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A Haunting Day in History  

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A Haunting Day in History My mother had warned me not to hitch hike, but here I was, sitting next to someone I didn't know, in a cramped minibus that couldn't even reach fifty miles an hour, heading to Cromford Castle, amongst a group of yelling, spirited kids. Leaving the main road, we set off on a gnarled, rutted track that meandered like a snake through a dense forest, the impending trees' branches entwined like spidery fingers, clawing at the overcast sky in an upward spiral. The incandescent beam of our mini bus pierced the engulfing mist like a spear as it proceeded deeper and deeper into the gloomy forest. Pulling slowly into the car park, the mini bus heaving out plumes of black, choking smoke from it's diseased lungs, we saw for the first time the overpowering, castle that loomed menacingly out of the stroboscopic mist. Clambering out, the...

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