Seaton Delaval Hall

A signficant return to Seaton Delaval Hall. I dreamt about it only a few nights ago, when I drove past with my wife and daughter on our return to Whitley Bay. It's time to take note when a location recurs so soon. The haunted hall, much like it used to do in real life, offered the rooms out to guests for the night, so they could enjoy a spooky experience. As we were still holidaying in Whitley Bay, we decided to visit the hall to see what it was like inside. There were only two rooms available to stay in, both in the central building, on the top floor.

The main room, and the one in which most people stayed, was an expansive loft, with rough wooden floorboards and splintery beams. Guests were expected to bring their own tents to the unfurbished space, which would typically be set up in the middle of the floor. This attic was pitch black, lit only by whatever light the campers brought with them, in this case, a small paraffin lamp. There were no windows, yet around the circumference of the loft, the floor ended, falling away into blackness. And black it was readers, blacker than anything I had ever experienced in dreams or the waking world. A malevolent presence hung about the place, and it was said that many a visitor experienced terrors beyond their wildest imaginings.

The loft was reputed to be the site where the White Lady had originally comitted suicide, after discovering that her baby was dead, throwing herself from a window, which had since been boarded up. Part of me knew I was dreaming, so, beckoned by the irresistable darkness where the floor fell away to meet the sloping roof, I threw myself into the void. My reasoning was that I would die and respawn. But panic filled me as I fell, into the soft, musty darkness. Down, down I went, into the fabric of the house, inside the walls, irretrievable and choking, sinking into the ashes and dust and fouling tar. It was a horrible situation, and an awful way to go, as my wife and daughter waited above. 

I inhaled mouthfuls of the noxious blackness, filling my lungs and hoping for a swift death. I've never died in a dream before, but this time I did. My death was so traumatic, my unconscious brain dragged me out, back to the loft. I did not experience relief, but rather fear that my daughter might accidentally fall in next and experience similar suffering. Her small body would never be found, not even if the entire hall were to be demolished, so deep and claustrophobic were those shadowy recesses. It was like the out-of-bounds, liminal sections in video games, uncoded and inaccessible. A Nutty Putty hell.

We left the horrific loft to check out the other room available to guests. This one was a proper room, with a double bed, curtains, and some furniture. It was a small room, designed for less adventurous couples who wanted a more comfortable stay. There was a large round window with spokes, such as might be found in a clocktower. Despite the admittance of light, and the domestic comforts, the close proximity to the loft exuded enough evil energy that we had no desire to spend the night or remain a moment longer. I told Li how terrifying it must be to stay in those quarters. On the way out, I wrapped myself in an old fashioned night dress and pretended to scare our daughter as the White Lady.