In eighteen ninety eight, a story was published in London's Belgravia magazine titled A House of Horrors. Written by author Andrew Merry. It told the tale of one Captain Kenneth Gordon and his terrifying stay at Kilman Castle in Ireland, the home of his cousin Betty O'Connell and her husband Morris.
The story was later expanded on and republished in The Occult Review in December nineteen o eight, after which it was discovered that author Andrew Merry was in fact a woman called Mildred Derby, who herself lived in a castle in Ireland, not Kilman Castle but let Castle in County Offy.
Derby had been forced to use a pseudonym partly because being thought of as a man was considered by publishers to be more appealing to readers, but also because her husband was embarrassed by her ghostly writings, worried that people
might start thinking his home was truly haunted. Mildred, who many believed was the real Betty O'Connell as depicted in her story, later claimed that not only was Lep Castle wanted, but that it was quite possibly the most haunted castle in all of Ireland, and everything she depicted in her story about it was completely true. You're listening to Unexplained,
and I'm Richard McClain Smith. It was early in November eighteen ninety seven, and the captain, recently returned to England from India, had traveled to Ireland to spend the weekend with his cousin, Mildred Derby and her husband Jonathan. The temperature had dropped considerably since he'd boarded in Dublin, causing his breath to billow out in large clouds. He watched it for a moment as it danced and swirled in the air before dissipating under the soft orange light of
the station's single gas lamp. He took receipt of the last of his bags from the attendant, then stood back as the man slammed the carriage door shut and with a quick, sharp blow of his whistle, signaled for the
driver to leave. The whistles piercing shrill hung in the air as the wheels began to creak and roll, while thick plumes of gray smoke trailed up into the sky and the train hissed and chugged out at the station left alone in the ensuing silence, The captain looked about hopefully for any sign of greeting party, but saw only a few stone buildings dotted about in the fading light.
While surrounding him on all sides, endless rolling fields stretched out to each horizon, their hedgerows and trees steadily turning darker under the purple and violet sky. About a mile away, a copse perched on a hilltop was gradually being consumed by a thick fog rolling in from the east, while somewhere in the distance a fox screeched. A short, pale faced man dressed in black and wearing a gray woolen cap appeared suddenly on the platform and promptly set about
gathering the captain's bags. It was the Darby's porter who'd been sent out to collect him. After grabbing the last of the captain's things, the porter led him out of the station to where a horse and a carriage was waiting. The captain took his seat in the back while the porter stowed away the bags, then jumped up into the driver's seat. Then, as the distant fog drew ever closer, the porter gave a flick of the reins, and the
carriage slowly moved off. It was almost dark by the time they arrived at the castle entrance, though still light enough to discern its grandstone archway and battlement topped walls, and the endless tendrils of ivy that clung greedily to
its surface. Beyond that, however, with the fog having by then completely settled in around them, little else could be seen until a few minutes later, further up the drive, the captain caught sight of two faint, ghostly yellow lights materializing from out of the mist, like the eyes of some vast vespertin creature, and then the castle's looming silhouette began to take shape around them, like something out of
a dark fairy tale. It was comprised of a central rectangular keep, complete with arrow slits and more battlements that extended three stories high. Two grand wings to its north and south had been built onto it in a slightly more Gothic style, while a further building known as the
Priest's House was also connected to its northern side. No sooner had the carriage stopped, the castle's heavy oak doors were flung open to reveal the captain's cousin Mildred, or Milly as she was known to her friends, surrounded by numerous dogs that spilled out onto the driveway and pattered eagerly about her feet. The thirty year old Milly, still as slight and willowy as the captain remembered her through her arms open wide, and bade him aloud welcome to
her home. Ever since she and her husband Jonathan, first moved there ten years before, she'd been trying to convince her cousin to visit, and was plainly overjoyed that he'd finally made it. After some brief pleasantries, Mildred led the captain into the high ceilinged entrance hall. He took a
moment to take it all in. Regal black and white tiles lined the floor, while either side of them, on the walls, an endless stretch of portraits had been hung depicting members of the Derby family, stretching all the way back to the sixteenth century. It was then that Milly's husband, Jonathan's ancestor, John Derby of Leicester, an ardent participant of the English colonialization of Ireland under Queen Elizabeth I, was first linked with the castle, having once been the home
of the Irish O'Carroll clan. It was captured and recaptured a number of times over the next hundred odd years. In sixteen forty one, as the English Crown attempted to strengthen its grip on the island, an army led by a young Oliver Cromwell captured Lep Castle again for the English. The building and its land was then taken from its Irish owners and handed to the Derby family for their services to Queen Elizabeth under the newly established laws of
the Invading Power. It had remained the Derby's property ever since, and in the late eighteen eighties, by virtue of nothing other than the fortune of birth and family lineage, it passed into the possession of Milly's husband. Having retired to the main hall to drink coffees and whiskey, the captain regaled Milly and Jonathan with stories of as many escapades in exotic, far off lands. As the house staff silently
tended to the fire and topped up their glasses. It had just gone eleven thirty when a strange, mournful cry was heard. It came from the couple's sizable dear hound that was sleeping in the corridor. As Jonathan explained wearily, it happened the same time every night for some unknown reason, before turning to his wife and baiting her playfully about how she was convinced that ghosts were to blame. The Captain couldn't help but laugh at the ludicrous suggestion, but
Milly was undeterred. That had been all manner of strange occurrences since they'd moved in, she insisted, from the unusual cries heard coming from vacant rooms at night to the constant sound of footsteps padding along the empty corridors. She didn't mind it, though, she said. As Jonathan rolled his eyes, it was all nonsense, he said, clearly the house staff had been playing tricks on her. Later, with Millie already retired to bed, the Captain shared a final nightcap with Jonathan.
Then together they made their way up the wide oak staircase, with Jonathan leading the way, oil lamp in hand as he pushed back the shadows. Moving through into a wide gallery, they continued on to a door at the bottom of it, behind which was a short, narrow corridor that led directly to the Captain's room. Jonathan wished his guest a pleasant night, then retreated to his own quarters at the far end
of the castle. The room was oddly elongated, but homely enough, complete with the double bed and a small dressing table on which a wash basin full of recently heated water had been placed, and at the far end a lit fire was busily heating the room. After washing his face, the captain changed quickly into his nightclothes. Then, after lighting a candle, he blew out the room single oil lamp
and laid the candle on his bedside table. Looking at the door and the key in its lock, he thought back on what Jonathan said about the staff playing tricks on Mildred, and decided it best he locked the door lest they be tempted to try anything on him. Then he hopped into bed and blew out the candle. No sooner had his head hit the pillow, however, he became aware of a wet, gurgling sound. It was coming from
under the bed. Hello, he said, suddenly, feeling a little exposed in the pitch black of the night, the captain hurriedly lit the candle and jumped out of the bed. Stepping nimbly to the fireplace, He grabbed a poker and swished it about in the space underneath the mattress. It connected with something lumpen and soft. It emitted a short yelp before scurrying out from underneath. It was now the
Darby's white Fox terrier. The captain cursed her as she trotted over to the fireplace and curled up in front of it. Not having the heart to throw her out, the captain returned the poker to its holder, then got back into bed and blew out the candle. It was some time later that the captain woke with a start in the frigid night air, with a seemingly terrified knell pouring manically at its chest. Throwing the dog to the floor, he scolded her for waking him, then turned wearily on
to his side and closed his eyes. Seconds later, the dog was up at him again, whimpering now and clawing at the sheets, desperate to get under them. Her legs were trembling. Grabbing the dog again, he threw her heavily to the floor, causing her to whimper and scurry off under the bed. Feeling suddenly guilty for the harsh treatment, the captain called out for nell in the dark to
come back to him, but the dog wouldn't move. Calling out again, he reached his hand down into the gap under the bed and held it out in a modest show of supplication. Having held it there for the best part of a minute to no avail, he was just about to draw it back when he felt a cold hand slip into it. The captain pulled back in terror and stared in disbelief at his hand. Then he heard the sound of something slumping to the floor at the
end of the bed. Hurriedly, lighting the candle once more, he jumped from the bed, relieved to find he was completely alone in the room. Then he looked down to check underneath the bed, only to find his view obscured by a sheet now dangling over the side of it. Taking a deep breath, he readied himself, then took hold of the sheet and with one hand, flung it back in one quick motion. There was no one there either, believing it must have been a trick of the mind.
It was only then that he became aware of what sounded like a voice, quickly repeating words over and over again from somewhere in the middle of the room. The dog shot out from under the bed and began clawing at the walls, startling him all over again. Then he saw the stain on the floor boards at the foot of the bed. Convinced it had not been there before,
he knelt down for a closer look. It was a dark burgundy in color and seemed to glisten under the candle light, and when he touched it, his finger tips came away wet and red. He looked up at the ceiling, but saw no sign that anything had leaked through it. He then checked the door, both relieved and perturbed to find it was still locked, just as before. Confused, he washed his hands in the basin. Then, after satisfying himself that he was truly alone, he returned once more to
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have no idea where it comes from. However, as she went on to explain, some staff had taken to calling that bedroom the murder room since one of the macaul brothers, who once owned the castle, was said to have been stabbed to death in there. Perhaps the events were linked, suggested Milly, but the captain, not quite yet willing to believe her tales of ghosts, could only smile politely in reply.
Later that day, Milly gave the captain a tour of the house, including a thorough account of all the additions they'd made to the original property, not least of all the north and south wings. During their construction. Many strange things had been pulled out at the mortar of the original walls, from human hair to shards of bone, and even the odd skull. To finish off, she took him to the highest room of all the castle's old chapel,
located on the third floor of the keep. It was here that they discovered the ubliette, she said, pointing to a large pit in the northeastern corner of the room, Taken from the French word meaning the place of forgetting. In English, a nubliet is a secret dungeon over which hapless victims would be made to stand before they realized what they were standing on was in fact a trap door.
When the door was released, the victim would then plunge to their death, either becoming impaled on spikes at the bottom of the pit or simply falling so heavily they would be unable to escape and eventually starved to death. They knew it had been a newbliette because three cart loads of bones had been found crushed into the floor of it. As Milly went on to explain, it was in the chapel that another of the McCarroll clan, who was a priest, decided to begin mass one afternoon before
his brother was in attendance. When the brother with whom the priest was fighting with the ownership of the castle, eventually arrived, he promptly stabbed the priest through the heart and left him bleed to death on the altar. Later that night, the Darbies and the Captain, having been joined by more friends of Mildred's and Jonathan's, gathered together in the main hall for a night of drinks and songs, and once again, at eleven thirty pm, they were interrupted
by the sound of their deerhound wailing. Bale flee outside in the corridor, having requested a different room for the evening. After retiring to bed for the night, the Captain found himself in a room adjacent to the chapel. Not thrilled at the prospect of sleeping alone, he brought Nell the terrier to join him once again. Having ushered her inside and locked the door behind him, he placed a rug by the fire and invited Nell to make herself comfortable.
After taking a seat in an armchair beside her, he set about composing a number of letters he'd been meaning to write for some time. A good hour had passed by with the Captain deep in thought, when he looked up to see the fire had almost entirely gone out. After throwing another block of peat onto the smoldering ashes, it was only then that he noticed Nell was no longer lying on the rug beside him. The Captain looked up and whistled for the dog to come back, but
heard nothing in reply. Getting up to investigate, he quickly spotted her wist firmly underneath a desk at the far end of the room. Though she resisted at first, he was eventually able to coax her out and brought her back to the fire, where she soon settled once again. Seconds later, however, she was up on her legs staring at the door with her ears pinned right back. Then the captain heard it too, like something was scratching at
the wood from the other side. By now thoroughly convinced it was the staff playing tricks on him after all, the captain decided to give them a taste of their own medicine. He grabbed his revolver, then marched straight up to the door and turned the key. Then, with the gun in his hand, he swiftly opened the door, only
to find nothing but the empty corridor beyond. With the light from his room being enough to illuminate the corridor or the way to the end, he could see also the door there was slightly ajar beyond which only the pitch black darkness of the gallery behind it could be seen. With his gun trained on that far door, he stood fixed to the spot as he stared into the blackness
of the gallery, waiting for any sign of movement. After a few more minutes of nothing, he took the lit candle from his bedside table and stepped out into the corridor. I know you're there, said the captain glumly, as he continued on his way, taking slow, short steps, being careful not to let the flame go out. Finally, he reached the door and pushed it wider, holding the candle in front of him to light the room behind, but that
room too was completely empty. Annoyed at having let himself get worked up for nothing, the captain turned and hurried back to his room, locking the door behind him, before returning to his chair by the fire, with now joining him. Soon after, he turned his attention back to the letters, but just as he was at to start another one, the most horrid, thunderous bang was hurt from the other
side of the door, startling him from his chair. After taking a moment to gather himself, he grabbed for the revolver once more and demanded to know who on earth was bothering him at this hour, but his demand was
met with only silence. Then the scratching started up again, the clear sound of something scraping at the wood, softly at first, then growing steadily in intensity, louder and louder, until having heard enough, the captain raced to the door, turned the key and flung it wide open, but once
again there was only the empty corridor beyond. The captain peered out for a few more seconds, then was just about to close the door when he caught the faint whiff of something put tried in the air, like warm meat that had been left out to rot, And from somewhere in the darkness beyond the door to the gallery came a strange, leaden shuffling sound. Again, the captain stood his ground, waiting expectantly for whoever it was, to show themselves.
That's it, he said, angrily, too, can play at this game. He slammed the door shut, but this time remained standing behind it with revolver in hand as he waited for the strange noises to begin again. Sure Enough, a short time later, the weird shuffling started up again, approaching from the far end of the corridor, now began to growl
by the fire. The captain turned to her, holding a finger to his lips, then, with the revolver ready in his other hand, back to the door as that eerie sound, as though someone were pulling their entire body along the floor with only their arms, drew ever nearer to the door. Closer and closer it came, until with one final drag,
whatever it was stopped right outside the door. Then the handle began to rattle violently, and the entire door began to shake in its frame, enough, said the captain, as he flung the door wide open and screamed with unbridled horror at the terrible sight of what stood before him.
As Mildred Darby herself described it, the thing, which was no more than three feet tall, was thin, gaunt, and shadowy, its face a little more than a vile replica of human, with large holes of blackness for eyes, loose slobbery lips, and a thick, saliva dripping jaw which sloped back into its neck. Where its nose ought to have been was nothing but a vast, cancerous cavity that had spread across its face, into which seemed to be continually expanding and contracting.
A coarse dark hair covered its head, neck, and body, while at the end of its upper limbs, bony, clawlike fingers scratched at the air. The captain stared into the black, cavernous eyes as the putrid stench of it flooded his nostrils, causing him to wretch and gag, and only then did he notice the transparency of its lower half, as if
it were caught somewhere between emerging and evaporating. In one swift movement, the creature leapt forward causing the captain to stumble back before he gathered himself and pointed his revolver at it, shooting repeatedly to no effect. The last thing he remembered was the thing flicking out a limb toward his head, and then everything went black. The next morning, he awoke as a doctor tended to a large gash on his temple, while Mildred and Jonathan looked on with
grave concern. When asked what on earth had happened, the captain struggled to piece it all together. Remembering now, he asked if she was okay. Milly, through a concerned glance at Jonathan, then looked back to the captain. The dog had sadly not survived the night. If you enjoy Unexplained and would like to help support us, you can now do so via Patreon. To receive access to add free episodes, just go to patron dot com forward slash Unexplained Pod
to sign up. Unexplained. The book and audiobook, featuring ten stories that have never before been covered on the show, is now available to buy worldwide. You can purchase through Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Waterstones, among other bookstores. All elements of Unexplained, including the show's music, are produced by me Richard McClain Smith. Please subscribe and rate the show wherever you listen to podcasts, and feel free to get in touch with any thoughts or ideas regarding the stories you've
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