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Historical Fiction Fiction

The brush strokes are indeed amazing capturing my attention and halting my progress down the hallway. The portrait is huge, truly an impressive feat of artistry. A regal gaze stares out of the canvas and I am captured by the familiar face and stance, who would not recognise Henry VIII? His fleshy features surround those piercing eyes. He’s not a nice man. Powerful, proud, arrogant, yes, but not nice, yet the portrait fascinates me.

With deep reluctance I move on from the painting to admire the next one. Our tour guide has drawn his flock of gawkers further down the gallery and around the corner. I can hear their voices, a harsh and dissonant bleating about art, spewing forth an encyclopaedic narrative of each era represented in the gallery. I’m glad to let them wander ahead. They have no respect for the history of the place. I, on the other hand, feel an almost sacred, reverent need to soak the energy of five-hundred years of human occupation. I am almost transported back to a time of courtiers filled with intrigue and political machinations.

Every room in this palace can tell a story. I am enraptured by the history, knowing that I walk in the footsteps of kings and queens, giants of history. It’s enough to make me feel very small.

I turn the corner to the long gallery and I shudder, shoving my hands firmly into my pockets. Its freezing today, the sun unable to push its head through the thick blanket of dark, stormy clouds. Fortunately the old building of Hampton Court Palace is well protected from the weather, and although it’s colder inside this section, it’s better than outside where the rain refuses to ease. A flash of lightening blazes through the window, accompanied almost immediately by thunder, causing the electric light illuminating the chandelier to flicker alarmingly, before it dies. A strangled gasp escapes my lips. I am left alone in dimly lit gallery, where the only illumination is from the large window, and in this weather it hardly throws any light at all.

My tour group must have exited the gallery at the other end, so I begin the trek along the carpeted corridor in the dark, disappointed not to be able to view all the beautiful artwork. I only take a single step, when I freeze completely. The temperature plummets around me with no apparent cause. A chill sizzles down my spine, hot and cold at the same time and I feel beads of perspiration form on my brow, even as I shiver.

A piercing wail reverberates through the corridor, a ghostly scream that chills the marrow in my bones. My heart pounds erratically, a desperate attempt to escape from the cage of my ribs. Its thunderous beats echo in my ears, almost drowning out the unearthly shriek that rings in the air, an echo that lingers ominously.

Everything seems to happen in slow motion, and a sense of fear envelops me, a feeling of being trapped within my own body unable to escape. From the shadows emerges a spectral figure, a woman draped in a long gown and hooded cloak. Her presence seems to bathe the dim gallery in an eerie glow, her aura casting no discernible shadow. She races wildly down the corridor towards me, but her feet make no sound on the cold floor. The terror etched on her wide-eyed face must mirror my own expression. I try to urge my body to run, to flee, but I am unable to move.

My mind is slow to process what my body instinctively knows— this woman is not real. Oh she’s real, I can see her, but I shouldn’t be able to see right through her. The woman stumbles to a breathless halt in front of a door not too far from where I stand in mute and frozen horror. She looks around urgently, before her white hand raps upon the wood of the door. I don’t hear the knock, but I hear the scream as she cries out in terror, and her whole body jerks backwards. She struggles with an unseen force that drags her back the way she has come, her feet desperately, kicking and stumbling. Her screams echo in the gallery as her head thrashes back and forth, arms flailing, and hands clawing, but to no avail. She is relentlessly drawn by an unseen force away from the door until, at the end of the gallery, still clawing at the void, she vanishes.

The horrid chill that surrounded me, dissipates, and in an instant I’m overheated, sweating and trembling as the world seems to spin. The air rushes back into my lungs in huge gasps and I’m suddenly able to move. Without hesitation, I turn and run back the way I came, not stopping until I reach the Great Watching Chamber. Surprisingly the electric lights set in the ancient wall sconces are still working here. The light is blinding after the dimness of the gallery and I stumble to a halt.

“You OK love? You’re as white as a sheet.” My eyes adjust to see a guide in the chamber with a group of tourists who had been admiring the gilded ceiling adorned with a myriad of coats of arms. As one the group turns to look at me with almost identical expressions of curiosity and disapproval.

“I…I…” I can hardly speak, my voice a trembling mess of inarticulate sounds.

“Have you lost your tour group?” Unable to form words, I nod and the tour guide smiles knowingly. “Ah, have you been in the Haunted Gallery then?”

“A woman… running,” I manage to stammer. “Didn’t you hear her scream?”

“Well aren’t you the lucky one. I believe you may have seen our resident ghost—or one of them at least. That would be Catherine Howard, Henry VIII’s fifth wife. Beheaded for adultery. It’s rumoured that she ran down that corridor to find Henry at prayer and beg for her life. However she never made it and was restrained before being forcibly returned to her chamber.”

My mouth is dry like a parched desert, so I lick my lips and swallow. I don’t feel lucky.

"I think I need to sit down.” History sounds so much better when it stays in its own time and place.

January 31, 2024 13:53

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24 comments

Chris Campbell
00:26 Feb 09, 2024

You left me wanting more (in a good way). A modern ghost story in a historic setting always creates chills. Well done, Michelle!

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Michelle Oliver
08:56 Feb 09, 2024

Thanks Chris. A bit of fun this week

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Kathryn Kahn
16:17 Feb 06, 2024

Ooooh! That scene of Catherine running toward the narrator and then being dragged away is so spooky! I love that you wrote fiction about an actual historical figure. I've been toying with the idea of combining my ancestry research with my fiction writing, and maybe you've inspired me to explore the idea. I always enjoy your stories, Michelle.

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Michelle Oliver
22:16 Feb 06, 2024

Thank you for reading. This is my second story about one of Henry’s wives. The first was ‘Shriven’. Do explore historical fiction, it’s lots of fun to write.

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Alexis Araneta
15:07 Feb 05, 2024

Well, I never expected Catherine Howard to be a character in a story for the Running Wild contest. Hahahaha ! Poor Catherine, though. Essentially sexually assaulted by powerful, older men from the age of 13, forced to marry a king who lusted after her, and executed in her teens because of rumours of adultery. Brilliant work !

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Michelle Oliver
22:11 Feb 05, 2024

Yes poor thing. She was a victim

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Helen A Smith
14:30 Feb 04, 2024

A most enjoyable read. I felt like I was at Hampton Court and felt the chill. It’s hard to believe these were real people and Catherine Howard was running to Henry to seek mercy. Something terribly sad about that!

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Michelle Oliver
22:28 Feb 04, 2024

Yes, very sad. She was so young and was really just a pawn in powerful men’s politics.

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Ty Warmbrodt
04:43 Feb 04, 2024

The pacing of this story was rapid and delightful. The details really placed me there with here and I could feel her terror. Excellent writing as always.

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Michelle Oliver
05:19 Feb 04, 2024

Thanks for reading and for your feedback. I’m glad you enjoyed it.

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Hi, Michelle. Ghost/haunting stories are something else. What I’ve picked up from every account is fear/unease/discomfort. I’ve sometimes wondered about all that’s happened in a particular place, whether it’s a museum where old things are kept, a historical location, or just another place in public. I find it interesting that the protagonist is so busy thinking about all the historical significance, and then sees something that yanks them out of their “tourist” mindset. I think it can be easy to forget that all these historical figures a...

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Michelle Oliver
23:56 Feb 02, 2024

Yes, in the sensationalism of the history, it’s easy to forget that these people actually lived. Glad you enjoyed my ghostly tale.

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Michał Przywara
02:22 Feb 02, 2024

A fun historical jaunt. I like the almost-arrogance of the narrator at the beginning, the desire to be submerged in centuries of history - and then when that desire gets granted in a way most people can't even dream of, it's a little overwhelming :) But there's something else interesting here too. Hundreds of years later, the woman's beheading is a neat little fact we can recount on a tour, to make a dollar. At the time though, for her, it was pant-crapping terror. It's easy to forget historical figures were living, breathing people, isn't ...

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Michelle Oliver
05:11 Feb 02, 2024

Glad you enjoyed it. Yes history is full of ‘cool’ information, it’s easy to forget these things happened to real life people. Thank you for reading.

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07:42 Feb 01, 2024

Interesting. My favourite line - 'a feeling of being trapped within my own body unable to escape.' We're trapped in our own bodies our whole lives, but it doesn't feel remotely scary until we say it out loud or read it!

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Michelle Oliver
07:49 Feb 01, 2024

Thanks for reading. I’m glad it gave you feeling of being unsettled, trapped within yourself and unable to move. A prisoner of your fear.

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Mary Bendickson
19:08 Jan 31, 2024

Henry the VIII's not VII's wife, right? Fear well depicted. Would be a chilling addition to a museum trip.

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Michelle Oliver
22:22 Jan 31, 2024

Thanks Mary, yeah I missed an I in my Roman numeral. Thanks for picking that up.

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Jack Kimball
18:19 Jan 31, 2024

Hey Michelle, It's rumored, 'Catherine Howard, Henry VII’s fifth wife, beheaded for adultery, ran down that corridor to find Henry at prayer and beg for her life. However she never made it and was restrained before being forcibly returned to her chamber.' But is the ghost historical, meaning this corridor is said to be haunted, or is it just the begging for her life that is historical, and the ghost part is fiction? Either way, echos of Edgar Allen, you might say! Great job. Maybe needs a space? gawkersfurther

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Michelle Oliver
22:26 Jan 31, 2024

Thanks Jack. In the Victorian Era, people who resided in Hampton Court Palace claim to have seen this ghost. However historians are not convinced that Catherine actually ran down the corridor screaming for her life. She was accused of adultery and beheaded. Thanks for the pickup.

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Trudy Jas
15:12 Jan 31, 2024

History does sound better when told, rather than seen. Wonderful tale. Probably not important but one typo in the paragraph: "Everything seems... and one in the next.

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Michelle Oliver
22:27 Jan 31, 2024

Thanks for reading and for picking up the typos.

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Trudy Jas
00:53 Feb 01, 2024

Would you rather I didn't?

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Michelle Oliver
05:17 Feb 01, 2024

I’m always happy to have extra eyes over my work before the submission deadline. Better before than after😊

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