The Obligatory Spooky Article

The Stocksbridge Bypass is a key link between Sheffield and Manchester and every day 18,000 motorists use it to travel to and from work. During the day, the only remarkable thing about it would seem to be the Orwellian technology used by its ultra-modern speed cameras. However, I’m here at night when the bordering fields appear black and brooding and trees cast shapes that menace my peripheral vision. In darkness it comes as no surprise that this road is famous as one of the most haunted places in Britain.

I’m parked in a layby between the Orwellian speed cameras on the outskirts of Sheffield. The road hasn’t yet reached the imposing beauty of the Pennines, here it skirts along the side of a valley that holds the village of Stocksbridge. Even before the Bypass was opened on Friday the 13th 1988, it was clear that something strange was happening in this area. Local historians uncovered tales of a monk buried on unhallowed ground and speculate that the route of the Bypass disturbed his final resting place. This Monk is often spotted walking in the centre of the road or in the rear view mirrors of passing motorists – sometimes even sitting silently next to them in the passenger seat. Maintenance workers on the night shift also reported hearing children singing in the woods. Several more dressed in Medieval clothing were seen dancing around an electricity pylon.

I can see that pylon from my car. Directly in front of me is Pearoyd Bridge where two security guards encountered a cloaked, faceless man who disappeared when they shone their torches on him. The time is 11.42pm and it’s been five minutes since a vehicle passed. I’m beginning to regret coming here alone.

The incident that’s causing me the most concern regards the two Police officers sent to investigate the story told by the shaken security guards. They parked in this exact spot and at around midnight, one of them was surprised to see the torso of a man in Dickensian clothing pressed against his car window. Turning to tell his colleague, he saw that the same man was now standing next to the passenger window. The car was then rocked by a series of loud thumps which was enough to make them turn around and head for safety.

That’s exactly what I feel like doing. My car doesn’t feel comfortable anymore so I get out and climb the embankment. I’m trying not to think of the greyish figure with flying arms and legs who leapt over such an embankment and ran into the path of oncoming traffic in July 1990.

On the Bypass, ghost stories stain every landmark - each black field is a backdrop against which I expect to see something white and shimmery. When I reach the top of the embankment, I’m too scared to look back at the road. What I see in front of me then, is enough to take my breath away completely.

On the other side of the valley, one of Sheffield’s seven hills is a lump of blackness against the deep blue of the sky. The lights of Stocksbridge spread up its side, twinkling in an irregular pattern. The effect is like gently flowing lava or, more appropriately, molten steel with patches of bright light showing through the hardening surface. The city’s jewellery box is laid out before me and all thoughts of ghosts disappear in an instant.

It’s a reminder that no matter how unremarkable a place may seem - whether it’s the town you live in or the road you drive to work on, everywhere is steeped in rich history and folklore. If you take a little interest in this history and make time to explore your surroundings, your view of the place will be transformed. More often than not, you’ll also stumble across something unexpectedly beautiful.