| ID | #1602512731 |
| Added | Mon, 12/10/2020 |
| Author | July N. |
| Sources | |
| Phenomena | |
| Status | Fact
|
Initial data
It was an early winter morning in 1975 when Barry and Elaine, a married couple in their late twenties and with two young children, were driving home to their then-longitudinal mill in Staffordshire, England, after attending a Christmas party in the nearby town of Penkridge.
As the couple headed for the small village (its population today, four centuries after its original Foundation was laid, is still less than three hundred), the engine of their car started to crack, and to their horror and dismay, it completely stalled. Barry managed to carefully roll the car onto the side of the road, and quickly opened the hood and looked at the engine - "although I'm mostly useless in mechanics," he declares. There were no loose wires, the radiator was definitely not overheated, and checking the car's fuses gave no indication of what the problem might be. But since the family was less than half a mile away at the time, Barry made the decision, as he explained:
"We had a picnic blanket in the trunk of the car and I pulled it out. I got back in the car and told Elaine something like: "Let's cover you and the kids with a blanket." They were sleeping in the back seat and were only four and six years old at the time. So I said to [Elaine], "Stay with them, and I'll run home and get your car, pick up the three of you, and then we'll leave my car here, and we can ask someone from the garage to look at it tomorrow."
However, at this moment, their plans were thrown into complete disarray. According to Barry, Elaine screamed out loud, startled by the sight of a small figure running across the road ahead of them at high speed.
She explains:
"I just saw it at the last second, then it was followed by another, and then a third. I can best describe them to you as a hairy Troll or something like that. We had moonlight, and they looked like little men, but with humps and big hooked noses that didn't have a single seam on them.
Not a single stitch, at all, just hair all over them. I'd say they were all four feet tall, and when the third one passed us, you could see them at the edge of the trees-wary or something, anyway.
We both know from memory that they were moving forward towards us, very slowly towards us, and from then on I thought they were interested in us or wanted to know who we were. They were coming very slowly, and it seemed to me that someone was hunting us.
Elaine was hysterical; and with the children who were with us, I wasn't far from it either. But that's all we remember. And then it was all gone.
None of us remember how they left, and then it was about two o'clock, and the car started normally. I felt as if something had happened to us, but I couldn't figure out what it was. But memory is the biggest problem, even now. What was it?
Later, I dreamed that they surrounded the car, but that's really all. But they were there, and we did see them, right by the stone house [author's note: a reference to a large old dwelling that sits on the edge of the village of Slitting mill and which dates back to 1584, two centuries before the village appeared in the 1700s].»
Barry claims that to this day, and now that they are both in their sixties, both he and Elaine still feel very uncomfortable about the memory loss they both experienced in 1975, but he is keen to confirm this:
"I know, and we know that we both saw them. Children, fortunately, do not remember anything. They were terrible little creatures. All that hair: trolls, goblins, whatever.»
Neither Barry nor Elaine will ever again encounter such incidents or encounters with the unknown, but they will never forget the disturbing events that occurred in the heart of Slitting mill on a cold winter night many years ago with a strange gang of hairy trolls.
Original news
Date: Winter 1975
Location: Slitting Mill, Staffordshire, England
Time: early hours of a winter’s morning
Summary: It was in the early hours of a winter’s morning in 1975 when Barry and Elaine, a married couple then in their late twenties and with two small children, were driving towards their then-Slitting Mill, Staffordshire, England home, after attending a Christmas party in the nearby town of Penkridge. As the pair headed towards the small village (its population today, four centuries after its initial foundations were laid, is still less than three hundred), their car’s engine began to splutter and, to their consternation and concern, completely died. Having managed to carefully coast the car to the side of the road, Barry proceeded to quickly open the hood and took a look at the engine – “even though I’m mainly useless at mechanical stuff,” he states. There did not appear to be any loose-wires, the radiator was certainly not over-heated, and a check of the car’s fuses did not provide any indication of what might be the problem. But, as the family was less than half a mile or so from home at that point, Barry made a decision, as he explained:
“We had a picnic blanket in the boot [a British term for trunk] of the car and I got it out. I got back into the car and I said to Elaine something like: ‘Let’s cover you up and the kids with the blanket.’ They were in the back sleeping and [were] only four and six at the time. So I said to [Elaine]: ‘You stay with them, and I’ll run back home and get your car, pick the three of you up, and then we’ll leave my car here, and we can get someone out from a garage to look at it tomorrow.’”
At that point, however, their plans were thrown into complete and utter disarray. According to Barry, Elaine let out a loud scream, terrified by the sight of a small figure that ran across the road in front of them at a high rate of speed. She explains: “I just about saw it at the last second, and then another one followed it, and then a third one. The best way I can describe them to you is like a hairy troll or something like that. We had some moonlight and they were like little men, but with hunchbacks and big, hooked noses and not a stitch on them at all. Not a stitch, at all; just hair all over them. I’d say they were all four-feet-tallish, and when the third one crossed by us, you could see them at the edge of the trees – wary, or something, anyway.” Things became very hazy indeed, says Barry: “We both know from memory that they came forwards, towards us, very slowly to us, and I’ve thought since that they were interested in us or wanted to know who we were. They came very slowly, and it was a bit like we were being hunted, to me. Elaine was hysterical; and with the kids with us, I wasn’t far-off, either. “But that’s all we remember. The next, it’s all gone; nothing. Neither of us remembers seeing them go, and the next thing it was about two o’clock and the car started fine, then. It felt like something had happened to us, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on, you know what I mean? But the memory thing is the biggest problem, even now. What was it? I did have a dream later about them surrounding the car, but that’s it, really. But they were there and we did see them, right up by the Stone House [Author’s Note: A reference to a large, old abode that sits on the edge of the village of Slitting Mill and that dates back to 1584, two centuries prior to the emergence of the village in the 1700s].” Barry states that, to this day, and now both in their mid-sixties, both he and Elaine still feel very uneasy about the loss of memory that they both experienced back in 1975, but he is keen to affirm that: “I know, and we know, that we both saw them. The kids don’t remember a thing, thankfully. They were horrible little things. All that hair: Trolls, goblins, something. But they were there and they were real.” Neither Barry nor Elaine have ever experienced any further such incidents or encounters with the unknown, but they have never forgotten those disturbing events deep in the heart of Slitting Mill on a chilly, winter night all those years ago with a strange band of hairy trolls.
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