The Haunting of Dunsland House

Amid the tranquil hills of Bradford, Devon, where the River Torridge weaves through timeless woodlands, Dunsland House looms as a monument to both grandeur and unease, its ancient stone walls harboring secrets that whisper through its shadowed corridors. Within its heart lies the dark-panelled room, where a spectral sleeper presses unseen weight upon a crimson-draped four-poster bed, and a priest’s hole hides the mournful ghost of a little old lady, her grey-laced figure bound to a sorrow etched in the scratches of a desperate past. From the chilling breath heard in the night to the fleeting lavender scent trailing her presence, the house breathes with a restless history, its hauntings as enduring as the ivy that clings to its weathered façade, daring any who enter to unravel the mysteries that refuse to fade.