The Uncanny Welsh Story

7 thoughts on “The Uncanny Welsh Story”

  1. Old houses have… visitors. Or just crack?
    My grandmother told a story that took place in Gwalior, where her father, my great-grandfather, worked for Scindia, the Maharadjah.
    He took ill. Was asleep in a bedroom upstairs, and the family was downstairs waiting through the evening.
    I can imagine someone pushing the panka (punka?) to ease the heat of the evening.
    All of a sudden, the wooden stairs to the bedrooms started to creak, one at a time. The dog got up, looking at one step after the other.
    When the last stair stopped creaking, the dog started howling to death.
    Everyone rushed upstairs. My great-grandfather was dead.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s