Dronfield Digital Goes Ghostbusting!

Green Dragon, Dronfield

With Halloween, arguably the scariest night of the year (notwithstanding the X Factor final), right around the corner, we’ve rounded up Dronfield’s most haunted hotspots so you know where to avoid when you’re dressed as a dead slapper drunkenly roaming the streets. Unless, of course, you want to encounter a ghastly ghoul or spooky spectre, in which case allow us to guide you to the top three centres of supernatural activity.

#1 The Bowshaw / Chantry / Green Dragon

Ancient underground passages beneath The Green Dragon, The Bowshaw and The Chantry Hotel were used back in the olden days (1856-1912) to smuggle suitably inebriated prostitutes from the drinking establishments to the lodging house. Lady White (who, ironically, was of African descent and not much of a lady) was brutally murdered by the lesser-known of the Jack serial killers, Jack the Rimmer. She now spends her afterlife flitting between the three places, haunting promiscuous men in order, it is believed, to collect the deficit in payment as apparently murder costs more than a BJ in these nefarious circles.

#2 Cliffe Park

The world famous slide at Cliffe Park is the site of Dronfield’s own phantom hobo with a shotgun. In 1972, after a botched attempt to rob the post office, vagrant and former lovable rogue, Cedric Wesson, holed up at the top of the slide using it as a sniper’s nest in order to pick off the multitudes of pursuant policemen. Unfortunately for Cedric, the grim realisation that he only had a single remaining cartridge in his extremely-short-range sawn-off shotgun left him no option other than to turn the gun on himself. Even now the slide is a little stickier than it ought to be…

#3 The mini-roundabout at the bottom of Snape Hill

In 1986, a teenage girl, Maria, was struck dead by a runaway milk float at the junction where Snape Hill Lane meets Chesterfield Road. Following a particularly heavy session the previous evening, John Cravendale, the milkman, had forgotten to engage the parking brake correctly when dropping off six pints of gold top, a dozen large eggs and an eighth at The Contact Club. The junction had long been considered a death trap and was universally despised by Dronfield’s automotive citizens. Two decades of campaigning eventually saw the junction replaced with the mini-roundabout, though nowadays unlucky drivers can sometimes catch a glimpse of Maria standing in the middle of it. A pungent aroma of sour milk and the clinking of bottles often accompany these sightings.

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