HAUNTED WIRRAL: Night of the witches

I'VE changed a few names in this strange story for legal reasons.

One September evening at 7pm in 2009, a 68-year-old Heswall grandfather named Arthur Fenwick was returning from Wales in his new motorhome with his wife, two daughters and their husbands, when he received a call on his mobile.

His 15-year-old grand-daughter Maren was in tears. She'd had an argument with her boyfriend and wanted her grandfather to pick her up as she had no money to get a cab home.

"I’ll come and get you, love,' Arthur promised Maren and asked for the address of her boyfriend’s house in Higher Bebington.

"All she had to do was get a cab home and I or her mother would have paid the taxi fare", said Arthur’s wife Mary and she asked her husband to drop her and the rest of the family off at home first.

"No, I'm going straight to pick Maren up," said Arthur, accelerating the motorhome, "she sounded really upset. All I have to do is turn off here and go up Barnston Lane and onto Storeton Lane – "

"Oh, Arthur, just use the bloody Sat-Nav thing I got you," sighed Mary.

Arthur's son-in-law Richard appeared at the back of Mary and asked: "Why are we speeding? Everyone’s falling about back there."

"Belt up then," replied a crotchety Arthur, narrowing his fatigued eyes as he tried to get his bearings. He asked Richard: "this goes onto Storeton Lane, doesn’t it? Then it crosses that motorway – "

"The M53, why?" asked Richard. 

Mary told him they were going to Higher Bebington to pick up Maren before they all went home to Heswall and Richard asked Arthur: "Why can't you just drop us off home first?"

"Because I care about my grand-daughter, that’s why," said Arthur, "now go back there and break the news to them."

"It's ten-past seven now, Arthur," said Mary, looking at the digital clock on the fascia, to which her husband snapped, "I can tell the time." His wife retorted with: "and by the time we pick Maren up it’ll be dark and you’ll have been awake for nearly eighteen hours."

Arthur reached Mill Road in Higher Bebington, where a tearful Maren was waiting outside of her boyfriend Ben’s house. The two of them had been minding the place while Ben’s parents were on holiday, but had had a terrible row.

Arthur let Maren sit in the front passenger seat, and his wife sat with the rest of the family in the back of the motorhome, where she had a drink and a chat with her daughters and son-in-laws.

On the way back, Arthur travelled down Rest Hill Road, and his other son-in-law, Brian came into the cab and said: "I think this is technically a footpath, Arthur; don’t think you can drive down it, you know?"

"Oh don't talk rubbish," replied Arthur, "I was driving down this before you were born! And I rode a horse down here one -"

Maren let out a scream and pointed through the windscreen.

There was a little girl standing there, caught squarely in the glare of the motorhome's headlights and shielding her eyes from the blinding rays.

Arthur braked just in time. He and Brian and Maren got out the vehicle to see if the girl was alright.

"Are you okay?" Arthur asked, now joined by his son-in-law Richard and daughter Claire.

The girl, who looked as if she was about ten years of age, said: "I’m lost. I can't find my sisters."

"We'll have to take her to the nearest police station," said Arthur and he stooped and asked the girl "where do you live? And er, what’s your name?"

"Lily," said the girl, adding 'I'm lost. I dunno where I live.'

Arthur took the girl into the motorhome, which was already getting overcrowded, and the girl sat next to Arthur’s wife, Mary, who offered Lily a can of Coke – but the child shook her head and refused the soft drink.

Mary noted the plain grey tee shirt, black shorts and sandals the girl wore.

As Arthur was arguing with Brian over where the nearest police station was, Maren, who was sitting in the front passenger seat, said: "Granddad – what's that?" and nodded at something beyond the windscreen.

At first, Arthur thought it was a dark kite, hovering over Rest Hill Road, but as he thinned his weary eyes and slowed the vehicle, he saw it was a figure – someone in a hooded robe, hovering about six feet off the ground and travelling along with the motorhome.

"What the hell is that?" Arthur asked.

"Oh my God there are more of them, look!" said Maren, and she was right, three more levitating figures appeared.

The light of the motorhome's headlamps, which Arthur flicked to high-beam, revealed that the airborne figures were women in those hooded robes, and they were gesturing for Arthur to stop, but he drove on.

Something started pushing the vehicle to the right. Arthur had to wrestle the steering wheel to keep the motorhome from running into the trees and hedges lining the sides of Rest Hill Road.

Then the vehicle's engine conked out and could not be restarted.

Arthur, Maren, Mary, his two daughters, their husbands – and that lost child Lily, crowded into the cab and looked at the gravity-defying women hanging in the evening air in front of the motorhome.

Arthur wound down his side window and asked: "Who in God's name are you?"

"You have our sister, Lily," said one of the eerie, floating women, "let her go!"

"Angharad!" cried Lily, and she excitedly told Arthur the women were her sisters.

Arthur opened the driver door, and brought Lily out.

In one swift movement, one of the hooded figured descended, embraced the girl, and rose back into the air with her.

There were five of these women in all and, without another word from any of them, they floated away, holding Lily, into the night.

Arthur got into the motorhome and the engine started first time.

"They were witches," said Maren, "that's what I think – real witches."

"I need a drink," said Arthur, and he got his son-in-law Brian to drive, while he sat with his wife in the back of the vehicle.

"I am never driving down Rest Hill Road ever again," said Arthur, and he took a swig of whiskey straight from the bottle.

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