The House of the Forgotten

Some buildings carry their history loud and proud.

This one whispered it.

From the outside, the old Georgian mansion in Warrington looked like a hundred other forgotten estates scattered across the northwest of England—brick stained by rain and time, windows boarded or broken, gardens surrendered to bramble.

“What is up, explorers?” I said into the camera, boots crunching on the gravel of a driveway that had once known carriages. “We are back on another haunted abandoned adventure, and today we’ve come to the northwest of England to explore and investigate this abandoned Victorian‑era mansion.”

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“Built in the mid‑1700s for the wealthy Pickering family,” I continued, “this estate once stood as a symbol of prestige. Surrounded by formal gardens and farmland, it carried the air of grandeur for generations.”

Then time happened.

By the late 1980s, the house had been converted into a care home. The grand rooms filled with hospital beds, TVs, armchairs. The laughter of visiting families replaced the chatter of Georgian dinner parties. The corridors, once walked by servants and guests, now saw nurses and residents shuffling along in slippers.

“It’s not just history that lingers here,” I said. “Staff whispered of strange occurrences. Footsteps in empty corridors. Rooms turning ice cold without explanation. Fleeting shadows seen moving across the dark. Lights flickering in upper windows at night. A sense of being watched.”

We were here to find out whether that was just folklore.

Or whether something had refused to leave.

A Tour from the Other Side

“Okay, explorers,” I said, stepping through a kicked‑in door frame into dimness. “We are inside the old mansion now. We’re going to walk around and use Spirit Talker and the K2 straight away. This place is huge, so instead of doing a normal explore, we’ll do it with the paranormal gear rolling.”

I slipped my phone—Spirit Talker open—into my back pocket and clicked the K2 on in my hand.

It didn’t take long.

“Sculpture,” the app said.

“I haven’t even looked around yet,” I muttered.

The K2 blinked green, then amber.

“Suffering,” Spirit Talker added.

“Was there a lot of suffering in this building?” I asked. “It was last used as a residential home. People here were probably not in the greatest state of health. Some of them very ill.”

The hall opened into a large room with a piano against the wall, keys yellowed, lid open. The house felt tall—three, maybe four floors—corridors shooting off in all directions.

“You are beautiful,” Spirit Talker said.

“Well,” I said, unable to help a short laugh, “thank you. Wasn’t expecting that.”

I started to head one way.

Then a loud bang stopped me.

It thudded through the house, not quite overhead, not quite below—just near.

“Amelia,” Spirit Talker said.

“Hello?” I called.

A set of blinds in a side corridor knocked against a broken window, bouncing lightly in a draft. I watched them for a moment.

“That wasn’t the noise,” I muttered.

As if to prove it, the bang came again from deeper in the house.

I moved toward it.

A motivational plaque in one hallway caught my torch: Make time to enjoy the simple things in life.

“Salia,” the app said—nonsense syllable, or a misheard name.

My foot sank slightly into a patch of floor.

“Oh my god,” I said. “The floor’s sodden.”

“Upset me,” Spirit Talker said.

“Did this place upset you?” I asked. “Or something that happened here?”

On a wall nearby, a framed portrait lay half‑smashed on the floor—a man from some decades ago, stern in a suit.

“Wonder if this was him,” I murmured. “The owner back in the day.”

“If there’s anyone in this building now,” I called, “that can hear my voice—would you like to communicate?”

“Harmony,” Spirit Talker said.

“Upset me. Amelia. Harmony,” I repeated. “It feels like I’m getting a tour from a resident.”

I moved along the corridor.

“Follow us,” the app said. “Ahead.”

“This way, then,” I said. “Lead on.”

Bedrooms of the Recently Gone

The further in I went, the more the care home version of the house asserted itself.

“Terrible,” Spirit Talker said as I stepped into a wrecked bedroom.

“It is terrible,” I agreed.

A brick lay on the carpet, obvious culprit for the smashed window. Beyond, the overgrown grounds glowed faintly under a grey sky.

On the wall, frames still held photos of smiling families and days out. A name label—faded—identified the room’s last occupant. A hairdressing poster suggested she’d liked having her hair done; there was even an old salon chair in the corner.

“They put favourite things on doors,” I said, noticing feminine images on the laminated card outside. “Earlier, the woman with the hair—probably her favourite thing.”

“Is it electric?” I muttered, sweeping the K2 near an old plug socket. “No. K2’s dead.”

I stepped back into the corridor.

“Emergency,” Spirit Talker said.

“Was there an emergency?” I asked quietly. “Was that a resident? Did something bad happen?”

The K2 stayed flat.

I passed a lounge area—“Arley Lounge” on the sign outside. A painting of a well‑dressed woman still watched over the room.

“Is this lady in the picture here?” I asked. “Can you tell me your name?”

No obvious answer.

But Spirit Talker kept feeding me pieces.

“The battery,” it said, just as I was thinking about mine.

“Yeah, I’ll bet you like the batteries,” I muttered.

A little further on, a faux shopfront labelled Roy’s Rolls—a Coronation Street‑style café façade—made a surreal appearance in the middle of the care home. Behind it, a “sensory room” and “Tartan Lounge” still held equipment and games.

When I opened one door, the K2 jumped hard.

“Associate,” Spirit Talker said.

“Can you be more specific?” I asked, but got no reply.

The communal dining and activity room was the strangest of all. Papers still tacked to the wall listed “morning exercise, music, coffee, word games, church”.

“This room has a strange feeling,” I said. “A lot of the residents would have gathered here.”

“You are resourceful,” Spirit Talker told me.

“Let’s head upstairs,” I decided. “See who’s at home there.”

Upstairs With the Lost

The stairwell stank faintly of damp and old disinfectant.

“The light,” Spirit Talker said.

“Yes,” I replied. “Can you come towards the lights?”

Upstairs, the corridors narrowed.

Doors bore more personalised decorations: family photos, favourite hobbies, religious texts. Black mould spread across ceilings, patterns like dark maps.

“Family,” the app said.

“Is there anyone in this room that would like to speak with me today?” I asked, stepping into a bedroom where a crucifix still hung over the bed.

No movement on the K2.

“I have Boo Bear with me today,” I said, glancing down at the toy under my arm. “He’ll do his own little investigation later.”

“Hypothermia,” Spirit Talker said.

“That’s a strange one,” I murmured.

The app’s history was starting to look like a care plan: my head, hypothermia, helpers, help us.

“You are strong,” it added. “You are strong.”

“I’m getting a lot of compliments,” I noted. “I’ll take them.”

“The Lord’s Prayer” was taped to one door. I paused.

“If there’s anyone in this room,” I said softly, “anybody that remains here—my name’s Adam. Can you tell me your name? Can you tell me if you’re still here?”

“My head,” Spirit Talker replied.

“Is that how you passed?” I asked. “Something with your head?”

No answer.

Walking those corridors alone felt… wrong. Not in the horror‑movie way. In the way of walking into a ward where everyone’s gone home but the beds are still unmade.

“Mason,” the app said.

“Is that someone’s name?” I asked.

Laurel and Hardy smiled up at me from a poster on the floor in another room. A jar of sweets lay spilled nearby.

“Hello,” I called into the emptiness. “I’ve come to visit. Would you like to speak? Tell me something?”

“Review,” Spirit Talker suggested.

I checked its log.

“Failed. Mason. Review. My head. Hypothermia. Helpers. Help us.”

“I’m getting care home vibes,” I said. “But this was a mansion long before that.”

“I can try and help you,” I offered. “Can you tell me what you need help with?”

Nothing.

Not yet.

Enid on the Top Floor

The stairs kept going.

“The floors are soaking,” I muttered, testing each step before trusting it.

At the top, the house changed.

Lower ceilings. Narrower passages. An older feel—the bones of the original mansion showing under the later care‑home skin.

“Enid,” Spirit Talker said.

“Hello, Enid,” I said. “My name’s Adam. I don’t mean any disrespect being here.”

Water dripped from somewhere overhead and landed directly on my face.

“Goodbye, friend,” the app said.

“As I walked away,” I muttered. “You don’t want me up here?”

I turned back.

“Enid,” it said again. Then: “Desdemona.”

“Is there anybody up here?” I called. “This feels a lot older. Maybe the original part of the house.”

Mexican flags lay crumpled on one section of floor. A camouflaged door hinted at a former soldier or military fan. Another room had golf pictures on the walls.

“The children sing,” Spirit Talker said.

“I’ve got a toy for the children,” I replied. “If they’d like to play.”

I headed back down, winding my way along another corridor I hadn’t tried yet. The house felt endless.

“Forward,” the app said. “Yes, I’m here.”

I stepped into a small bedroom.

Old photographs lay scattered across the bed: barges on canals, holiday snaps from seaside towns, a woman smiling in a summer dress.

“She enjoyed holidays,” I said. “Barges, boats…”

“Horror,” Spirit Talker said.

“Okay,” I exhaled. “I think we’ve had a good look around now. I definitely feel like there’s something here.”

“He has his eye on you,” the app said.

I stared down the long corridor stretching away, doors ajar on either side.

“Right,” I said. “Time to let Boo Bear have a turn.”

When the House Listens to a Toy

I set cameras up in key spots: the Arley Lounge, a long upstairs corridor, one of the more active bedrooms. Then I sat Boo Bear in a chair, pressed his paw, and left the room.

“Do you have a best friend?” his recorded voice asked.

I watched on the monitor from another room.

“Oh, I felt a tingle,” the toy said a moment later. “When is your birthday? Maybe we can celebrate. Do you have a sister? Can you tap the floor for me? Did you just try saying something? Could you try saying it again?”

The room stayed visually still.

But one camera caught something odd—just a momentary bright spark in the air, near Boo Bear’s ear.

“That was a big spark,” I muttered, replaying it.

“Can you run?” Boo Bear asked. “Run to the other wall and back. Ready? Go. Is anyone here with me? Can you make a sound? Can you touch my nose? Can you sing for me?”

The house didn’t answer in any obvious way.

Not yet.

The Women’s Voices

“Okay, explorers,” I said back in the Arley Lounge. “We’re set up in here now. Feels like a lot went on in this room—community stuff—so it might be a good quiet place to do an EVP.”

I placed the recorder on the table.

“Is there anybody remaining in this house?” I asked. “In this residential home, today?”

We listened.

On playback, the room hissed quietly with the static of its own silence.

Then, layered under my question, came two voices.

The first—a whisper, too quiet to make out.

The second—a woman’s voice, louder, almost a shout, answering over the top of my words.

“Two voices,” I said. “Whisper, then a shout. That’s the clearest one.”

“Can you tell me how long you’ve been here?” I asked next.

Playback: nothing clear.

“Can you tell me why you are still here?” I tried.

Again, the response wasn’t obvious. Maybe a murmur. Maybe nothing. Hard to tell without headphones.

“Can you tell me how many people are in this building right now?” I asked.

Silence.

“Why can’t you leave?” I asked.

“Do you mind me coming here today?” I added.

As I sat listening, something fell out of the ceiling.

A small piece of plaster dropped directly onto the floor in front of me.

“Can you do that again for me?” I asked, staring up. “Strange.”

The debris lay where it had fallen, new against the old dust.

It didn’t fall again.

But between the woman’s shout on the recording and the plaster landing right after a direct question, I felt like I’d been noticed.

The Man With the Bible

“Okay, explorers,” I said, stepping into a bedroom I’d chosen almost at random. “Picked a room with a Bible in here—means there was a religious man or woman once.”

I set up the dead bell on the bedside cabinet and the music box on the floor, pointing its sensor down an empty corridor. Nothing visible moved.

The music box played anyway.

Over and over, its tinkling tune drifted down the hall, triggered by something I couldn’t see.

“We’re just going to do a quick spirit box,” I said. “See if we can get any voices through. EVP gave us whispers and a woman’s shout. Let’s see what this does.”

I cranked the box up.

“If there’s anybody in this room now,” I called, “that wants to communicate, that wants to pass on a message, I’d appreciate it if you could speak into this device.”

“Me,” a voice slipped through.

“Can you tell me your name?” I asked.

A man’s voice—fast—responded. Too quick for me to catch the words live.

“Can you tell me how long you’ve been here, or why you’re here?” I tried.

“Is there somebody out in that corridor that would like to come in?” I asked. “Would you like to come in?”

The music box kept chiming. No one appeared.

“Did you pass away here?” I asked.

“Dad,” the box crackled.

“Fair enough,” I said. “I have a bell just in front of me. If you’d like to touch that, to let me know you’re here…”

The bell didn’t ring.

But when I asked if the old owner of the mansion was still around, the answer was immediate.

“Absolutely,” the spirit box replied.

“Can we speak with him?” I asked.

“Cool,” it said. Then: “Of course.”

“Why are you still here?” I pressed.

The reply was garbled, buried in the static. But there was a reply.

“Thank you for doing that,” I said. “I appreciate you trying to speak with me. I can get more devices out. We can have a better conversation.”

I glanced down the corridor again.

The music box was still playing.

There was still nothing visible to set it off.

This, I thought, might be residual—energy replaying patterns of motion long after the people themselves had gone.

But in between those loops, something intelligent slipped through.

The Corridor That Talks Back

“Okay, explorers,” I said later, standing in the main corridor that ran through the heart of the care home. “We’ve just come into the main corridor, and this is the first thing the K2 has done all day.”

We’d set up a REM pod on a chair, the music box covering a doorway threshold, and the dead bell on a side table. Spirit Talker sat open in my hand.

“So,” I said, watching the K2 finally flicker to life, “the spirits I’ve spoken with today—I’d like you to continue to communicate with me, if you can, by setting one of these devices off.”

The K2 in my hand jumped.

“If you go toward the red light on the chair,” I said, moving to demonstrate, “it won’t hurt you.”

“Had enough,” Spirit Talker said.

“I’m very sorry for bothering you,” I replied. “You must be tired. But I just wanted to confirm, so you can help me confirm there’s some life after passing away. Are you aware that you’ve passed away? If you could set one of the devices off just to confirm yes…”

The K2 lit.

“Had enough,” the app repeated. “Everything seems to have quietened down.”

I wasn’t in an ideal room—broken windows, blowing curtains—but I’d made sure nothing physical could be nudging the devices.

“Even if you’ve had enough of me,” I said, “I’d like to thank you for talking with me today. If there’s anybody else that would like to come through, use my energy. Set one of these devices off.”

“Sandra,” Spirit Talker said.

“If Sandra would like to come through,” I said, “I know you’ve set this device off upstairs. Could you do that for me now?”

“I understand,” the app replied. “I can use my voice.”

“If you’d like to sit down and rest whilst you speak to me,” I suggested, “sit in one of those brown chairs.”

At the foot of the stairwell, the K2 flickered. The dead bell chimed once.

The only way into the building was the door I’d come through. It was locked. I’d blocked the stairwell with my bag.

There was no one else here.

“Dance,” Spirit Talker said.

“Can you tell me what that light on the stairwell is?” I asked. “David. I can use my voice. Sandra.”

I nearly walked into the music box beam, catching myself.

“I’m afraid to talk,” the app said.

“You don’t have to be afraid to speak to me,” I said softly. “You don’t have to worry. I’m only here to gather evidence, to prove there’s something after we pass away. An old residential home seemed like the place to ask.”

“We like the dark,” Spirit Talker said.

“You like the dark,” I repeated. “Is that the problem? I’ve come in the daytime.”

“Would you like me to come back at night?” I asked. “In the evening? When you’re more rested? Maybe stronger?”

“Certainly,” the app said a moment later. “That’s correct.”

Direct answers.

Not random words.

Not nonsense.

Intelligent.

With Their Families Now

“Can you get closer, please?” I asked. The K2 still glowed faintly.

“Torment,” Spirit Talker said. “You’re tormenting me.”

“You keep getting my hopes up and then leaving,” I said, half to myself. “I’d love to speak to somebody from the other side. Are you aware that you’ve passed away?”

The K2 beeped.

“Yes,” the app confirmed.

“And can you tell me what it’s like there?” I asked. “Is it pretty much the same as when you’re alive? Does it feel the same? Different?”

“Family,” Spirit Talker said.

“So, you’re with family now,” I said quietly. “Did your family pass before you? Maybe a husband, wife?”

“Are you with them now?” I asked.

The K2 pulsed.

“Oh, that’s amazing,” I said. “I’m very happy for you. Did you miss them? Were you separated long? Not that it matters once you’re together again, I suppose…”

I tried one more angle.

“Is there more spirits in this place that would like to speak to me at night?” I asked. “Would I have more luck then?”

“Certainly,” the app said.

“Okay,” I replied. “I hear you. These are direct answers now.”

Maybe the music box earlier had been residual—echoes of movement in the main hall. But this?

This was someone responding to what I was saying.

Someone who wanted me to come back when the veil was thinner.

In their time.

On their terms.

The Owner Still at Home

“There’s more spirits that would like to speak to me if I came at night,” I said. “When the veil’s thinner. I understand. Can I just try something with you guys?”

I turned the music box so it aimed down the long main corridor. The REM pod temperature light shifted to red as the air cooled around it.

“What I’ve gathered,” I said, “is you’re fed up, tired. You want me to come in the evening. You’re with your family now—we got confirmation of that. Didn’t get whether it was husband or wife, but still.”

“If you could hit this bell for me, on demand, right now,” I added, “that would be amazing.”

“You are compassionate,” Spirit Talker said.

“I’m not trying to intrude,” I replied. “I just want some answers.”

The bell rang.

“Yes,” the app added. “Badly.”

“K2’s going off, bell going off as I’m asking for confirmation,” I said. “Interesting. Definitely intelligent. I don’t know if we’ll get enough right now to fully understand who’s here.”

“When I mentioned the owner of the house,” I added, “I got some voices through. Is that because he’s here, or coincidence?”

“The owner’s here, is he?” I asked when the K2 flashed again.

“Yes,” Spirit Talker said.

“Can he say a few words?” I asked. “Why he’s still here?”

“Am I in the best spot?” I added, glancing around the corridor.

“Yes,” the app replied.

“We enjoy the company,” it added. “You enjoy the company.”

“Me too,” I admitted. “It’s been nice coming to speak to you today. I bet you haven’t had any visitors for a long time. The place has been closed a while.”

“Maybe you just needed time to build up energy again,” I added.

“Thank you for setting this equipment off when I’ve been asking,” I said. “You’ve been an absolute star—whoever I’ve been communicating with.”

The REM pod chirped in agreement.

What the House Taught Me

By the time I finished, the light outside had shifted from grey to the flat brightness of afternoon. The house felt… quieter. Like it had done what it could for now.

“I feel like we’re not going to get much more,” I said to the camera. “They’ve told us it’s daytime. ‘Come back in the evening.’ Maybe they feel stronger then. The veil’s thinner.”

“The equipment’s gone off on demand,” I summarised. “Bell, K2, REM. We definitely got some voices through on the EVP—a whisper and a woman’s shout. Spirit box gave us words, including confirmation that the old owner is still around. I’ll have to go back through the audio to pull them out.”

“I think whatever’s in the main hall may be residual,” I continued. “Whatever’s been speaking to me in this old part feels intelligent. That’s the older part of the house, so a separate haunting from when it was still a mansion wouldn’t surprise me.”

The REM pod beeped again as I said it.

I glanced back down the corridor one last time.

“This isn’t a place I’d usually pick,” I admitted. “A care home. But with the history as a mansion—it made sense. Separate hauntings. Residents. Staff. Old owners.”

“Whoever you are,” I said, raising the camera slightly, “thank you for talking to me today. I’m going to leave you in peace for now. Maybe I’ll come back at night.”

Outside, the air smelled different—cleaner, colder.

Inside, the house settled back into itself.

Room by room.

Bed by bed.

Photo by photo.

Whatever lingered there—in the corridors of the care home and the bones of the old Pickering mansion—had made one thing very clear:

They knew they were dead.

They were with family.

They liked the dark.

And they weren’t done talking.

Just… not during visiting hours.