Howard's Gate

Chester 1700's
A large manner house stood silently one summers evening. It was buried within the encompassing arms of a large black iron railing fence that surrounded the grounds upon which it sat. The night was calm, a soft breeze gently fluttered by like a summer butterfly. In the distance a small grumbling of thunder was faintly heard. Carried by the breeze one could just about make out its menacing voice, terrorising a lonesome merchant ship making its way to the new worlds harbour.
The manners grounds were overgrown wild menacing gardens, the lone groundsman had been overpowered by its sheer scale many years ago. His back was a fraction of the strength it used to be in his younger years and his hands were plagued with arthritis. He did what he could to fight back against the overhanging trees and bushes, just enough to make it so that the dirt paths around the grounds were still open enough to let a horse drawn carriage pass through.
The house it's self was just as unkept and unappreciated as its grounds that were slowly swallowing it whole. It was maintained by a single house keeper. Like the groundsman her better days were a long distant memory, hazy thoughts of being able to run a house efficiently were now nothing more than a dream. She did what she could for the master of the house, and it was enough for his standards, but any job she attempted always took twice as long as it used to. They say home is where the heat is, one shudders to think what kind of heart would dwell in such a home as this.
As for the master, he was the rich owner of a shipping company. Owning, however, was all that he did. The company was managed by his only son as he had unofficially retired after the sudden and questionable death of his wife.

The master was one Howard Philips and he was looked after by his manservant, Hester Talbot. Hester was around half the age of his master however he was also around half the intelligence of his master. On the night in question Hester found himself being awoken from his peaceful slumber by a single large thumping noise that seemed to shake the very foundations of hell. He arose with great haste, swung both legs from out of his heavy cotton blankets and slipped his feet into a pair of cold slippers. He made his way out of his bed chamber and across the landing. Placing both hands upon the wooden banister that overlooked the main entrance downstairs he paused, slowly surveying the area until his bleary eyes spied upon the open door to the cellar. Light was coming out of the opening and slicing the darkness, he was puzzled, for all the years he had worked for Mr Philips not once did he ever recall that door ever being unlocked. He stood there watching the opening for a few moments, faint echoing rumbles of thunder were the only audible sound that reached his ears.

He began to make his way down the red carpeted stair case, his eyes firmly fixed onto the mysterious open door. As the staircase creaked and moaned underneath the slender man’s weight. A loud knocking sound pinned him to the spot. He stood there, listening. Bang! Another knock shock the front of the house. He removed his gaze from the cellar door and instead fixated it upon the grand entrance door. Another bang make him jump so much that he almost lost a footing on the stairs and would surly have gone crashing down to a violent demise upon the wooden entrance floor. He grabbed the banister and stabilised himself, he then noticed what daemon was causing the sudden banging. The wind outside had picked up, gaining pace from the impending storm moving inwards from the sea. It was this sudden unholy gush of wind that had thrust a loose window shutter and proceeded to knock it against the side of the timber house. With knowledge that it was only the spirit of the elements that was causing the noise his focus then shifted onto the real mystery of the night, what was happening in the cellar. Once at ground level he cautiously walked to the cellar door that stood beneath the wooden panelled staircase. He eased the door open and peered downwards. The door lead onto a narrow set of wooden stairs that ended at the bottom with a small wooden landing and another door. This door too was slightly open and flickering rays of candle light escaped from the opening along with the mumbling voice of Master Philips. Curiosity was rampant throughout Talbots mind, he was the cat it seemed, a cleaver man knows only too well what happens when curiosity gets the better of the cat. However Talbot was not a cleaver man and so he slowly and quietly made his way down the dark stair passage. He reached the bottom and, without moving the door, spied into the cellar room.

He could see Master Philips pacing around in a circle. He seemed to be in deep conversation with someone, however his voice was too low to fully distinguish any recognisable words of English. At first glance Talbot believed the room to be vacant of any other people. As he crept forward to get a better look he then saw a second figure. It had the shape of a large slender hooded man, his heavy grey robes dragged on the stone floor. This second unknown man just simply stood there with his back to the door, listening intently to every one of Master Philips incoherent instructions. Talbots heart was drumming faster, it felt as if it was about to break free from his caging chest. His breathing had also quickened. For reasons unknown to him he placed his left hand upon a small golden crucifix that dangled precariously around his neck. He moved closer again towards the gap in the door. His right foot slowly placing itself onto the wooden unlevelled floorboards. His left foot then quietly raised and began to follow. As it came down his toes softly pushed downwards on the corner of one board. A large shrieking creek echoed almost all around the entire house it seemed. Amplified by the deathly stillness of the night, it was a noise that was enough to stop any man’s heart from beating. Talbot was frozen to the spot, his heart had stopped, his breathing was that of a dying mans. Still clutching the crucifix, now tighter than ever, he noticed Master Philips looking directly at him. Fire burned within his masters eyes, the stare was that of the devils. Within moments the hooded man’s head slowly began to turn. With each slow turn loud cracking noises begun to ring out loud. It was as if with each twist of the neck a small pocket of air burst between every joint along his spine. Talbot felt as if his stomach was about to violently regurgitate every single piece of carrot, pea and potato from his vegetable soup supper. The man’s neck and head was turning, but his body still stayed with his, its, back to the door. Like an owl his face was looking directly at Talbot, his chest still facing Master Philips. Talbot gasped as he saw the face of the hooded creature, for upon its face there was no skin. All that was visible were its underlying muscles. Its teeth protruded outwards and were covered in some form of salvia mixed with the blood from some of its ruptured veins. Within his eye sockets there sat no eyes, nothing but deep eternal darkness so horrifying that no spark of light dared to enter within. Unyet with these dark empty sockets he felt such heat, such penetrating vision, his mind body and very soul were being watched, scanned and analysed. He felt so helpless, as if he was a condemned man being watched by both the judge and the executioner. He felt shackled and pinned to the spot. He couldn't even move when the terrifying hooded creature screamed in such a high pitched tone and ran full speed towards the spot where his trembling feet stood.
All the villagers herd where piercing screams followed by a grand roar of fire as the manner burst into flames.
Once the fire was out only one body was discovered, alive. It was the body of Talbot, badly burned and disfigured but alive non the less. After that night the words that he spoke were only the things of nightmares. ‘Wild delusions of skinless demons and portals to hell’ was what the sanatorium doctors called them. However these wild delusions soon found their way back to the folk of Chester. These wild delusions soon turned into ghost stories and frightening local legends. Old master Philips was a devil worshipped they'd say, old master Howard Philips opened a gate to hell. Thus the name of the area around the demolished manner house was named, Howards Gate.