The village of Pluckley south east of London, Great Britain, is brimming with ghosts. In a country with numerous hauntings, this place is even more significant. And its reputation is not made out of rumors and innuendo, but of the numerous, verifiable stories told by the townspeople. In this place, sightings are not a rare occurrence.


The Highwayman


   The Traveler has been wandering for ages. Heís wandering still.
   A lot has been/is said about the Highwayman. Viewpoints, opinions are abundant. He robbed rich carriages traveling the road at Night. He did. And he didnít share it with the poor. But he did rob the rich. Robbing them of their riches, of their peace of mind. Theyíll never feel safe, as long as he Lives. And the legend is still growing, as it has done since the first road.
   He's known by many names...


   Torches are lit. The smoke from its fires are burning eyes, burning skin. One Highwayman is captured. A group of men, jubilant and fearful are taking him to the wilderness, to the crossroads, to be his judge, jury and executioner.
   The short, intense, brutal walk, stop by Fright Corner. By sheer coincidence? By Fate? Two men are holding his beaten, bloody form steady, pushing his back to the tree. Others are rushing in with sticks and poles. The metal of swords are flashing in the hot light from the fires. The first charge, unbelievable enough, misses its mark, almost hitting one of the men holding the Highwayman. Then itís starting. One sharp pole, one sharp stick, is penetrating the prisonerís skin, slightly below the heart. Shouts of rage and fear are filling the night air, as the man is killed by stabbings too many to be counted. It goes on and on, until itís nothing left of the body of the Highwayman, but gutted remains. A sword is sticking him to the tree. Heís standing there, as if alive.
   The men are leaving, one by one, muttering to themselves, hurrying back to their homes, to a perceived safety.
   Next morning by their return, everything is gone. The body, even the clothes and the blood.
   - Itís what we wanted to happen, isnít it, a hoarse voice is sounding.- The animals got him.
   They waited. Without being able to move, without being able to think. And then they saw it, they saw themselves... and they saw the remains rise, to become a body once more, and walk away. And they saw themselves remain, never to leave.
   Every Night, they, and their descendants, can watch their deed repeating itself.
   His executioners, his murderers, failed in one very important respect.
   His legend continued to grow after his death. Itís growing still.




This is one set of pages, on this website, dealing with different themes of the Paranormal.


The Human Spirit Still Alive Extended SITE MAP
(All links)

First uploaded 2000-02-29
69.Night, in the year of no lord, in one year of the Abyss, 12055.
A day that doesn't exist, an embarassment to the modern world.
400 years are past, since it last saw the light of day.
It doesn't exist, and is thereby gaining importance
A day of Magick...

Ongoing Transformation and Metamorphosis started.
FIRST WAVE: 2000-12-02, 346. Night 12055 by the end of the year of The Abyss.

SECOND WAVE: 2001-05-25, 155. Night 12056 in the first year in the time of the Twilight Storm.


Web Counter is used on this page.


   You could say, of course, that it's just one more coup of the christian/civilized stupidity, and I most certainly agree. But that's just the point, isn't it? Circumstances make it special... ;) It's often thus.