At thirty three years old, Tony Cornell was by no means the most senior member of the Cambridge University Society for Psychical Research, but he was certainly one of the more proactive and always on the lookout for a new site to investigate. Like most members of CUSPR, he was a proud rationalist with little time for superstition or spiritual nonsense, whose interest in supposed paranormal and supernatural events began from
a thoroughly skeptical point of view. He did, however, maintain a healthy fascination with the strange due to a peculiar event he experienced ten years previously. As a young naval officer during the Second World War, Tony was stationed in southern India, close to the Nilgiri Mountains, where he became enthralled by stories at the local fakir, holy men and women without any possessions or relations, who were believed to
possess mystical powers. It was said that a fakir could perform miracles, with many people traveling for miles to seek their wisdom and guidance. Although thoroughly dubious, Tony was nonetheless intrigued enough to try and find the man with the hope of witnessing these so called miracles for himself. Tony trekked for hours through rolling, tree capped hills and across
treacherous paths flanked by steep, jagged cliffs. At about six thousand feet above sea level, he came across an old man in simple clothes, standing at the end of a small plateau, as if he had been waiting for Tony to to the side of the plateau, lay a steep drop into a gully with a stream gushing through it without acknowledging the young navy officer, the fakir asked what it was that Tony wanted. Erm I hear you can perform miracles, replied a startled Tony. You're too materialistic, said
the old man. But I'll give you what you want. There was a pause as the fakir thought for a moment. Tony smiled awkwardly, suddenly self conscious at the clash of cultures. Look towards those hills, my son, the fakir said. Finally, those hills, said Tony, pointing towards some prominent peaks in the east. The fakir gestured yes with a gentle nod of the head. And Tony turned back to inspect them. Do you see, asked the fakir. A look of confusion
came over Tony's face. He scratched his head and turned back to the man. I'm sorry, I don't, but the man wasn't there. Well, my son, shouted the fakir from the far side of the stream. Did that entertain you? Tony stood for a moment, trying to fathom how a seventy year old man could have dropped into the gully and raced to the other side at the fast flowing waters in only a matter of seconds. Smiling to himself, he watched as the fakir slowly picked his way along
the rocky bank before disappearing into the bush. You're listening to unexplained, and I'm Richard McLean Smith. The Society of Psycho Research, of which Tony's CUSPR group was an affiliate, was established in eighteen eighty two, largely in response to a peculiar craze that was gripping the nation. It had its origins in a small wooden house in the tiny
hamlet of Hydesville, New York. It was there that, in eighteen forty eight, two sisters, Kate and Margaret Fox claimed to have made contact with the spirit of a dead man who communicated with them through a series of knocks and bangs. In other words, they'd allegedly made contact with a poltergeist, and in doing so had inadvertently created a
movement that would come to be known as spiritualism. As news of the Fox sisters incredible claims spread through the UK, it wasn't long before everybody from scullery staff to Queen Victoria were conducting seances in an attempt to communicate with the dead. As the movement grew in popularity throughout the world, so too did the stories of strange paranormal happenings that
seemed suddenly to be breaking out everywhere. For those caught up in the scientific fervor of the Enlightenment age, the emergence of such stories was a horrifying repast to the increasingly rationalist and atheistic principles catalyzing academia at the time. Although many in the scientific community dismissed paranormal claims out of hand, a small number of academics, led by Henry and Eleanor Sedgwick, William Barrett and Edmund Gurney, among others,
took a different tack. They decided instead to quote approach the varied problems without prejudice or prepossession of any kind, in the same spirit of exact and unimpassioned inquiry which has enabled science to solve so many problems once not less obscure nor less hotly debated. And so the spr was born, the world's first ghostbusters. The Cambridge branch of
the society was founded in nineteen o six. It existed mostly as an organization for like minded people to get together and share stories regarding the latest papers and theories they'd read. But sometimes, if they were lucky, the chance for something more hands on would crop up, like that which Tony Cornell brought to the group one evening in
November nineteen fifty seven. The curious case had presented itself a few days earlier, when a young journalist based out at Wisbeach, some forty miles north of Cambridge, had contacted him at the beginning of October. Anthony Wilmot, who worked for the Wisbeach Advertiser, had overheard a conversation about some mysterious goings on at an old manor house known as Hanneth Hall, situated out in the floodlands or fends close to where he lived. The house, he would later discover,
had been plagued by apparent hauntings for years. Wilmot didn't care much for silly ghost stories, but after learning one of the current tenants was local labor politician Derek Page, he couldn't resist following up on the story. Anthony Wilmot arranged to interview Derek Page and his wife, Audrey, as well as Audrey's mother Rose, at the house. He arrived with his tongue firmly in cheek, only to find the
family in a genuine state of distress. For the next hour, he was treated to a variety of extraordinary tales outlining all the strange events they'd experienced at the house since arriving from Cheshire two months previously. In fact, they'd only been there a matter of days, Audrey explained when she was awoken in the early hours of the morning by the sound of a very clear and insistent tapping that
seemed to be coming from just outside her bedroom. Thinking she'd imagined it, she turned to go back to sleep, only for it to start up again, this time a little louder. She sat up immediately Knowing it couldn't have been Derek since he stayed in another town during the week for fur work, she assumed it was one of the children, or perhaps her mother, who slept in the bedroom opposite Yes, Audrey whispered out in the dark. Hello, Knock,
came the reply. Audrey hurriedly switched on the bedside light. Hello, She asked again, but still there was no reply. Collecting herself, she stepped out of bed and made her way cautiously towards the door. With a trembling hand, she took hold of the handle. She eased the door open a fraction and peered through the gap into the darkness of the corridor beyond. There was nobody there. Ever, since that night, the family had heard similar knocks and taps throughout the house.
Audrey was certain that on a separate occasion, she heard footst steps descending the stairs with a clearly defined shifting of weight from one foot to another. She was alone in the house at the time. A few weeks later, Audrey's mother Rose woke up after feeling a violent jolt against her bed. Not long after, despite being partially deaf, she was woken in the middle of the night by an inexplicably loud, crashing sound coming from just outside the door.
It was as if the door itself were being smashed in. Unlike Rose and Audrey, Derek Page hadn't heard these noises himself, and joked that it was probably just old Tories who used to own the house turning in their graves at the thought of him living there. He did recount one rather strange story of his own, however, Not long after they'd moved in, his mother traveled down from Manchester to
stay with the family for a few weeks. After a couple of nights sleeping in the spare bedroom, she began to experience a recurring set of bizarre and terrifying nightmares. A couple of times she found herself floating out of her body and looking down at herself as she slept. As she stared down, she had the very vivid sense that something profoundly malignant was trying to pull her away, and that if she didn't return to her body, she
would never wake up. Other times, she dreamt that she was trapped under the legs of a horse as it kicked violently at her face. After less than a week, having also started to hear the noises, she made a heady retreat back to Manchester. Audrey and Rose told the young journalist that the knocking sounds had grown worse over the last few weeks, and that increasingly they seemed to be coming from one room located at the north end
of the first floor. The family figured the room was once a bedroom owing to its size, but since it had never been rigged up to the mains, they were currently using it for storage and rarely went inside it. After leaving Hanneth Hall that afternoon, journalist Anthony Wilmot decided to do some further digging of his own, and that, as he explained to Tony Cornell over the phone a few weeks later, was when things started to get really interesting.
The house, as he discovered, was built sometime in the sixteenth century and was thought originally to have belonged to a Richard Sparrow, earning it the nickname Sparrow's Nest. Over the years, it passed through a number of owners, gaining its current name after being purchased by a Joseph Hanneth in eighteen twelve. The house was sold again to George Williams in eighteen ninety nine, who elected to keep the
name Hannath Hall. Wilmot got in touch with the building's current owner, Hugh Williams, George's grandson, to find out more. Much to his surprise, Hugh and his family, who'd lived in the house for forty years before renting it out to Audrey and Derek, were more than familiar with the spooky goings on there. Hugh went on to describe an incident a few years earlier involving his brother Peter. While staying alone in the house, he had apparently witnessed a
door handle turning of its own accord. Another time, Hugh's nieces suffered via nightmares whilst sleeping in the now disused room at the far end of the property. They'd also apparently woken up one night to find a pair of blood stained hands floating in the room with them. That wouldn't be the bedroom on the north side with it by any chance, Wilmot had asked, Oh, you mean the
haunted bedroom, replied Hugh. As it turned out, Hugh Williams's family had taken to calling the north end bedroom the haunted bedroom on account of a morbid story they'd heard about one of the previous owners long before the house was wired for electricity. The so called haunted room was in fact the master bedroom. As the story went, it was in this room that the wife of former owner Joseph Hanneth, who brought the property from his father in
eighteen twelve, had died young. Her death left Joseph so bereft he couldn't bear to release the body for burial, so he decided instead to have it interred in an open coffin, which he kept at the end of his bed. For six weeks and increasingly unhinged, Joseph continued to order his servants to bring his wife three meals a day
while her body steadily putrefied. Eventually, with the stench becoming unbearable, Joseph was brought to his senses just long enough to take the body into the front garden, where he was said to have buried it under a large horse chestnut tree.
As Wilmot explained to Tony over the phone, because his article about the house had been well received, and with Halloween drawing near, he asked Derrick Audrey if he could spend a night in the house and write about it, since the couple were eager to prove they weren't making anything up, they invited Wilmot to stay, and so on the thirty first of October, Wilmot arrived again at Hanneth Hall, this time with a senior colleague from the paper and
a friend who lived locally, along with his pet labrador, Simba. Later that night, as the Devil's Hour approached and with Audrey Rose and the children fast asleep, derreck Page, Wilmot and his colleague took up positions on the landing, while Wilmot's friend and Simba kept watch in the old master bedroom. Despite some initial nervous joshing, it hadn't taken long for a pervasive eeriness to descend. Then from somewhere in the house, a clock struck twelve, and Simber began to whimper mournfully.
A noise was hurt coming from inside a spare bedroom off to the side, but not one of the men at the courage to investigate it. A moment later, they all sensed a significant drop in temperature, followed by the smell of sandal wood that seemed to be sweeping back and forth along the corridor. Although little else occurred that evening, whether it had been the charge of the occasion or
merely the atmosphere of the evocative old building. When the men finally called it a night at two thirty a m. It was with the distinct impression that they had experienced something. It was a few days later, unable to shake the weight of the evening from his mind, that Wilmot decided to get in touch with the Society of Psychical Research. It's just after eight pm on the evening of seventeenth November nineteen fifty seven, with only the barer sliver of
a waning moon in the sky. Tony Cornell and fellow CUSPR members Alan Gould, David Murray and Michael Brotherton assemble briefly outside Tony's apartment before getting into his car and heading out towards Wisbeach. With Cambridge's university towers and spires receding behind them, they soon slip out beyond the city's edge and into the darkness of the East Anglian countryside.
They made their way north along winding country roads. As their eyes adjusted to the dark, a wide menagerie of stars began to emerge above, while ahead, the rich black earth and shimmering waterways of the Fens were approaching. It has just gone ten pm when the team eventually arrive at the pretty market town of Wisbeach, located on the banks of the River Nen. The town, known as the Capital of the Fence, is a rare static fixture in
an otherwise ever changing landscape. Four hundred years ago, the region was a mass of treacherous peaty swamps and quicksilver surfaces, a perilous place for unsuspecting travelers foolish enough to go chasing the many willow wisps that regularly danced across its transitory plains. They may appear tamed for now, but the Fens remain a border country, where the firm and fluid mingle of histories washed from the land, and an ever
shifting reminder of the illusion of solidity. Turning into the town center, the team spot the short and bespectacled Anthony Wilmot. He's waiting for them outside the Rose and Crown Pub, along with two friends he's unexpectedly brought along for the evening. The appearance of the two men, who introduce themselves as mister Trumpets and mister Perryman, immediately raises Alan Gull's suspicions. Concerned that they might be under instruction from the journalist
to guarantee some strange goings on later. We should keep an eye on them, he warns the others as they drive off again. The group continue in convoy behind Wilmot's car. It's not long before they're back among the fields and waterways, staring out at the edge of fendland flats that seem to merge with the night. When the temperature takes a sudden plunge. The men watch with concern as a thick fog starts to sweep across the fields, until finally it
has all but engulfed the cars. Tony works hard at the wheel to keep Wilmot's rear lights in view as Alan struggles to locate their position on the map. After another ten minutes or so, Tony catches Wilmot making a sharp left turn, which, according to Alan, as them heading in the direction of the small hamlet of Tide Saint Mary. With Wilmot's car now having disappeared into the fog, they have little option but to continue straight along the road. After half a mile or so, the fog finally begins
to clear, revealing the journalist. Wilmot's car parked up ahead at the entrance to a driveway, and in a space some fifty yards beyond, obscured by darkness and a dense row of tall trees, they can just make out the imposing presence of Hanneth Hall. As Tony turns into the drive moving through the line of trees, the large red
brick pile looms out of the darkness. There is something of the dark fairy tale about the five bedroom Elizabethan manor, flanked by two prominent gable roofs and shrouded by trees that seem unusually tall for these parts, Its stately symmetry oddly offset by the peculiar placement of the building central windows. That all the windows appear so small for such a large facade, and with only one presently lit from within, does little to dispel the ominous air of the building's
brooding visage. Seeing the place now up close, how its lines have warped and buckled with age, and how thirstily the creeping vines of Ivy seem to be claiming it for their own. It feels as much a natural part of the landscape as any surrounding birch or alder. As the men exit their car, making sure to remember their note books. They are struck by the stillness. A strained animal cry from the dark of the field opposite breaks the silence. Impressive, isn't it, says Wilmot as he walks
round to the front. Come on, I'll introduce you. With Derek and Audrey out at the cinema and the children tucked up in bed. Audrey's mother, Rose steps out to welcome the men. She invited them to come inside and take a seat in the living room, a comparatively small space at the front of the house. Rose disappears to make teas and coffees. As the men take seats around the table, with a warm fire licking and crackling at the back of the room, Wilmot takes the opportunity to
recount the details of his last visit. It isn't long before talk turns to the haunted bedroom. Yes, that's where I hear it coming from two, says Rose as she brings the drinks into the room, barely audible above the growing chatter of the men. What was that, asks Tony as Rose quietly takes a seat beside him at the table. The dreadful knockings, she replies, bringing a sudden hush to the room. Have you heard them recently, missus Hall's asks Allan as they all move in closer to listen. Oh, yes,
I heard them, only two hours ago, she replies. At that moment, the sound of the opening front door is followed by the entrance of Derek and Audrey. They apologized for their lateness and quickly set about introducing themselves to Tony and the rest of the group. A short time after returning home, Audrey leads everyone on a tour of the house, first to the large washroom at the north end,
then back to the living room. She points out the pantry and the kitchen as they go, before taking them through to an impressive dining room at the back of the southern end, and on into the equally impressive lounge at the front. They continue up the red carpeted stairs and onto the landing. It was on these stairs Audrey explanes that she'd heard the sound of footsteps not long after they moved in. The landing is illuminated with a single bulb, which flickers weakly as it struggles to keep
the shadows at bay. Along the walls are a number of antique military artifacts that have belonged to the Williams family for generations. Continuing the tour, Audrey points out her mother's bedroom at the back, followed by the present day master bedroom where she and Derek sleep directly opposite. Moving quietly over the thickly carpeted hall, past the antique swords and flint locks, Audrey stops the men outside the children's
room and gives the door a gentle push. Inside are the two small bodies of her three year old son and five year old daughter, lying sound asleep in their beds. Moving on again, then just past the children's room to the right is the spare bedroom where Derek's mother experienced her unsettling dreams. And then finally they come to the large disused room at the northern end, the haunted bedroom, says Wilmot from the back. Let's call this bedroom a
shall we? Says Alan? Eager to keep things professional, may I asks Tony, looking to Audrey, Please, but remember there's no light, so you'll need to switch on your torches. Tony eases the door open, and, assisted by Alan and Michael's torchlight, leads the group inside. Moving the beams of light around, they spot a number of packing cases stacked up against the inside left corner, with further piles of
books and chairs placed up on top of them. Three chairs and a dressing table are lined up against the back, and in the far left corner, pieces of a dismantled brass bed lean against the wall. A few other bits and pieces are dotted about, including two mattresses on the floor lying end to end under the front window. As Anthony Wilmot explains, they were placed there on his last visit to the house, when he and his friends had
kept their late night vigil. Alan and Tony agree it will be useful to keep them as they are for sitting on later. Next Derek leads the group outside to make a quick inspection of the exterior, but they find nothing of note. Once back inside, the group synchronized their watches then while Alan makes his way upstairs to keep an eye out for any strange happenings above, Tony, David, and Michael gather everyone else into the living room to begin the next stage of their investigation of good old
fashioned seance. You've been listening to Unexplained Season seven, episode twenty, The Haunting of Hannath Hall, Part one, The second and final part, will be released next Friday, May third. This episode was written by Richard McLain smith Unexplained as an Avy Club Productions podcast created by Richard McClain Smith. All other elements of the podcast, including the music, are also
produced by me Richard McLain Smith. 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 oh 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 your own you'd like to share.
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