EVER spent a night in a haunted building? I did and I saw a ghost walk through a solid brick wall… at least I think I did.
It was all part of a paranormal expedition organised by Fright Nights Worcestershire.
By only the light of the full moon, 12 phantom finding fanatics and I ventured to Forge Mill Needle Museum in Redditch to explore the confined corridors and creepy corners for evidence of paranormal activity.
This was my first ghost hunt but my group included seasoned revenant hunting professionals who had travelled the length and breadth of the country in search of spectral sightings and proof of an afterlife.
Forge Mill, Needle Museum in Redditch.The only water powered scouring mill left in the world. Picture by Amanda Slater CC BY-SA 2.0
During the pre-brief, the ghost hunters swapped tales that would make even the bravest shiver. One spoke of a spirit that had screamed right into their face, while another recounted, with pride, the time a “gray hand” had pushed him down a flight of stairs. A third casually pulled out her phone to show videos of doors swinging shut with no one around, and her cat clawing furiously at something that wasn’t there.
What on earth had I signed up for?
My fellow ghost busters also came armed with an arsenal of phantom fighting equipment that flashed, beeped and sirened should an ethereal being enter our air space. The equipment was explained to us (or rather it was explained to me as everyone else seemed to know their EMFs from their EDIs) and we were told to take our pick.
I almost felt like a gladiator in Roman times about to enter the arena and deciding between a sickle, hammer or spear as my weapon of choice for survival. I looked around to see if I could pick a Russell Crowe… but alas the EMF meter had to do.
As we ventured toward the mill, I tried to break the tension with a quick, “Don’t cross the streams!” Silence. Not a chuckle. Either they hadn’t seen Ghostbusters, or this ghost-hunting business was more serious than I’d thought. I clamped my mouth shut and followed in silence as we entered the near-total darkness of the mill.
Forge Mill and nearby Bordesley Abbey are said to be among Worcestershire’s most haunted locations. Once the site of a medieval Cistercian Abbey, the grounds were reduced to rubble in 1538 during Henry VIII’s dissolution of the monasteries. Yet, even today, many claim to glimpse shadowy monks drifting through the grounds after dusk, along with other ghostly apparitions haunting the museum and mill buildings.
There have also been many sightings over the years of a black dog that prowls around the site and is said to be the ghost of the notorious Guy de Beauchamp, the 10th Earl of Warwick who was nicknamed ‘The Black Dog of Arden.’
One of the first recorded sightings of the black dog came 155 years ago from a Mr Woodward who was excavating the site at the time. Writing in 1864 he noted:
“It was a dark and cloudy night, and the wind blew in gusts across the Abbey Meadow… St Stephen’s clock, striking the hour at midnight… when a louder blast of wind caused me to raise my head – at that instant another head appeared above the heap of soil on the opposite side of the Chapel – it was the head of a large black dog. It looked at me for a moment, and then disappeared. I seized a crow-bat, and climbed to the top of the mound but my visitor had gone.”
Over the years many graves have also been excavated from the area, one of which is the well preserved skeleton of a man on full display in the museum today. Modern scientific research reveals he died aged about 50 in the early 15th century and he often squatted on his right heel, and had a back injury probably caused by a fall, and once broke his nose.
Isn’t it astounding what modern science can reveal about someone who walked this earth over 500 years ago? And I must admit, it was chilling to have his skeletal form there with us—his empty eye sockets seeming to watch as we crept through the dark, searching for signs of his lingering spirit.
Stepping into the darkened mill, an eerie chill immediately set in, with unmistakable ‘cold spots’ and a creeping sense of unease that lingered in the air. This old building, standing for at least 400 years, originally served as an iron refining mill before it was transformed into Redditch’s famous needle-scouring hub.
Remarkably, the setup today remains almost unchanged, preserving the atmosphere of its bustling heyday when Redditch produced 90 percent of the world’s needles. Even the rooms are filled with life-like figures, reminiscent of Madame Tussauds, frozen in time, hard at work on the machines—ghostly reminders of a thriving industry now long gone.
As we gathered round in the blackness, I imagined their eyes darting about. Mine certainly were. “Is anybody there? Come and show yourselves to us. Make a noise. Give us a sign!” one of our group called out into the ether.
A couple of the ghost hunting machines flashed yellow – indicating an ambient temperature and / or electromagnetic field change – telling us we weren’t alone.
Fright night had begun.
As we moved cautiously from one shadowy room to the next, whispering invitations to any spirits willing to speak, two members of our group began sensing the presence of a young woman trailing behind us. She revealed herself as one of the former fly dressers—women who once worked in the mill—who had met a tragic end after being rejected by her employer. Pregnant and overwhelmed with despair, she had taken her own life, drowning in the mill pond, where her body was gruesomely swept into the water wheels and torn apart.
Just as our psychic guide began recounting this grim tale, the EMF reader—a device that detects shifts in electromagnetic fields—suddenly started flashing wildly, lighting up the room like a disco. In my startled state, I accidentally kicked one of the cat balls (the kind that ghosts are said to move), sending it skittering across the floor and giving everyone in the group an unexpected jolt of fright.
Only later, while researching for this article, did I uncover that many before had told of the same tragic tale—of the rejected young woman who drowned herself in the mill pond. Over the years, her forlorn spirit has reportedly been seen drifting about, eternally searching for the missing parts of her shattered body.
We lingered in the mill until 2am, and though some in our group claimed to see, hear, or even feel the spirits around us, I, unfortunately, had no such encounter.
As the night wore on, my initial unease faded, and I found myself yearning for any sign, any brush with the supernatural, to make it all feel real.
Despite thoroughly enjoying the eerie tales and hearing everyone else’s experiences, it seemed my own ghostly moment wasn’t meant to be. So, I decided to stay behind, waiting until I was the very last to leave the building with the head ghost hunter, who closed up and locked the door as we stepped into the cold night.
Outside, the cold rain fell steadily as we made our way back to the clubhouse, its lights a welcome beacon in the early hours of the morning. But as I followed the group, I noticed someone had broken away, slipping to the right, back toward the far side of the mill—where shadows hung thick, far from the warmth and safety of the clubhouse.
Where were they going? And why would they be heading back to the spookiest part of the grounds, alone?
The figure, hood drawn tight against the rain, moved with quiet purpose. I couldn’t make out who it was; the hood obscured any familiar features.
I watched, half in curiosity and half in disbelief, as the hooded figure passed through an archway into the old workhouse—except, as I took a few more steps and peered closer, I realised there was no archway. Just a solid brick wall.
I stood there, stunned, having seen the hooded figure dissolve right into the wall.
I had to pinch myself. Had I really seen that? Was it a trick of the light, or were my eyes playing games after hours in the dark?
Who knows… but perhaps, just perhaps, I’d witnessed the sighting of the night. Maybe I’d seen a long-lost monk retracing his steps, passing through an archway that once existed centuries ago.
I said my goodbyes to the other ghost hunters, heading to my car in a dazed, almost eerie silence. Just as I was leaving, I heard someone quip, “Alright, who brought the dog?”
Of course they’d seen Ghostbusters! At least I’m hoping they had and they hadn’t just encountered the black dog of Arden.
I was careful to look out for him though as I reversed nervously out of the car park.
For more information on Bordesley Abbey and Forge Mill Museum go to: www.forgemill.org.uk
Top photo: Forge Mill, Needle Museum in Redditch. The only water powered scouring mill left in the world. Picture by Amanda Slater CC BY-SA 2.0 Photo Licence: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/
