Skip to main content

W is for...

... Wallingford Ghost, George Inn--Teardrop Room

The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?
---Edgar Allan Poe

The Hermit

Okay, so letter "W" is hard. This really isn't so much a morbid/macabre story as it is a dark/sad story---but, quite a few people find dark/sad synonymous with morbid/macabre, so I'm taking poetic license...or whatever it's called.

The story of the Wallingford ghost is a sad one, like all ghost stories. At the George Inn in Wallingford, England there is a room colloquially known as the Teardrop Room. This 16th century coaching inn, still a functioning hotel today, has its share of ancient ghost tales surrounding the building. But, one in particular draws quite a bit of sympathy.

A few hotel guests staying in the Teardrop Room have reported waking in the middle of the night to find a very life-like young woman with tears streaming down her face. The only movement the "ghost" makes is to turn and disappear into the wall.

The tale goes that an Innkeeper's daughter lost her lover/fiance to a murderous group. The girl became so distraught that her family was forced to lock her in her room to keep her safe. Behind her locked bedroom door, it is purported that the poor girl went mad with her grief and mixed her own tears with soot from the fireplace---using the mixture to decorate the wall of her room in the only shape she was able to bring forth---methodically and compulsively placed...teardrops.

Small portion of Teardrop Wall preserved


  1. That was a sad one. You're stumping everyone at The Write Game today. You were my mystery blogger for Y!

    1. Ha! I've never been a mystery blogger before :-)
      And, yes, the story of the teardrop room is definitely a tragic one...


Post a Comment

Share your thoughts!

Popular posts from this blog

Y is for Yeth Hound.....

Yeth Hound--- one of the incarnations of the "Black Dog" myth, this one located specifically, in Devon, England.

"Black Dogs" appear in myths across the world, most are associated with death and bad omens... i.e. Hell Hounds.

The Yeth Hound is said to be the spirit of an unbaptised child that takes the form of a headless black dog. The Hound wanders the woods at night making pitiful wailing sounds (though, I'm unclear as to how it makes wailing sounds without having a head).

The Black Dogs were possibly one inspiration from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's ghost dog in The Hound of the Baskervilles-- "an enormous coal-black hound, but not such a hound as mortal eyes have ever seen."

Heed Not, the Lonesome Cry
Heed not, the lonesome cry, the baleful wail echoing through the woods. Seek not, the black hound's sigh, look not where the headless creature stood.
One sound, your limbs will shake, your heart filled with the deepest dread. One glimpse, your sou…

I is for...

... Iron Maiden

The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins? ---Edgar Allan Poe

---and not the English heavy metal band from East London...

Day 2 in the realm of morbid/macabre torture devices finds us back in the Middle Ages (there was definitely a fashionable trend of imaginative torture devices during this time). Though, the Middle Ages isn't really when we should be turning our attention when we discuss the Iron Maiden. In fact, there has been some debate as to the exact appearance of this monstrous creation.

It's probably easiest to relocate such a torturous thing back to a time when it seemed everyone was as skilled at exacting a confession as they were at creating the tools to exact those confessions. It's easier to blame ancestors from several hundred years ago than to accept that anyone of civilized disposition would be capable of doing such horrible things with such terrif…

Scottish Festival and a bit of poetry...

The 38th annual Arkansas Scottish Festival was held at Lyon College in Batesville, Arkansas on April 7th - April 9th. This was the first time I'd ever attended. I'm sad to say I didn't even know the festival existed until last year. On Saturday, April 8th, a group of friends and I made the several-hour trek, determined to enjoy everything we could.
The weather was glorious, all bright, bonnie sunlight and mild temperatures. Seemed mother nature approved of the festivities. The campus was appropriately kitted out, and nearly everyone in attendance was properly *ahem* kilted out. 
Bagpipes playing, we ate meat pies--- well, mine was a 5-cheese mac & cheese pie--- watched clans parade their colors, got sunburned (darn our fair, Celtic skin), and wanted the day to last forever.
There were a host of competitions, everything from Scottish/Irish dance-offs, sheep dog trials, Tartan races, a Celtic poetry competition, piping and drum trials, even a bonniest knees competition (…