Mill Street Barracks: So Haunted Nobody Dares Enter the Basement—Terrifying Noises, Shadows, and Unexplained Activity!

The Barracks That Never Stood Down

Old military buildings have a particular kind of silence.

Not the quiet of neglect, but the hush of discipline that never quite leaves. Even after the soldiers go home and the flags are folded away, something about the geometry of drill halls and parade grounds insists on order.

Mill Street Barracks, in St Helens, had that feeling in the bones.

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.

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Built in the 19th century, it had once been home to local volunteer regiments—men who drilled in the yard, shouldered rifles in formation, and then stepped off into wars whose names outlived them. Over generations, the place had become more than a simple training ground. It was a community stronghold.

Men prepared for war.

Families gathered to send them off.

The building remembered all of it.

Now, the uniforms are gone. The flags are gone. The drills have stopped.

But the barracks hasn’t gone quiet.

Not really.

Today, Mill Street is famous less for the men who left through its gates and more for those said to have never left at all.

“Visitors report shadowy figures marching in formation,” I’d said during the research, “doors slamming on their own, disembodied voices echoing through the drill hall.”

A young nurse, legend claimed, appeared occasionally in the corridors—a woman who’d tended to the wounded here, only to vanish as soon as anyone looked twice.

Some called it one of the most haunted locations in the Northwest.

Tonight, we were going to see for ourselves.

The Classroom

We didn’t start in the drill hall.

We started somewhere quieter.

“Okay, guys,” I said, the sound of my own footsteps echoing faintly off painted brick. “We’re beginning in the classroom, in the residential side of the barracks.”

It looked like any schoolroom—white boards, stacked chairs, remnants of more ordinary lessons. But the weight of the place sat differently here. Less like algebra and more like orders.

“We’ve got the dead bell,” I pointed out, placing it on a table, “the REM pod, the music box, cat balls around the room. We’ve also got Spirit Talker that we’re about to use now. And trusty old K2s.”

Sean stood near the door, his K2 already in hand.

“You ready?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said.

I opened Spirit Talker.

“So,” I called into the chilly air, “if there’s any spirits in this building, in these barracks now, that want to communicate with us tonight—my name’s Adam.”

“I’m Sean,” he said.

“We’ve come tonight to maybe make contact with somebody,” I continued. “Maybe somebody wants to speak with us or pass on a message. Is that possible? Can you do that tonight for us?”

The room hummed.

“As we said,” I added, “there’s devices around the room that you can interact with. They won’t harm you in any way. They take a little bit of energy, but that’s fine. You can use our energy. You can use the batteries. Nothing’s going to harm you.”

Spirit Talker flashed its first word.

Anxiety.

“Anxiety,” I repeated. “Stressed. You don’t need to be stressed. As I said, nothing’s going to harm you. These are just devices to let us know where you are, and if you want to contact us. Is that okay?”

A pause.

“Religious,” the app said.

“Are you telling us you’re religious?” I asked. “Or asking if we are?”

Before the device could answer, a knock sounded.

Not the soft sound of a building settling.

A deliberate tap, somewhere in the room.

“Right on cue,” I said, pulse quickening. “If you could make any footsteps we could hear, would that be okay?”

Silence.

Sean realised he hadn’t actually switched the REM pod on.

“As you said,” I reminded the air, “there’s devices around the room. Sean hasn’t turned the REM pod on yet…”

He flicked it to life.

The very moment he did, the dead bell in front of us rang once—clear and sharp.

We both jumped.

“Did you knock into that?” I asked him.

“No,” he said. “Are you sure?”

“I didn’t feel anything,” he said, eyes wide. “Maybe my coat? But would I not have felt that?”

We tested it.

To make the bell ring that way, he had to hit the table with his arm hard—much harder than the minimal movement he’d made.

“That’s weird,” I said.

“Dorothy,” Spirit Talker said.

We both went still.

“Baby. Baby.”

“Dorothy,” I repeated. “If you’re here tonight, I’d really appreciate it if you could—”

The cat ball behind me lit up, pulsing colours into the dim classroom.

“Cat ball,” Sean said. “Right behind you.”

“Baby,” Spirit Talker added.

“Baby,” it repeated.

“The cat ball went off right behind me,” I said. “That table doesn’t move. It’s in a groove.”

To be sure, I leaned back against it, trying to replicate the movement.

Nothing.

“Okay,” I said, heart still thudding. “If that’s you that set that cat ball off—thank you. Can you do anything else around this room? Knocks? Bangs?”

My K2 simmered faintly in my hand. Sean’s did the same.

“Tired,” the app said.

“Are you tired?” I asked. “Tell me about it. Been up since 6 a.m.”

I nudged the bell again. It stayed silent.

“So,” I said gently, “if you want to press this bell again for me, right in front of me… it doesn’t take a lot of effort. Maybe a bit of energy. Won’t harm you.”

No response.

Sean tried leaning against the table again, trying to work out if the earlier ring could have been him.

“It wasn’t you when it happened,” I said. “You weren’t moving.”

“I know,” he said. “It took me a minute to realise.”

Spirit Talker chimed again.

“Edith,” it said. Then: “There’s a woman watching.”

“Is the woman called Edith?” I asked. “Or Dorothy? We’ve got Dorothy as well.”

“Mirror,” the app added.

We both glanced around.

“There’s no mirror in here,” I said. “Is there?”

We scanned the walls. Whiteboard. Bulletin boards. No glass.

“Night whispers,” Spirit Talker said. “I’m watching.”

A shiver ran up my spine.

“We need power,” it added.

The REM pod lit up.

All the way.

My arms erupted in goosebumps.

“We need power,” I repeated. “And then you set the REM pod off. That’s mad. Thank you for doing that.”

“Inssist,” Spirit Talker said.

“I insist you take more from the devices,” I replied. “Take your pick. Help yourself.”

“Is there any bad spirits,” I asked a moment later, “bad entities in this place? Maybe somebody upset with how the place is now?”

“No,” the app said. Then: “Leave us. Leave us.”

“You don’t like us being here,” I said softly. “We didn’t mean any harm. We just want to talk.”

Somewhere near the stairs, I thought I heard a sound—a shift in the air.

“Trees,” Spirit Talker said.

“There’s plenty of trees outside,” I replied. “Come on, we want you to be more specific.”

“Yes,” the app said. “I’m in my 50s.”

“You’re in your 50s?” I asked. “Is this the woman? Then can you hit the bell or set a piece of equipment off if this is Dorothy?”

The dead bell stayed quiet.

But the feeling of being watched didn’t.

“Don’t Mess With Me”

“What about Edith?” I asked. “We got her name too.”

“H,” Spirit Talker said. Then: “Don’t mess with me.”

The tone changed.

“That sounds a bit… authoritative,” I said. “We are in an army barracks. Is there a soldier here? What’s your relationship with this place? Did you work here?”

The K2 in Sean’s hand chirped.

“Walk left,” Spirit Talker said.

“They’re both going off,” Sean pointed out a moment later. “REM and K2.”

“We are grateful that you’re speaking with us tonight,” I said. “Can you get closer to that? Really grab hold of that aerial?”

The REM pod warbled in response.

“I’ve gone really dizzy,” Sean said suddenly.

“How?” I asked. “Falling over dizzy?”

“Like my head’s swaying,” he said. “Like when you sit down too fast. Jamie said that before, didn’t he? That people feel like that in here.”

“He did,” I said. “Said it’s common. Like you’re on a ship.”

I’d been whacking the bell repeatedly against the table to see how much force it took. The metal finally tipped.

“Right, that thing fell over,” I said. “But look how I’ve just whacked that against that table for that to happen.”

“Exactly,” Sean said.

Spirit Talker chimed.

“Why did you come?” it asked.

“We came here to speak to you,” I said simply. “We’re trying to gather evidence to see if there is an afterlife. Maybe even prove it to a few people. We thought you could help us with that. Would that be okay?”

“Can’t be asked,” the app replied.

A beat later, one of the devices beeped in acknowledgement, as if to say fine, then.

“Thank you,” I said. “Who is it that makes people feel dizzy in this place?”

“He killed me,” Spirit Talker said.

My stomach dropped.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “Can you tell us more?”

“You were nice,” it added.

“I’m trying,” I replied. “Sean’s nice as well.”

“Do you remember me from the last time?” Sean asked. He’d been here before, briefly.

“1,880,” Spirit Talker said. Then: “1880s. 1880. Yes.”

“Is that how long you’ve been here?” I asked. “Since the 1880s? Roughly 140 years?”

“Yes,” it confirmed.

My hand slipped behind my back absent‑mindedly, clasping one wrist—exactly like I’d seen veterans and officers do.

“Do you know what’s weird?” I said quietly. “I keep standing with my hand behind my back like that. I never do that.”

“I noticed downstairs,” Sean said. “When we did a little test with Jamie, you were stood like that. Not at full attention—more at ease. Like a soldier.”

“That is strange,” I admitted.

“Vanished,” Spirit Talker said.

“Who vanished?” I asked. “The person that was killed?”

Silence.

“Would you like us to go?” I asked eventually.

“Yeah,” the app replied.

“I’m taking my time,” it added.

“That’s literally what you said earlier,” Sean pointed out. “When we were teasing that you weren’t doing things on command.”

“So you’re not going to do things when we ask,” I said. “You’re going to do them in your own time. Bit of dominance. Barracks through and through.”

Sobering as it was, it also gave me a strange respect for whoever we were talking to.

They weren’t a circus act.

They were a person.

Still here.

For a very long time.

“Please Run Now”

“So,” I said after a moment, “did you live here? This was originally a house—well, a couple of houses—before the barracks. Then they built the drill hall and took the whole place. If you’ve been here since the 1880s, were you here when this was a house? Before the soldiers?”

No direct word.

But one of the devices chirped as if in answer.

“Daddy,” Spirit Talker said.

We looked toward the doorway into the next classroom.

“Did we get anything about children?” I asked. “It said ‘trees’ before. Are there trees painted on the wall in there?”

We shone a torch through.

A mural on the back wall—a “Community Tree” in bright paint.

“Generosity,” the app said. Then: “Dylan.”

“Dylan,” I repeated. “Are you in the next classroom? You’re welcome to come into this room.”

“Please run now,” Spirit Talker said.

Twice.

“Don’t say that,” I muttered, every hair on my body standing up.

Unfortunately for any spirits, we weren’t planning to run anywhere.

“Unfortunately,” I said aloud, “we’re not going to be running anywhere. Not tonight.”

“I’ve got goosebumps,” Sean admitted. “Please run now. Who are we supposed to be running from?”

“Is there a bad entity here?” I asked. “A bad spirit? Anything demonic? Because we’ve got some tools for that.”

Silence.

“Please run now,” it repeated.

“What do we need to run from?” I insisted.

“Cry,” Spirit Talker said.

“I might cry,” I muttered. “Is that what you want? You want us to be afraid?”

“It’s going to take more than telling us to leave,” I added more loudly. “You haven’t even grabbed the equipment properly yet. You don’t seem very powerful. Can you do something physical? Some knocks, like this?”

I rapped on a nearby desk.

“Can you whistle?” I asked.

“Mist,” the app said. “Abomination.”

“Abomination,” I repeated slowly. “Is that what you think you are? Or what you think is here?”

It was the first time the night dipped into something darker than restless soldiers and lonely women.

“We should try more equipment,” I said to Sean.

“I know I am dead,” Spirit Talker added quietly.

Sean and I looked at each other.

“Okay,” I said softly. “Let’s set more up.”

The Whispering Classrooms

We moved to another classroom—dead centre of the building, doors open to the hallway on both sides.

“Okay, explorers,” I said, setting the audio recorder on a desk. “We’ve come into a second classroom to do an EVP. Nice and quiet in here, away from windows. If we catch any knocks on the stairs, should pick them up.”

I hit record.

“If there’s any spirits in this room now,” I asked, “that would like to communicate with us, now’s your chance. Can you tell us why you’re still here?”

Playback brought a murmur.

Under my own voice, a faint something drifted on the edge of hearing. Not clear enough to call a word. Just… presence.

“We got the year 1883 through earlier,” I said. “Can you tell us what that means?”

On playback, after the question, we both heard it:

Footsteps.

Soft, but distinct—as if someone had walked across the room.

“Definitely something,” I said, listening again. “Movement. Footsteps.”

“You said there was a woman watching,” I asked the room. “Who is it?”

We left the recorder running longer this time.

On playback, there were taps.

Two, close together. One louder than the other.

“Whoever’s in this room with us,” I said into the recorder next, “make a knock. Make a tap we can hear clearly.”

Playback gave us more knocks. Two again. Then a third, quieter like an echo.

“I’d like you to make those knocks again,” I said. “Can you do three knocks for me?”

One knock came.

Then, on playback, a second. Maybe a third buried in the background.

“You said there’s something abominable in this place,” I pressed. “If there’s something dark or malevolent or demonic, I want to know right now.”

On playback, as the words “demonic” and “right now” rolled past, an odd sound slid in—a note between a moan and a breath. Not loud, but unmistakably not us.

“Did you hear that?” I asked Sean.

“I heard taps,” he said. “You heard a moan?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Like someone reacting.”

It wasn’t enough to call proof.

But it was enough to know something was listening.

And answering.

The Basement: “I’m Still Around”

The drill hall itself was quiet that night—too big, too echoing for our kit to do its best work. It was the basement, again, that tugged at us like a tide.

“If there’s any spirits down in this basement,” I called as we set the equipment out, “that want to communicate with us, can you speak to us through this device or set off any of these pieces of equipment?”

“Healing,” Spirit Talker said.

“What do you mean, healing?” I asked.

No immediate answer.

Overhead, something creaked. Below, the pitch‑black corridors of the basement absorbed our torch beams like ink.

“So,” I said, “the spirit we’ve been communicating with—”

“Nurse,” the app cut in.

“Nurse,” I repeated.

Nurses had been stationed here in World War II, tending to soldiers who returned from the front. We knew that much from the history.

“Can you make any knocks or footsteps?” I asked. “Maybe above us? There’s lots of equipment down here you can play with.”

Somewhere down the corridor, a faint sound—too soft for us to place—scratched at the silence.

“Is there anyone stood next to me now?” I asked, holding the K2 up.

It shot all the way to purple.

“Okay,” I said, breath catching. “Who’s this?”

Shivers ran down my arms.

Ahead of us, the REM pod in the corridor beeped. The dead bell chimed. Then the LED light strip that ran down the floor lit up in sequence, as if someone were walking along it—tripping each sensor in turn.

“Just move this over a bit,” I said, dragging the strip to the centre of the corridor between us. “If you grab that end…”

“I’ll affect the lights,” Spirit Talker said.

The strip’s colours changed.

Immediately.

“Literally just did,” I said. “Look. Doing it again. Thank you. Keep doing this.”

The pattern repeated: REM pod, bell, strip.

Like a patrol moving between us.

“I’m still around,” Spirit Talker said.

“I think we’re learning that,” I replied.

If the far REM pod at the end of the corridor had gone off then, I would have lost what remained of my composure. It didn’t. But the implication was there:

Whoever this was could move.

And wanted us to know it.

“So, who is this?” I asked. “It says ‘nurse’ on the app. I know for a fact nurses were stationed here in WWII. Were you a nurse for the soldiers stationed here?”

“Break,” the app said.

“Break,” I repeated. “Like a broken bone?”

Sean flinched as the REM pod near him flashed red.

“That was me,” he said after a second. “I think.”

The strip lit again anyway.

The Nurse Between Us

“This blue light in the middle of the corridor,” I said, pointing at the LED strip, “can you make that change colours again by stepping near it? Stepping over it?”

The strip blinked, then flared into a cascade of colour.

“That would be amazing,” I said. “If you could come and stand between me and Sean.”

“I’m in the trees,” Spirit Talker said again, strangely. “You are accepted.”

“Does that mean you’re happy to communicate with us now?” I asked.

“No,” the app replied.

I laughed despite the tension.

“Break—that could be a broken bone,” I said. “You said you were a nurse. ‘I’ll affect the lights’—and you did. ‘Distract’—are you trying to distract us while something else happens?”

As if on cue, the strip flashed again.

“Can you set this device off again?” I asked. “The one with the green lights that makes a little sound. Can you make it go all the way to purple, like before?”

“F*** off,” Spirit Talker said.

Out loud.

Sharp.

Immediate.

“That’s insane,” I breathed. “Is it the nurse that gets the most responses down here?”

“Presence beyond mirror,” the app said.

We both stopped dead.

“Another mirror reference,” I said softly. “What did it say? ‘Presence beyond mirror’?”

Before we could process that, a noise—definite, solid—echoed from further down the corridor.

“Did you hear that?” I asked.

“No,” Sean said at first.

Then it came again.

A knock.

The LED strip lit as if something had just walked over it.

“Thank you for doing that,” I called. “I appreciate that.”

“Why don’t you come and stand between us again?” I added. “It’s all down this end, isn’t it?”

It was.

Every strong hit came between us. Or near the shelter. Or near the coffin pit.

“Girl,” Spirit Talker said.

“Is there a girl down here with us now,” I asked, “besides Sean?”

A knock answered.

“Is this the girl we said earlier is watching?” I asked. “A woman is watching?”

Another tap.

“Can you stand next to Sean?” I suggested. “If you stand in front of her, the lights will change colour.”

Sean held still.

The LED strip in front of her lit up brilliantly.

“No way,” I whispered. “Literally right in front of you.”

“Thank you for doing that,” I said. “Now… Sean, why don’t you ask them to set off the music box? They’ve not done that yet.”

“You’ve not set off the music box,” Sean called. “It plays a little tune when you walk past or stand in front of it.”

The strip lit again.

Wrong device.

“Maybe they don’t know the difference,” I said. “Even so—that’s gone off when you asked. This is nuts.”

Every time we asked for the strip, it lit.

Repeatedly.

“That’s not a fluke,” I said. “No way that’s accident. Did you pass away here?”

The strip lit again.

“This is great,” I said. “It’d be even greater if you headed toward that REM pod. When we asked this to go off, it did. Now, maybe stand here…”

The REM pod at my end chirped.

“No way,” I breathed. “That wasn’t me, was it?”

“See if it’ll do it again,” Sean said.

I stayed still.

The REM pod shrieked.

“Come on, Adam,” Sean laughed nervously. “What the hell?”

“Stop,” Spirit Talker said.

“You do as you’re told,” I joked, then immediately grimaced. Taunting is a dangerous game.

“I’m sorry for shouting,” I added quickly. “I got too excited. Can you set one of these off again? The red lights?”

Sean moved back to his original side.

“Can you do the other one?” he asked. “Or is that just too much? Can you do this one for me? Go stand by Sean?”

“Whoever you’re more comfortable with,” I added, “set that device off. If you want to speak to me, set mine off. If you want to speak to Sean, set his off.”

“River,” Spirit Talker said. Then:

“I literally just heard something right between us,” I said. “My mic should’ve picked that up.”

The strip lit again.

The pattern was clear now.

We asked.

It obeyed.

It stopped when told to.

It started again on request.

Whatever this nurse or woman or girl was, she knew exactly how to use our toys.

“Time does not exist,” Spirit Talker said quietly.

We both went very still.

The Bad Thing in the Dark

“Sean, faithfulness,” Spirit Talker added.

Then the strip lit again in front of him.

“Can you move away from it?” I asked politely. “Please?”

The lights died down.

A knock sounded—this time different. Deeper. Less playful.

“That sounded like a growl,” I said.

“Is there anything bad down here?” I asked. “We’ve been having fun with you…”

“F***,” the app said. Then again, more forcefully.

The REM pod lit all the way to purple.

“My life,” I whispered. “Well, I’m scared.”

“Can it harm us?” I asked.

The strip pulsed.

“My throat,” Spirit Talker said.

“Are we safe down here?” I asked. “Set it off for yes.”

Pause.

Then: nothing.

“Can you set it off for no?” I asked.

The strip and REM pod both fired.

“No way,” I said. “No way.”

“Mirror,” Spirit Talker said again.

“Where is there a mirror?” I asked. “I feel like we need to find a mirror.”

Silence.

“My REM pod,” Sean said quietly, nodding toward his end. “It’s going mad.”

“Are we safe down here?” I repeated.

“No,” Spirit Talker said.

We looked at each other.

“That’s not good, is it?” I said. “‘You’re not safe.’ Then ‘you are safe’? Did you hear something?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Heard something from behind.”

One last try.

“Can you please come and stand in front of me?” I asked.

Silence.

For once, the strip stayed dark.

The mood had changed.

Whatever playful energy the nurse had brought had been shouldered aside by something heavier, more hostile.

Time, even if it didn’t exist down here, felt like it was running out.

The Top Office and the Hiss

We decided to finish upstairs, in a smaller office above it all.

“Okay, guys,” I said. “We’ve come up to the top office to finish with the spirit box, see if we can get any results. We’ve got the REM pod right in front, because it was amazing down there.”

I turned on the PSB‑11.

“So,” I said, “the spirit that was down in the basement—we believe is the nurse, or at least a woman. Can you come and speak to us now through this device?”

Static.

A faint voice.

Gone before we could grasp it.

“I always keep hearing like a hiss,” Sean said. “Little bursts.”

“Okay,” I said more firmly. “If there are any spirits that want to speak to us, come and speak into this device. Use your voice. Touch the REM pod again. Let us know that you’re here.”

Behind me, the floor creaked.

“Did you hear that?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Sean said.

On playback, the spirit box gave us fragments—too faint to put words to, but clearly voices in tone.

“Whatever the bad spirit is,” I asked, “the one we believe we’ve spoken to—are you here now?”

The REM pod chirped once, then fell silent.

“Something there, isn’t it?” I said. “But it’s so faint—just the tone of voice, no words.”

“If the nurse is here,” I tried again, “we’d like to speak with you now. Whoever’s setting that REM pod off—use your voice.”

Nothing solid.

More hissing.

“I do think it keeps telling us to shush,” Sean said. “I’ve heard that loads of times.”

“We didn’t get much on the EVP either,” I admitted. “Just faint stuff. I don’t think they’re very talkative. But with the equipment?”

We both laughed, a bit hysterically.

“Jesus,” I said. “Yeah. With the equipment—they’re absolutely amazing.”

“Have you enjoyed us being here?” I asked, more out of courtesy than expectation.

“No,” the box replied, quick, unmistakable.

“Right,” I said. “Fair enough.”

My head pounded. The usual post‑investigation ache—the price of hours of listening for things most people spend their whole lives learning to ignore.

“Okay,” I said at last. “Let’s head down.”

We killed the devices one by one.

The barracks exhaled.

The Barracks That Stayed Angry

When we stepped outside, the night over St Helens felt strangely thin. Street lights glared against the sky. Cars rolled past, indifferent. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked.

Inside Mill Street Barracks, the air felt thicker, older.

We’d come looking for soldiers marching in the dark, a nurse appearing in the corridor, maybe a priestly figure, maybe a child. We’d found:

A woman—or women—named Dorothy, Edith, perhaps Ada.
A presence claiming it had been here since the 1880s.
Someone who said, flatly, “He killed me.”
Repeated references to trees, children, “Daddy”.
A nurse in the basement who could light our gear up like a switchboard, especially when we stood on either side of her.
Something darker underneath it all, telling us to “run now”, calling itself an abomination, insisting we weren’t safe.

So is Mill Street Barracks haunted?

Yes.

By soldiers?

Maybe.

By a nurse?

Almost certainly.

By something that enjoys pointing out that time doesn’t exist and safety is optional?

Also yes.

As we drove away, the barracks fell behind us, a dark block at the edge of the road. The drill hall, the classrooms, the basement corridors—they all slipped back into their routines.

Footsteps in an empty hall.

Bell ringing when no one’s near it.

Lights that flicker only when you ask.

And somewhere under there, in the cold corridors between the mortuary and the shelter, a nurse who’s still on duty.

“I’m still around,” she’d told us.

We believed her.