland, ever experienced this himself. Though Leslie credits his time at the English boarding school Eton College with fostering his fascination in the possibility of ghosts and the paranormal, it wasn't until his time at Cambridge University that his passion for

the ghost story was truly cemented. There he was introduced to Provost Montague Road's James, otherwise known by his pen name m R James, considered by many to be the finest purveyor of ghost stories that ever lived. It is, ever, from his own fictional writings that Leslie was greatly influenced by the prolific m R James. However, it was potentially real accounts of ghosts that Leslie was most interested in.

Having spent much of his life collecting and recording as many accounts of true life hauntings he could find, Leslie would eventually collate those he felt especially compelling in his nineteen fifty six publication Sean Leslie's Ghost Book. It is there that Leslie presents what he describes as the last word on the famous series of phenomena known as the Coonian Ghost, from which much of the following story is taken.

When Leslie asked m R James shortly before he died what he really thought on the subject of ghosts, he is said to have replied, depend upon it. Some of these things are so, but we do not know the rules. You're listening to unexplained, And I'm Richard MacLean Smith. The small brick farmhouse stood silhouetted and still in the night, a black monolith under moonlight, perched up high on the hill.

To observe this quiet scene from a distance is to participate in the grand illusion of permanence, or the world seeming for a moment like a grand tableaux fixed in time. Should we gaze on this house a little while longer, however, it would not be long before our illusion was punctured by the distant core of a disgruntled crow, or the haunting screech of a fox in the undergrowth, or by the movement of a thin mist steadily creeping toward it

from out of the valley below. In fact, should we stare long enough, we would see that even the stars above that seemed so fixed in the sky in a state of constant shift. Inside the house, a small fire cracked and crackled in the hearth. As Bridget Murphy and her oldest daughter Anne slept under the soft flickering light

of the flames. Next door, in the bedroom to their right, eighteen year old Mary, fourteen year old Bridget, nine year old Catherine, and the youngest, five year old Jane Anne slept soundly together in their bed, while twenty three year old James had the fortune of a bed to himself

at the other end of the house. It had been only a matter of months since eight had become seven, after Michael Murphy, the father and Bridget's husband, had been violently upended from his cart and fallen head first onto a rock, killing him instantly. That night, with the fire having all but gone out, Bridget awoke suddenly in the dark, alerted to what sound like something moving about in the

attic above. Although the room, which could only be accessed from a stone stairwell outside, was being used as a makeshift barn, she knew only too well that it was currently unoccupied. Hearing the sound again, with Anne fast asleep beside her, Bridget made a quick check of the bedrooms, but found all her children accounted for, having just returned

to the central room. A tremendous thud rang out from behind her, followed by the startled screams of her four daughters as they bolted from their bed, with James joining them moments later, Bridget urged him to investigate upstairs, as the rest of the family huddled by the hearth. The sound of footsteps could be heard above. As James inspected

the attic, finding nothing inside but bales of straw. No sooner had he returned downstairs, a violent bang echoed through the house, Then another and another, each one louder than the next. Make it stop, cried Catherine, as Bridget gathered her in her arms, and they all looked anxiously toward each other. When finally the banging stopped. It would be a few nights later, when young Jane Anne woke up screaming, having felt the bed move across the room, and that

something had been pressing down on her from above. Over the next few weeks, the terrifying sounds continued, always beginning late at night in the children's bedroom or from the makeshift barn above, but not once did they see any sign of a culprit. Confused and scared, Bridget sought the counsel of her friends and neighbours, inviting them round to

hear it for themselves. Together, they sat huddled in the center room as the colossal bangs echoed through the walls and rattled the windows, or that strange foot dragging sound lurched from one side of the ceiling to the other, And soon the rumours began to circulate. One neighbour had heard that the Sherry family, the previous owners of the house, had only stayed one night before hurriedly leaving for reasons unknown. The property had remained unoccupied for six months before it

was sold. Others told of a man that had hung himself in one of the bedrooms many years before. By now convinced that something outther worldly was taking place, Bridget turned to their local priest, Father Smith, for help. Smith arrived at the house late one night, keen to make an assessment for himself before deciding what could be done. To find the family in a state of deep distress. Asking for them all to gather in the central room, Smith solemnly made his way around the house before being

led upstairs by James to inspect the barn. Returning back down, Smith requested permission to stay the night. As the family slept, He took a seat by the fire and waited. And then it came. It was like the sound of straw being rustled from the room above, followed by a tremendous thud. As the others ran screaming from their beds. The sound only intensified until it was as if a horse was kicking at the walls. Without thinking, Smith gathered them together

and hastily recited Mass. As the family held hands and clutched each other tightly. Smith's forthright voice rose over their quiet whimperings, and slowly the sickening noise began to dissipate until it stopped altogether. As Smith related his findings back to the church, a different set of rumors were beginning

to circulate in the nearby towns. When the girls attended their crochet lessons, others in the class would move away from them, pointing and whispering from a distance that the family had the black Art and had used it deliberately to invite a demon into their home. Others rejected the nonsense entirely, believing instead that the family were just making the whole thing up. Having spoken to Father Smith, the regional bishop instructed local reverend Eugene Coyne from nearby McGuire's

Bridge to get a second opinion. Since Smith's visit, the disturbances had steadily intensified and were already in full swing when Coin arrived late one autumn night, with an anxious Bridget hurriedly showing him into the children's bedroom. Coin looked on aghast at the terror on the faces of the girls lying down on their bed as a series of

bangs rattled out around them. Turning to two men in the room who had also come to help, Coin told them to take hold of the children's arms and legs to make sure they weren't the source of the disturbances at the next break in the bangs, while being careful not to hurt the children. The men did as they

were told and held them down. Satisfied they were sufficiently restrained, Coin took a seat at the end of the bed, but almost as soon as he'd sat down, the thumping started again, continuing for ten minutes until the other two men leapt suddenly from the bed, crying out in horror.

Something had pushed them off, they cried. Having felt nothing himself, Coin resisted the urge to move, but just moments later, with his eyes firmly on the children, there came the most peculiar sensation at his back, as if something else in the room had drawn right up to him, And then the bangs started again. Just then a Collie, the family farm dog, wandered into the room, giving Coin an idea. Picking the dog up, he placed it under the bed.

Whatever is there, he said, I ask you, if you have the power to do it, push the dog back out. A deafening cacophony of bangs engulfed the room like nothing they'd heard before, sending the dog leaping and yapping from out of the bed in a fit of terror, before scurrying out of the room altogether. As Father Coyne later explained to Bridget, Though he regretted to be the bearer of such disturbing news. There was no doubt in his mind that they were sharing their home with something malicious

and most likely diabolical. In the following days, fathers Coin and Smith continued to visit the house, often together, as they attempted to bring comfort to the family, but also with talk of performing a possible exorcism, it was vital for them to get a better understanding of what they were dealing with. On each occasion, after the children had been put to bed, the knocking would start up, sometimes instantly,

but other times a good hour later. One night, with the children fast asleep and the house completely silent save for the sound at the fire in the heart, Coin requested to hear more about the strange noises that seemed to emanate from the attic room. As father Smith stayed with bridget by the fire, James lit a candle and led Coin into the second bedroom, the gentle light of the candle pushing the shadows away as they went. The room was sizeable, with blinds pulled down over both its windows,

and in the corner a bed covered with a white quilt. Together, they stood for a moment and listened, their faces bathed in the orange light of the candle as the rest of the room was shrouded in darkness. There, said James, suddenly, pointing to the ceiling. Do you hear it? Coin strained to listen. It was barely perceptible at first, as if a small animal were burrowing into straw, yet it was clearly moving from one side of the room to the other.

Asking James to stay put, Coyn took another candle and slowly made his way out of the house and up the stone steps to the attic door. Pushing it open, Coyn peered into the darkness, lit his candle and stepped inside. As he stood in the silent room, pushing the shadows back with the candlelight, he saw nothing but bundles of straw. Moments later, Coyn returned to the bedroom, where once again he could hear that peculiar sound coming from the room above.

Having asked James to repeat the test, this time, Coyn stood below as James went upstairs to investigate, with the priest carefully listening out. Despite clearly hearing James enter the room, not once did the other noise desist. As soon as James joined Coyn back downstairs, something even more peculiar occurred, as both men would later go on to a test. It felt as if something had rushed down from above, shooting past them like a gust of wind, straight down

into the floor. Unnerved, Coyn ordered James to lift up the blinds, and in an instant the room was bathed in the hazy light of dawn. Then, turning to look back into the room, James gasped in horror, Pointing a finger toward the bed. Coyne slowly turned around. The quilt was moving softly, billowing about as if being blown by the wind. Coyn stepped forward and brushed his hand over it, and felt for a moment as if a barrel of

eels were squirming about underneath it. Stepping back, he watched with alarm as the amorphous sheet seemed gradually to fix into shape, outlining what appeared to be some kind of figure lying underneath at the point where a chest might be. Coin watched with amusement as the quilt began to rise and fall, as if that chest were heaving up and down, struggling to breathe, And then suddenly the entire quilt began undulating violently, as if whatever was under it were in

the final throes of death. Wasting no more time, Father Coin broke immediately into mass, directing it toward that shape, as a steady din of what sounded like a hideous gurgling flooded the room, as if something were dying right in front of them. All the while he kept on spitting out the words with ever increasing intensity, as the bed began to rock back and forth, lifting the legs inches from the ground. And then, as quick as it had begun, the quilt dropped down and the mayhem ceased.

As were traveled far and wide at the apparent hauntings in the Murphy's home, more and more people requested to come and observe it for themselves. One evening, a well known horse dealer arrived at the house to see what

all the fuss was about. Sitting next to his driver as they approached on his pony and trap, there was no doubt some apprehension as they caught sight of that small stone house perched high up on the hill before them, its windows like eyes flickering ominously with the candlelight from within. All was quiet as the driver brought them to a stop outside. James, who'd been expecting them, greeted the horse dealer before showing him inside, while the i was instructed

to wait alone under the moonlight. It was some time later, as the driver blew into his hands to keep them warm, that he noticed the silhouette of a figure walking toward him from out of the distant dark. The driver watched it as it drew closer and closer, until eventually it passed him by and disappeared into the night. It was strange, he thought, since there were some distance from the nearest

neighbor or village for that matter. Thinking nothing more of it, the driver had just turned his attention back to keeping warm when he caught sight of another figure approaching from out of the same direction as the one before, only for them to again pass straight by without a word and then vanish. Grabbing a torchlight, the driver held it out behind him and squinted into the dark, but saw nothing.

Turning back, he jumped at the sight of yet another figure emerging from out of the distance, again from the same place as the other two. Calling out, the driver demanded to know their business, but got nothing in response, as all the while the figure drew nearer and nearer walked past the cart and vanished back into the night. Just then, a heavy gust of wind swept across the hill, blowing out the driver's light and throwing the pony into a frenzy neighing and stamping and raising up on two

feet before the driver could bring it under control. It was with some relief when his employer emerged moments later from out of the house and demanded to be taken back home, though both Father Smith and Coyne urged the church to grant permission to conduct an exorcism in the air, and it was decided not to take such drastic measures. Perhaps one of the most unusual incidences occurred shortly before

Father Coin was due to transfer to another parish. On one afternoon, while out visiting a sick neighbour of the Murphy's, Coin was passing the Murphy household when he decided to check in on the family. Little had changed since he last saw them, but on this occasion he had a holy pix with him containing the consecrated host wafers of bread, which are considered in Catholicism to be the body of

Jesus Christ. As more of an experiment than anything else, Coin entered the children's bedroom, and, holding the pix aloft, made the sign of the Cross with it. This moment was followed immediately with such loud bangs everyone else present through themselves to the ground in fear of what might

happen next. Panicking, Coin was then said to have placed the picks on the floor, at which point the sound seemed to travel through the wall down toward the small holy container, before dropping under the floor below it, moving deeper and deeper into the ground until it could no longer be heard. In the end. Unable to escape the strange phenomena, Bridget Murphy eventually decided to pack up and

move the family to America. Though it isn't known what happened to them after their arrival in America, or if they continued to be plagued by similar hauntings. Some have reported that passengers traveling on the same boat as them heard peculiar noises coming from the family's cabin late at night.

As for the clergyman that had spent so much time with the family, as Shawn Leslie noted, their involvement apparently was said to have led to two of them suffering spinal meningitis and facial paralysis, respectively, while a third suffered a complete nervous breakdown. Unexplained is an AV Club Productions podcast created by Richard McLain smith. All other elements of the podcast, including the music, are also produced by me

Richard mcclinsmith. Unexplained. The book and audiobook, with stories never before featured on the show, is now available to buy worldwide. You can purchase from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Waterstones and other bookstores. Please subscribe to and rate the show wherever you get your podcasts, and feel free to get in touch with any thoughts or ideas regarding the stories you've heard on the show. Perhaps you have an explanation of

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