#Paranormal Wednesday-Cottage of Butterfly Wings

Continuing with my flash fiction month... The photos this week are my own--I had the stories in my head when I took them. I took this particular photo in a cottage we stayed at in Cumbria, England. The cottage had been built in 1693 and I fell in love with it. As to the photo--I found the butterfly in a closed-up larder. Initially, I thought the butterfly was dead. My daughter poked at it and the poor thing flopped this way and that, seemingly lifeless. But for some reason (I'm actually afraid of butterflies) I felt compelled to keep checking on it. By the next day, it started to move and I opened the window and let it out. A strange miracle, I guess.

Cottage of Butterfly Wings

The butterfly lay dead on the window sill. The room had been closed up for some time. It had taken all her effort to open the door, and she was greeted with a small, empty space made of stone. A single, closed window overlooked the garden. The stone was cold under her hands and the dead butterfly lay upon it.

She had listened to the desperation in the woman's voice for the past hour. Forgotten but still present, the voice echoed throughout the cottage, sticking in the corners like residue. Flashes of the woman's life had come to her: once in the garden (it was bitterly cold that winter) once in the bedroom (her domain, choose the other room to sleep in) and the strongest one at the back door (Mary? Where are you, child? Mary!).  The strongest one bothered her the most.

The woman's ghostly presence had been persistent. It had lingered alongside of her as she moved from room to room. Do not disturb my things. This is my house, not yours. Once she reached the back door, the screaming would start again. Mary? Where are you, child? Mary!  The woman would forget her altogether, caught up in her own desperation.

The butterfly remained lifeless and she halfheartedly poked at it. She suspected the child had drowned, though there were no ponds or streams around that she knew of. The child had long, blonde hair. She liked to run and play in the sunshine. She was always laughing and getting into things. She wore a long, white dress and leather shoes. These thoughts came to her like heartbeats.

The space around her became silent. The woman wanted her to remember. Remember the child I lost.

She blew on the butterfly's wings and the insect began to stir.

#Paranormal Wednesday-Lowther Castle

This past May, I was fortunate enough to take a vacation to England to do some hiking and castle hopping. One place that stuck with me was the Lowther Castle & Gardens in Cumbria, England.

A preservation society is working at restoration, so we were unable to go inside the castle itself. However, they allowed us to roam the grounds, and since it was off-season, we were the only ones there.

pic 1

In one section towards the back woods--I was hit with a very uncomfortable feeling (pic one). I felt like I was being scrutinized by someone who was very agitated by my presence. I don't usually get spooked by things like that, but I checked over my shoulder more than once, because it felt like they were seething with anger.

pic 2

The feeling persisted as I continued into the woods (pic 2), and became more disjointed (for lack of a better term) until it finally stopped. I looked back and saw a scowling dark-haired man with a narrow face, standing by the structure in pic 3. He  was wearing a black three-piece suit from the 18th century. Nobody else saw him and yes--I know that sounds weird, but it is what it is. 

pic 3

I came away from the experience feeling like I'd trespassed; not only onto somebody's land, but into somebody's past.

This was one of many experiences I had in England, which isn't surprising. The country is steeped in history and abundant with historical places.


On a lark, I decided to Google Lowther Castle to see if anyone else who visited had the same experience. I was surprised by what I found. (I don't know why stuff like this surprises me, but it always does.) To sum it up: visitors have reported feeling ‘a horrible sensation’ at the Iris Garden and old garden shed in the woodlands. I looked further into history and found the following:

The castle is said to be haunted by Sir James Lowther, an eccentric member of the Lowther family. 'Wicked Jimmy,' as he was better known, had a thing for speed and used to whip his horses into a frenzy. In 1784, Sir James inherited the estate and entered into an arranged marriage. Unhappy in his relationship, he fell in love with the daughter of one of his tenant farmers. Because of her social standing however, she was kept as his mistress. Tragically, the girl fell ill and died. James became mentally unhinged and unable to accept her death. He kept her body in his bed, and dressed her daily. He even went so far as to seat her at the dinner table. When the stench of decay became too much to bear, he had her body moved to a nearby local hall. There, he placed her in a glass-lidded coffin where he could see and visit her. She was finally buried at Paddington Cemetery in London. Sir James returned to Lowther castle where he fell into a deep depression; a totally broken man.

So, what does this all mean in relation to my experience? Did I encounter 'Wicked Jimmy,' or someone else? I found a picture of Sir James and, in all honesty, the person I saw looked more like his employee, John Wordsworth. John died being owed almost £5,000 in earnings. He would have every right to be agitated and angry, much like the person I saw.  Regardless of which man I saw haunting the woods at Lowther Castle, it was an interesting experience.