Peak House Buxton Road

This Gothic Victorian house was built in 1891, just a few years before the construction of the Edwardian builds on Kennerley Road, formerly Kennerley Grave Road for some unexplained reason.

Anyway, Peak house was built beautiful proud and elevated overlooking the busy link between Manchester and Buxton with land at the rear which lent itself to an orchard.

At some point and presumably the initial purchaser of the house recorded in the 1911 census was a man named James C Arnold formerly of Hollingworth in the Peak district. A pharmaceutical chemist named his new purchase a fine property, Peak House.

Mary Elizabeth Arnold was his wife. He was so proud to have such a beauty and she loved him desperately and finally, after longing for a child for so long gave birth to a fine son. Harold Arnold, named as far as we know after his grandfather.

James was thriving in his business and had now expanded and taken lease of a pharmacy on Hillgate, Stockport, and so the story goes his apothecary became very popular within the town.

As his business expanded he became a pillar of society and he spent more time away from Peak house. As he was a member of a local masonic lodge and there, he was promoted to worshipful master. Some might say these secret societies were working with dark energies. We can’t say for sure.

As sure as his status as a fine chemist became known in the area, he was able to employ Edith Morris a maid for his wife, but even with all his knowledge, his wife’s health he could not seem to help. As her disposition was becoming weaker since the birth of her beautiful boy Harold.

Eager to keep her happy and with James’ affluence within the Davenport area, enabled him to employ a nurse to help his wife look after the child.

He suggested and medicated his wife with alcohol-based medicines to help her shattered nerves.

The nurse herself was childless and became devoted to the little boy, she cherished him and as her employers wife became more addicted to the medication her husband had recommended for her, the nurse became more protective over the boy and so the story was she had illusions of grandeur and treated Peak House as if it were her own.

So, the house wasn’t a particularly happy house for Mary. Her husband was a fine figure in the community and she was left feeling inadequate, her mental health deteriorating. One might say it may have been post-natal depression.

He was indifferent to her. A commodity, caring not if she was happy. He was pleased he could look after her and calm her nerves with the potions he had concocted. His son Harold lovingly looked after by the loyal nurse. His wife dependent upon his medication.

No one really knows what really happened and why the house stood empty from 1931 but there are rumours that Mary became mentally unstable and jealous of the nurse and tried to harm them both. I would be speculating if I claimed this to be the truth.

Peak house had fallen into serious disrepair as quite a few properties of this stature did after the second world war.

Ukrainians were brought over to the United Kingdom around the 1940’s and they formed their own community and Stockport became a hub for social activity and these families put their well earned savings into a pot and bought their very own club, the first being as far as I know at Turncroft lane, I imagine this would have been around the 1950’s.

It was 1968 the end of the swinging sixties and the Ukrainian community thought it would be a great idea to buy a bigger place, Peak House, a building that could be restored to its previous grandeur.

Ukrainians were from hard working backgrounds, money did not coming easy to them, smart and excellent barterers purchased Peak House. They were clever thinkers as many developed new trades. Plasterers, builders, electricians, painters and decorators, plumbers and roofers and so the hard work began.

Months later a decrepit Peak House was restored to its former glory and was put to good use as a social club.

A place the young men and women could gather, teach their young the language, the history, the traditions and the dancing, all helping them to keep the memories of their homeland alive.

Move forward to 2019, there had always been rumours that the top of the building the fourth floor was haunted. The builders and decorators had passed various stories down through the generations, it was said to be the nurse protecting the little boy but I wasn’t sure about all that kind of nonsense.

I organised a group meditation evening at the club, the members had been really accommodating and had suggested the room on the second floor, I call it the green room, a green carpet, a calm shade of green no other reason to call it by that adjective. I had rented this place for a reasonable price and I was delighted to start my new course there.

It was a late autumn evening; the sun had gone down and there was quite a chill in the air as I approached this grand Victorian building.

I arranged the chairs in a circle and switched on the small heater to keep the room warm for my guests.

The group arrived in dribs and drabs some later than others, through an entrance where traditional black and white tiles welcomed them in.

Climbing up the beautiful staircase there was a room to the left, now a youth area full of games wher the youngsters could gather. Up and around the banister to the second door on the left.

A room plush and filled with nostalgia, books, paintings and artefacts, a museum of Ukrainian ancestors. An atmosphere quite comfortable to that of the empty corridor.

Granted, when the club was filled with guests throwing parties or having Friday night drinks at the bar. Or concerts where the dancers could show off their talents or where singers filled the great hall with their voices, was an atmosphere quite pleasant and full of fun, However, in the quietness alone in the evening it was quite a different story.

I could not in my wildest dreams have foreseen the events that would unfold to me once the group had left.

I escorted my guests calm and spiritually enhanced down the large oak staircase back across the tiled floor and out through the heavy double doors.

I was to wait for the keyholder to arrive to secure the building and now quite alone I made my way to the warmth and comfort of the green room. The bar, the kitchen and the games room already locked up for the night.

This seemed a reasonable place to wait rather than sit on the stairway.

There was another level to this building as previously mentioned, the fourth floor. This was home to the beautiful vibrant costumes, bright red boots and elegant ribboned headdresses.

I sat back in the room and started going through my notes planning if there was anything I would change for next week’s group session.

I had no notion of what was about to unfold. A voice, female, barely a whisper sounded through the wall from the stairway. I could barely make it out. Now I know that the mind can sometimes play tricks on you, but it was female for sure, and I heard it again. Something quite chilling but I brushed it off with the thought that it was probably the cleaner as she also had a key.

With some trepidation I placed my ear against the door, I waited tensely for a few minutes to collect myself and with a sudden surge of courage, I dubiously opened the heavy door and cautiously ventured onto the landing.

I heard it again, this time louder now, a haunting voice, it was singing quietly, I could make out the words.

‘ …when she saw what she had done… this is a place with no one there.’

‘…no one there, no one there…this is a place with no one there…’

Repeating, haunting, singing in a flat monotone voice.

I should have turned and ran there and then. Strange how curiosity can get the better of you. Cautiously I made my way to the other stairwell, it had to be the cleaner, there was someone there for sure. Why I didn’t call out I can’t tell you. No one was visible from where the voice was coming from and despite a shiver shooting up my spine; as if in some kind of trance, I edged further on to the staircase and that’s when I saw it.

First, a dark shadow quickly moved from the top of the stairs, silence, the voice quiet now. To say it startled me is an understatement. My feet were glued to the spot, mesmerised and horrified as something resembling human form, hair draping around its face unnaturally crawled around on all fours and moved itself to sit on the top stair.

Such a look of despair and dread shrouded it. An intense fear took hold of me as that figure started kneeling, creeping and crouching around. A face thin and drawn an open mouth with a dark arid throat stared right back at me.

Death was looking me in the face and just as if the grim reaper himself was glaring down on my being. Spasms of fear ran through me.

A man’s voice bellowed from the ground floor. The key holder had arrived and as I glanced back, unpleasant to do so; a dark shadow quickly disappeared away from the top banister.

I hurried down the stairs with the fear of god in me, away from that unnatural and unnerving spectre.

A house with too many stories to tell. A house late at night, a house with no one there.

Julie Modla

https://www.audible.co.uk/search?searchAuthor=Julie+Modla

Fiction