The Hanging Town

I’m from ‘The Hanging Town’, a cursed city with its own gravitational pull.

It sounds fictional. It’s not.

I’m from a city famed for hosting and hanging the Pendle witches.

I’m from Lancaster, England.

I was born here, and I’ve escaped twice already.

But there’s something about the air, it’s oddly intoxicating.

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To understand what haunts me about the places in these images, you’ll first need to understand what they represent.

Photos were taken with my Xiaomi Redmi Note 8 and 45MP rear quad camera. I edited with Adobe Lightroom.

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Lancaster Castle

The centrepiece of the city. Built on top of a Roman fort in the 12th century, I present Lancaster Castle.

The more I stare at this image, the more I see. The thin long windows dotted down the turret walls, and through the darkness, I feel watched.

Like an optical illusion, the more you stare, the more faces you see. They're hiding in the brick, look closer. There's a reason this place is damned.

1612, the year of the Pendle witch trials.

10 witches tried in Lancaster. Claims made they turned beer sour and cast disease on small children. 9 were found guilty and hanged for crimes of witchcraft and demonology.

A normal hanging - odd to say, having a normal hanging - was quick. Stood on a platform, a noose around your neck, waiting, and snap, you're dead.

It was different for witches. A slow death by hanging, eventually through suffocation. But it didn't stop there, they then had their heads chopped off and stuck on spikes. They were mounted on the castle walls.

I grew up seeing silhouettes of witches on brooms printed on signs and information posts, planted around the county. (As seen in the header image of this post.)

In any historic English city, you’re going to find your share of cursed places, especially when those places are steeped in the blood of hundreds, hanged, brutalised, and showcased like trophies.

In the early 19th century, Lancaster became known as 'The Hanging Town', and not for its beautiful hanging baskets. It’s unknown how many people were hanged, but more people were hanged in Lancaster than any other English town or city outside of London.

The last person hanged after a trial in Lancaster was in 1910. 110 years ago.

Up until 2011, Lancaster Castle was a prison. Now, it’s open through the day to the public, but if you want a closer look inside with the opportunity to explore the dungeons and old prison cells, then you’ll need a guided tour.

Since opening to the public, many people have noted and claimed to witness ghosts wandering the grounds, cold spots, and figures lingering in shadows.

The city seems to be in a constant cold snap with eerie wind and icy rain. It shouldn't come as a surprise, there's dark energy trickling through this city, crawling on hands and knees, searching for an escape.

You see, 'The Hanging Town' doesn't get a name like that overnight, it comes from centuries of routine. And while a lot of hangings took place inside Lancaster Castle, the town at the time had a hill dedicated for execution.

Gallows Hill, Lancaster

Visible from the Castle, you can see Ashton Memorial, built on top of Gallows Hill. Before hangings were commonplace on the castle grounds, those found guilty and set to be executed were taken to Gallows Hill.

From the courthouse inside the Castle, the guilty party would use a secret tunnel to say goodbye to family in the current 'The Three Mariners' pub. After this, they'd be sent up Gallows Hill by a cart; a final tour through Lancaster.

The headless statue

On the same grounds as Lancaster Castle is the Lancaster Priory, a church on top of a hill. The same hill decorated in 18th-century flagstone graves.

At the top, several meters from the Priory is a headless statue.

It's the believed resting place of Ann Rothwell. Stories of who she was and what she did change, but the one constant is her name.

Approaching the memorial statue, there's always some teenagers running scared, scaring each other with 'Bloody Mary!'.

I can't look at the image for too long, my eyes begin to create a head where there isn't one and the cracks like scratches seem to grow.

The story is that of a young woman who fell from the bell tower of the Priory. She had been trying to change the clock hand, trying to keep her husband alive for a moment longer. She died, and on time without delay, her husband was hanged.

Over the years, the statue has been defaced and subject to vandalism. In my lifetime it has been without its head. It isn’t missing, it’s kept under lock and key, and hopefully, one day it will be restored. I found an image of the preserved stone head through Twitter.

The witching hour

Around this time of year, when it's seasonally correct to be cold, you'll find expeditions of people, touring the haunts of Lancaster, following the footsteps of that long walk from the Castle to Gallows Hill.

Once the sun has set and darkness reaches everything, the front of Lancaster Castle is hit with blinding light. It illuminates the weathered brick walls from the front and the back, but elsewhere, in corners and beneath trees, the castle is completely dark.

It’s the type of darkness that stirs you, puts you on edge. You can’t see much, the feeling of someone watching you, the sound of footsteps through puddles, the growing ache in your neck as blood pressure rises.

And beyond the darkness to the light, your eyes notice shadows moving, towards you, away from you—you don’t know.

They’re not just cursed images.

They’re cursed feelings.

They contain the curse of history, the memory of people who died, and the memory of people who loved too hard. Those types of intentions don’t leave this world so easily, they stick around, they linger.

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Forget Salem, come visit us in Lancaster.