History & Haunting of: Windhouse,Yell ,Shetland Isles, Scotland , U.K Yell is one of the North Isles of Shetland, Scotland.Yell has been inhabited since the Neolithic times, and a dozen broch sites have been identified from the pre-Norse period. Norse rule lasted from the 9th to 14th centuries until Scottish control was asserted. There are various folk tales and modern literary references to island life. By: Doctor > was built in 1707 on the site of an old graveyard and over the years there have been a number of ghostly sightings. The one spectre mentioned in particular is a servant girl who walks up the shattered stairs and disappears, although how she died is currently a mystery. The last family to live in Windhouse left in the 1920s and it has not been inhabited since. It is confirmed that a number of previous tenants of the house have found human remains under floorboards and in the walls. When I stepped through the gaping maw of this ancient building, I did not see any ghosts… but definitely sensed something of the macabre. Windhouse has many stories of haunting. Built, I have been told, on an old Celtic burial ground this is not an ideal site for a happy home! Read all stories of Windhouse here > ghostweather/essays/windhouse.html Inside Windhouse, Yell: the most haunted house in Shetland VIDEO > https://youtube/watch?v=5oQBMH10p38 I have never really been a great believer in ghosts and always taken other people’s experiences with a pinch of salt, however after the experience at Windhouse, my attitude has changed somewhat … The Mystery Of Windhouse It was Thursday 4th July 2002 and while America was celebrating 226 years of independence from England, I was on my summer holidays with an old school mate having a whale of a time on the Shetland Islands, filming a private documentary. That morning we had sailed over to Yell, the second most northerly-populated British island, as part of our quest to reach the most northern tip of Great Britain. There is very little for the tourist to see on Yell and this website is not here to promote holiday tours, but one thing of interest we saw on the ordnance survey map that damp morning was the ruin of Windhouse and according to the Lonely Planet book I had invested in, the old place was apparently haunted and by now curiosity had got the better of us. After driving up the western side of the island, we turned left and headed up a dirt track that ascended the short hill, which terminated at a rickety wooden gate. Beyond the fence were overgrown tracks that lead to the reputedly haunted ruins of Windhouse. There it squatted like a spider, high on the hill, looking down on the road far below. Collecting the camera equipment we braved the elements and began the climb to Windhouse, the house on haunted hill. Windhouse was built in 1707 on the site of an old graveyard. There have apparently been a number of ghostly sightings over the years. The one spectre mentioned in particular is a servant girl who walks up the shattered stairs and disappears, although how she died is a mystery. The last family to live in Windhouse left in the 1920s and it has not been inhabited since. It is confirmed that a number of previous tenants of the house have found human remains under floorboards and in the walls, but the cause of death however is unknown and I postulated that there could have been a great plague, a massacre or perhaps a local witch-hunt for the camera as we climbed up the track to the most haunted house on the island. When we reached the summit, a barbed wire fence surrounding the house barred any further progress, attempting to keep people out for reasons of safety one would hope, but looking back now it is not just the danger of a dilapidated building people have to contend with. Blinking the heavy drizzle from my eyes I regarded the old building ominously, as it had the classic style seen in many Hammer Horror films. We soon made short work of the barrier and climbed over it taking care not snag our jackets on the sharp twines. Our feet were by now soaking wet due to the rain and the tall grass that hampered our way. Making our way through the old gateway of the crumbling perimeter wall of Windhouse we could see the windows were completely empty, some of the roof had fallen in and there was no door beneath the old coat of arms displayed above the porch, the map had been quite right to describe it as a ‘ruin’ and desperate to get out of the grey drizzle, we pushed on, up the overgrown path and stepped over the threshold, through the gaping maw and into the darkness within. Inside Windhouse we were instantly met with decay and my mate already had the camera rolling. A section of the roof had fallen in directly above us as we made our way into the hall. Green rotting timbers were stacked on the floor, for all the world as if someone was having a bonfire when the rain went away. What disturbed me was not the precarious timbers above, but the bones beneath my feet. Some of the floorboards had rotted away to reveal a shallow grave. Inside laid a plethora of skeleton remains. I recognised tibias, fibulas, femurs, metatarsals… but I acknowledged at the same time that these were not human bones (I was fairly confident of this). They could only have been animal, perhaps relating to a nearby farm. The shattered staircase led up from these remains, only to end halfway up the wall. This was the spot that the apparition of a servant girl was said to have been seen ascending to the upper floors. I tried to imagine where the stairs would lead and let my imagination steer my eyes… it was at this point that two grown Yorkshire men received their first fright. High in the rafters above us was the biggest nest we have ever seen. It was no ordinary nest however; it was not a petty assembly of twigs one would see in a tree. The thing above us was six feet in diameter and made out of bone. I let lose a few choice expletives trying to imagine what creature could create a structure as the one that we both were witnessing. There was no occupier and I shudder to think what menagerie the tenant would have come from. We made our way through a doorway to the right to get away from the monstrosity above to find another room littered with what had once been the upper floor. Across from us we could make out an old fireplace and patches in the walls where the human remains were found. I was beginning to feel disturbed with what we were encountering at Windhouse. Green mould covered every wooden surface and it was at this point I was beginning to feel the presence of something ‘evil’. Why had human remains been discovered walled up in the rooms and under the floorboards? Why were there so many bones littered about the place? What happened to make the place inhabitable during the 1920s? Images of some sick predecessor to Fred West automatically came to mind. We received a second shock when we saw the skeleton underneath the fallen timbers, beneath our feet. The rib cage was sharply jutting skyward and for a moment my friend and I were speechless. It was only when some wool was identifiable at the edges of the corpse that we realised a sheep must have stumbled into the building at a time when the upper floor had chosen to cave in. I have stepped into many disused Scottish buildings on my travels and each one has had the characteristic of been subject to a drug related party. One can find used condoms, tissues, beer cans, needles and many other symbols of teenage rebellion. Windhouse on the other hand had none of these characteristics, which surprised me at first, until realisation began to dawn. It was clear no right-minded anarchist bothered coming here, even though it was perfect for ‘private parties’ and I was beginning to realise that perhaps this time we had overstepped our bolshevist streaks. The ‘evil presence’ was now beginning to suffocate us and as a non-believer I was beginning to see the light. My body felt the pressure building around me as if something was trying to burrow into my head and I suddenly felt some kind of mental implosion and one thing was suddenly clear – we had to get out of there. Quickly exiting the ruin, we stepped out into a wet mist. My friend chose to venture round the perimeter of the house, just to capture some last minute footage for our video, I watched him go, still numb from the internal shocks. As he disappeared around one of the corners I heard a bizarre hacking cry somewhere in the mist, as if the builder of the skeletal nest were mocking us. Watching back the footage from the video we shot, my mate captured more ruined walls and roofless enclosures that were also part of Windhouse. The bit that always makes the viewer jump is when he goes around a corner and finds another skeleton on the ground, beneath a collapsed wall. Again, this was another unlucky sheep. The place is definitely cursed. If you were to analyse the emotion of fear what you would tend to find is that what really scares people is the unknown. We regrouped at the front of Windhouse and then backed away from the abomination, back to the barbed wire fencing. It was then I suddenly felt foolish for doubting people who claimed they saw ghosts, in fact now was the time I wanted to cry ‘I believe you! Please tell me what the hell happened here, because I know it will haunt me for the rest of my life, unless I know!’ But I did nothing of the kind and nothing in return was ever explained to me. We walked back to the car, leaving behind Windhouse and its disturbing secrets. The holiday had suddenly taken a lugubrious edge and the presence inside Windhouse still haunts me today. After carrying out vigorous research, no truth has come to light as to what really happened in Windhouse and why it has such a foreboding presence inside it. Perhaps a medium of some kind could help, or a team of paranormal investigators could undertake a study behind the mystery of Windhouse before time plays its cruel trick and disseminates the building piece by piece. As for my friend and I, we climbed back into the car and moved on, unconsciously taking a sliver of Windhouse with us, forever. By Doctor ghosts-uk.net/ Pre mid-Eighteenth century, Christmas Eve A shipwrecked sailor made his way to Windhouse on Christmas Eve, only to find the family in the process of leaving. They explained to the sailor that every Christmas Eve, terrible things would happen, and a death would normally occur. The sailor offered to spend the night in the house, and sure enough, after sunset, the sailor encountered a huge Trow. The sailor grabbed an axe and gave chase, catching up with the creature outside and giving it a whack (or two). When the family returned home, the sailor took them to the spot, where the body had vanished, leaving only bright green holly. Photo 1 by crazedalamo panoramio/photo/38821805 Approaching Windhouse, Mid Yell, Shetland Islands Photo 2 by s643.photobucket/user/walbag/media/shetland041.jpg.html Photo 3 by shetlandlive- Photo 4 by crazedalamo panoramio/photo/37333640
Posted on: Sat, 08 Nov 2014 19:22:12 +0000
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