Snow falls steadily on the town of Beccles. All is still. All is silent. The town is blanketed in silence, blanketed in snow. The faint glisten of light from closed windows does little to illuminate anything, much like ships stranded in the sea during a typhoon.
What year it is, it does not matter. Years come and go; they’re all the same. They all have the same dates, the same times, the same days. No year is different than the other. They all come every year, much like Christmas.
Much like it.
It’s silent too, like the snow. You’ll never hear it, never know it’s there unless you were looking for it. Unless you already know it exists. Or perhaps you just glanced out the window for no discernible reason, maybe to watch the snowfall. Maybe to see a perched owl or wandering doe.
Who knows what wander on the grounds of Roos Hall outside of Beccles. Especially at night. Especially on Christmas Eve. Especially in the silent snow. Who knows what wanders in the silence? You certainly don’t. Not unless you knew. Not unless you were looking for it.
Are you looking for it? Do you see it?
It’s coming.
It’s coming to Roos Hall. Roos Hall with its towering, red form. Roos Hall with its many windows. Many windows to look out of. Many windows to see.
To see it.
It’s coming.
Black hooves stamp and thump on cobblestones, drawing nearing to Roos Hall with each clop. They’re large. Powerful. Black. And silent. Completely silent. Quieter than the snow. How many are there? It’s so hard to know. Two? Four? They almost don’t seem real, with their black forms, thundering through the snow without a sound, getting closer to Roos Hall.
Behind them, they are pulling a carriage. Large. Black. And silent. It rocks left and right, wheels turning, almost splintering from the velocity.
A whip cracks but makes no sound above the horses, demanding them to trudge faster. A man is wielding the whip. No, not a man. A shape representing a man. But not a man. A man formless and black like the horses and carriage. Just as formless. Just as black. Just as silent. Though one thing is clear.
The man has no head.
And it’s getting closer.
It’s coming.
No one knows who and no one knows why, but there is a headless horseman that haunts the grounds of Roos Hall.
He only appears once a year on Christmas Eve, plowing through the manor’s driveway on a horse-drawn carriage. Always silent in his journey. And when he reaches the end at the entrance of the manor, he and the carriage disappear.
It’s a sight that would surely give Saint Nick a run for his money – if you were to believe in that sort of thing, of course.
It certainly is a mystery for the ages, but that ultimately means little on these grounds. The estate is full of mysteries and ghosts.
On the grounds itself, you have, of course, the headless horseman of Christmas.
Alternative tellings of this haunting say that the carriage actually stops at the entrance of the manor, and a beautiful woman steps out. They say that if you were to look into her eyes, you’d be driven into madness or killed instantly.
How unfortunate to have all those windows.
An interesting landmark of Roos Hall is a large and looming oak tree surrounded by old fencing.
It is believed that a gibbet used to hang where the tree now stands. A gibbet is a small cage that a prison would be kept in, hardly with any room to move a finger. They would be left to die by the elements, either blistering suns or freezing winds. More often than not, they were left for the birds to feast on. This form of imprisonment, torture, and execution hasn’t been used in more than two centuries.
It’s believed that this gibbet has sentenced hundreds to their agonizing ends, and when the tree was planted and reached a mature age, it was used for hangings.
Stories tell that sometimes at night, a woman in white can be seen near the oak tree, circling it. If she is a spirit of one of the hundreds who have died, her name and life are probably lost to time.
Her legacy now is the tree, circling it for eternity. As her past, there is no way to know why she encircles the tree. Some believe that it is a ritual of sorts, that she encircles the tree six times in an attempt to summon the Devil.
It sounds preposterous.
But it may be true.
Inside the manor, you have the apparition of a young girl, whose face can be seen at times from one of the first-floor windows. Like the horseman, no one who this could have possibly been in another life. Most likely the daughter to one of the former owners, which only asks the question: how did she die?
Another fascinating paranormal caveat is that somewhere inside the manor, you will find a hoofprint, which is said to be the hoofprint of the Devil himself.
Perhaps the woman and white did summon the Devil after all, and he has marked this place for some unknown sinister reason.
It would explain the mysteries surrounding Roos Hall. But the question is why? Why leave your mark on a home built in the 16th century? Another mystery that is left unanswered.
Unless?
Perhaps it would be best to close your windows this Christmas; who knows what could be lurking in the dark of night.
In the silence.
Where it is.
It’s coming.