The Ghostly Lady of Hunger Hill
A Bolton Ghost Story
The Ghostly Lady of Hunger Hill
Through mist that coils in moonlight’s chill,
She walks alone on Hunger Hill.
A shadowed wraith in tattered lace,
Her hollow eyes a famished place.
The trees bow low as if they know
The sorrow traced in steps so slow.
Her whisper rides the howling breeze,
A starving song that haunts the trees.
Once she danced in firelight’s gleam,
Her laughter bright, her hopes a dream.
But hunger came with winter’s breath,
And left her cold—a bride to death.
Now she lingers, pale and thin,
A specter draped in aching sin.
She calls to those who dare to roam,
To lead them far from hearth and home.
This haunting is told all over Bolton,
The ghostly lady,
who should have soon been Mrs. Walton.
Taken from this life too soon,
On earth, for her, there was no room.
About the Creator
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