We got off our bicycle and started wheeling it across the field in front of the Castle and Stumps, we were almost half way across when a man came out of the front door to shake a cloth, when he saw us he shouted.

" Don't go across there." We stopped.

" Across where." said Joe.

" Across the square in the middle." he pointed to the neatly mowed peace of grass in the middle of the field, we were almost at on it. We skirted around the neat bit of grass and approached the man.

"What's so special about the square in the middle " ask Joe.

" Its the Cricket square." said the man, "That's why this place is called the Castle and Stumps, stumps as in cricket.

We looked up at the Castle and Stumps, it was not your giant ten thousand men type castle. This was more like the castle you get on a chess board, round, two stories high, small slit windows with a castle bit on top. If its shape was not enough to tell you what it was, it had a large sign painted on the stonework running all round the middle which said ' The Castle and Stumps '.

The man with the duster was the barman and second slip, his name was George Fogget. Inside the Castle and Stumps it was almost exactly as you would expect it to be, one round room, dark with beams and wooden panelling. There were bits of armour hanging about and pictures of old knights on the walls. There was also alot of cricketing items, cups team photographs and the such like. We ordered a pint of beer each and some sandwiches.

It seems the pub was used as a clubhouse by the local cricket team, a small village could not afford anything else and it was handy for the green.

Fogget gave us a big plate of ham sandwiches. As we looked round we noticed a glass case with a scruffy pair of greyish cricket pads carefully preserved in the glass. I ask the obvious question, it seemed the once belonged to W.G.Grace who once played for their team in his early days. Joes blank expression indicated that he did not know who W. G. Grace was, so I explained he was famous a cricketer, in fact the famous cricketer. Legendary added Fogget.

We all stood for a while looking in silent reverence staring at the scruffy pair of cricket pads. A signed photograph and a letter from the great man himself confirmed the authenticity of the icon.

While we were maintaining our silent reverence to the great man I continued munching the ham sandwiches, they were probably the best ham sandwiches I have ever had. They were made with freshly baked home made bread and judging by the flavour, home cured ham.

As the silence continued Joes eye was caught by a small framed picture securely nailed to a beam near the end of the bar. The picture seemed to be of a fifty pound note, it was dusty and looked as if it had been there a long time.

" What." said Joe at length. " Is that? "

" That." said Fogget eyeing us up. " Is the bet."

" The bet." I said, as I said it I had a little feeling that made me think that I should not have ask.

" I know I'm going to regret this." said Joe. " But what bet."

Fogget looked at us for a moment then gave a little grin before replying " The bet of spending one night in this castle."

" Is that all." said Joe.

" Without being blind drunk." said Fogget.

I suggested that would indicate that the place was supposed to be haunted.. Fogget would not say one way or the other, just adding that no one had managed to win the bet in the past eighty years. Joe wondered if the note still legal tender, I could almost see Joe thinking there was a bit of easy money here. Fogget thought the note was probably not legal any more but said that Colonel Randolf, who owned the pub had promised to pay the present day equivalent, which was probably four time that by now. Joe now thinking of an easy two hundred quid ask what precisely one had to do.

Fogget explained you had to spend one night in the bed upstairs from closing time to cock crow in the morning. It sounded a bit too easy so I ask Fogget if he had tried it, only once he explained, he lasted till half past midnight. Curiosity made me ask.

Fogget gave a quick rundown of events, banging, scraping, thuds, whoooing, you name it he got it, he did not actually see a ghost but as explained by the time he ran out the door to the safety of his cottage he was frightened enough to see a whole army of ghosts.

This was very odd as the place was simply not old enough to have a ghost of its own, it was not even a real castle, just a Victorian folly. Fogget knew all this but explained he would still not spend another night in the place and there is a lot of other people in the village who had tried and would not try again. I ask if it was built over an ancient burial ground or something like that but that was the odd thing about it, there is nothing in the area linked with any kind of ghost at all, no grey ladies, no highwayman, no stories or legends, nothing in the whole village. Not even the Old Manor where Colonel Randolf lived had any ghosts, nobody could account for it at all.

" That's good enough for me." said Joe. " I could do with a couple of hundred quid."

" I wouldn't recommend it." said Fogget.

" It will have to be a jolly good ghost to stand between me and that kind of money." said Joe.

" And I have yet to be convinced there are such things as ghosts." I said.

" Are we on for tonight."

That evening the bar filled up with locals who had heard we were about to accept the old fifty pound challenge, they had all come to give us their support. The form this support took, they told us about every ghost they had ever heard of. A small man with a scruffy dog thought the ghost was an old tramp who put a curse on the village when the church preacher turned him away last century. A big ugly chap thought it was the wife of a local gangster, she had died apparently under mysterious circumstances. Arthur the school teacher thought it was the ghost of a pirate captain from the seventeenth century who had been born in the village. Someone else thought it was a group of local lads who had died in the last war when their bomber crashed, the fact that it went down in Africa I thought that was pushing it a bit. This went on all evening, the locals enjoying themselves at our expense. By the end of the evening me and Joe were getting just a little bit jittery.

The only person in the bar who did not tell us a ghost story or talk to any one at all, was a small man with a grey face in a grey mackintosh sitting in a corner near the end of the bar. All evening he just sat there, with one pint of beer on the table in front of him. Nobody spoke to him and he said nothing, just sat looking straight ahead as if there was nobody around. Towards closing time I glanced across to the corner and the old man had gone. No glass nothing. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and suddenly I went cold. As I focused on the empty spot in the corner all the other noises in the bar seemed to fade and this horrible sticky feeling crept all over me, had I just seen the ghost of the Castle and Stumps. Fogget noticing I had gone somewhat pale came down to our end of the bar.

" Are you all right? " inquired Fogget. " You look a bit pale." he said.

" Di di di did ma ma ma man." I stammered.

" Pardon." said Fogget.

" Di did yo you see the man in the corner." I said at last.

" Old Will Dosset, course I did." said Fogget. " Comes in here every night, wife died three months ago, comes in here every night says nothing has one pint of beer then creeps out. He's a nice old soul we don't disturb him, he's still grieving, he'll come round when he's good and ready."

" Thank goodness for that." I said as my heart began beating again.

" Why? " said Fogget.

" O nothing really." I said. " Just something that was going round in my little head there for a moment."

As everyone left and wished us good luck we wheeled our bike into the bar and propped it up against the counter. Fogget washed the glasses and generally tided up.

Joe suddenly had a thought that this is just one big wind up by the village for strangers like us. Fogget ask him what he meant. Well everyone was in such good humour said Joe that he had a suspicion that after we were locked in for the night and gone to bed, all the lads from the village would stand outside the window rattling chains and making strange noises. Fogget laughed it was a good idea but told us there would be no need for them to do any of that, and that anyway we would not be locked in.

With some confidence that we would not stay long he told us that he lived in the cottage just across the green and that he would leave the light on and door open. When we wanted to get out we were to make for the light and go in.

" Confident aren't you." I said.

It was only as Fogget lifted a hurricane lamp from a hook behind the bar to lead the way upstairs that it dawned on me the place had no electricity. I grabbed the bicycle lamp from the front of our bike as we followed Fogget up the small staircase behind the bar. The staircase followed the curve of the outside wall and opened into one large room on the first floor. This room was mostly filled with a large four poster bed which had a huge red velvet canopy, the walls were covered in dark wood panelling. The ceiling had dark oak timber beams radiating out from the centre of the tower holding up the roof. The wooden floor had no carpet just a couple of rugs and the only other furniture was a large wooden chest at the bottom of the bed and two wooden chairs. The medieval theme from down stairs had been carried on up here, even to a single picture of an unknown knight on horseback.

Fogget waved the lamp and told us this is where we were to stay all night to win the bet. So far so good I suggested and Joe said he was dead beat then threw himself on the bed, wake me up in the morning he shouted.

Fogget smiled saying there would be some sandwiches and a drink in his kitchen table. He hung the hurricane lamp on a hook beside the bed and then went back down the stairs. There was some banging about the sound of glasses then the sound of the large front door closing. Then it was quiet, very quiet, very very very quiet.

" It's rather quiet." said Joe.

" What shall we do." I said.

" Go to sleep." said Joe.

" Do we blow out the lamp." I said.

" Have you got some matches to light it again if we do." said Joe.

" Yes." I said.

" I'm tempted to say leave it on but I can't sleep with the light on." said Joe.

" Neither can I." I said. " Unless we sit up all night."

" Put it out." said Joe.

I turned the bicycle on then blew out the hurricane lamp. We took off our shoes and got under the cover of the bed. I switched off the torch and tried to go to sleep.

From where I was laying I could see a single shafts of light coming from the small slit window on the opposite wall. The silvery white light came from the moon and shone across the floor, as time ticked away the light gradually crept towards our bed.

Joe was fast asleep, I was just about asleep, when I heard it. Brrrrr, brrrrr, brrrrrrrrr. It was like a giant butterfly flapping its wings. I could have almost ignored this if the scraping had not started.

Scrapppppe... scrapppe.... Like somebody dragging a heavy wooden box across the floor. I was wide awake now, there was a heavy boom boom boom, I knew what that was, that was my heart beating. Thud....

" What was that? " Joe whispered.

" I don't know." I said.

Scrape Thud... scrape Thud... scrape Thud...

Well I am not looking said Joe putting his head under the cover. I was already there. Slowly, very slowly, I put my hand out of the cover to feel for the torch I had put on the floor by the bed. As each second passed I thought my exposed hand was going to be grabbed by some clammy slimy tentacle of some unearthly apparition.

Scrape Thud... scrape Thud... scrape Thud...

I switched the torch on under the cover. There was this horrible ghostly apparition a twisted white face... Stop shining the torch in my face said Joe it is out there what ever it is.

Scrape Thud... scrape Thud... scrape Thud...

On the count of three I whispered we push the cover back and look. No screaming whispered.

Scrape Thud... scrape Thud......

" two three."

" Got you." I shouted hoping to frighten it as much as it had frightened us.

I shone the torch slowly around the room. There was nothing. The noise had stopped.

" I.. I..I wa..was not frightened." said Joe.

" Na..na.neither was I." I said.

" Shall we light the lamp? " said Joe.

" If you want it on." I said bravely.

As the glow from the hurricane lamp filled the room the panic receded a tiny bit, the room was quiet once again. Very quiet, very very very quiet.

"Do you want a crisp." said Joe producing an unopened bag of crisps.

Joe opened the bag and sat crunching crisps, surprisingly the crunching sound was quite comforting. What now I ask when the crisps were all gone. Back to sleep was Joes only suggestion, did he really think he could sleep now. Joe reckoned we had scared it off but when I ask him if he wanted the light off again he suddenly found he could sleep better with it on.

I turned the lamp down a little bit as I did not want it to run out of paraffin before the night was over. We pulled cover up and laid down again. To say I was not sleepy would be an understatement just about every nerve in my body was waiting for the next sound.

Berrrrr... Scrape... Thud.....

A"hhh." We both instantly set up in bed while I shone my torch rapidly around the room. The silence was deafening. For a long time we sat looking nervously around. There was only one thing we can do in a situation like this I said, eat something.

We crept down the small staircase into the bar and looked around for something to eat. We found some bread, cheese and butter and made ourselves two over generous sandwiches. Opening a bottle of the local beer we sort of hid behind the bar crouching under the counter. As we ate our sandwiches we just started to feel a little bit more human when... Scccrapeeee.... it came from directly over our heads, someone was dragging a body across the bedroom floor.

Scccrappeee...

Now I would not say we actually stopped chewing in mid sandwich, spilt our beer on our trousers and looked open mouthed in semi terror at the ceiling, because I would not want to admit such a thing. But we did.

A long time passed after the noise had stopped when Joe admitted that he did not think he could take much more of this. I ask him what he thought it was. He thought it was the lost bomber crew, dragging the body of the pirate to the headless horseman.

It was funny but that was just what I thought it was. I suggested a short walk to Fogget's cottage might be pleasant, not that ether if us was scared.

Joe said he could however do with a walk before the night watchman returned again. I ask Joe why he called it the night watchman. Joe had noticed that the sounds happened every fifteen minutes as regular as clockwork. I ask him if he was positive. Positive he could not be more positive, he had been counting second by terrified second up in the bedroom. Hearing that odd fact I perked up somewhat.

In that case I said pouring out the last of the beer, lets get up those stairs. Joe did not think he had heard me properly for he thought we had agreed it was to be plan B, out the door and across the green as fast as out legs could carry us.

That would not be necessary I informed Joe, if what I was thinking is right I told him we were going to kill a ghost, if I was wrong however I would be at Fogget's before the next bang has time to settle.

Before we went back up the stairs I got the small tool kit from the saddlebag of our bicycle, the next ten minutes were spent examining the panelling around the room. It is about time said Joe who had been keeping a check on the time with his watch. Sure enough. Brrrrr, brrrrr, brrrrrrrrr, Scrape... Thud.....

"Over here." I shouted, I pressed my ear against one of the panels near the small windows, Joe came across to my side of the room and pressed his ear to the panel next to mine.

Scrape... Thud..... Near this one whispered Joe. We both listened.

Scrape... Thud.....

It was very loud, very solid. Joe ask me what I was thinking. I told him I was thinking that this is no ghostly ghost. After the noises had stopped I started examining the panelling on the wall where the sound had come from.

As I expected I found three small brass hinges on the edge of one of the panels. We started to look on the other side of the panel where I expected we should find some sort of catch. The catch was not easy to find, the whole length of a wooden strip covering the edge of the panel had to be pushed upward and it was very stiff. To help move it I pushed the end of one of our tire leavers under the edge of the wooden strip and levered it upward, the panel it was attached to moved, it was a door.

As I started pulling open the secret door Joe put his hand on my shoulder and declared that he was not sure he wanted to know what was behind it. I ask him where his curiosity was, running down the stairs and across the field to Fogget's cottage said Joe. I continued to pull the panel open, it creaked and groaned. it had obviously not been opened in a very long time.

When it was half open I shone the torch into the darkness behind the panel. What is it, ask Joe as I looked into the dark cavity behind the panel. The torch beam flickered on a hundred years of cobwebs, these were covering a series of wheels chains pulleys rods and gears along with one large metal fan. Well that's is our ghost I declared and Joe poked his head around the edge of the panel looking into the space lit by my torch beam.

Joe naturally jumped to the wrong conclusion deciding it was all some kind of eighteenth century joke ghost machine designed specifically to scare people. I had to disappoint Joe and tell him it was nothing more than an old clock. Joe liked his idea best.

I reminded Hoe that the last thing Fogget did before leaving the pub, apart from snigger alot, was go over to a handle in the wall near the door and wound it, he was winding the clock. We could remember seeing it on the outside over the main door. He must have been doing it for years with out even thinking about it, but what had not occurred him or anyone else was that it not only wound the clock it also wound the chiming mechanism. Joe pointed out that we had not heard any chimes. Precisely I declared in triumph and pointed to three large hammers. I pulled back each of the large leather covered hammers and let them go in turn. Thud, Thud, Thud, went each hammer as its metal arm hit against a heavy wooden strut. I shone the torch on the large metal fan and spun it around Berrrr, Berrrrr it went. The governor I pointed out. The scraping ask Joe. The falling weights I said shining the torch around in the darkness behind the panel until it came to rest on three large rusty iron weights. Following the line of the chains attached to the weights we could see a bracket holding two pulleys at the top of the tower. This bracket had bent slightly causing the weights to scrape down the side of the panelling as the clock tries to strike each quarter of the hour. Fans hammers weights why no bells ask Joe.

There was no answer to that although it looked as if there should have been some, you could see hooks where they would have hang from. It was clear there should have been three long tubular bells you could see the holes in the floor where they must have once hung down through. It was all most odd declared Joe.

" I wonder what happened to the bells? " I said.

" Perhaps they made too much noise and they were taken out so long ago no body can remember it." said Joe.

" Unless they were set up wrong hence they only start working at night when they should be working during the day." I said. " So they just took the bells out."

" And never managed to get the clock makers back to fix it." said Joe.

" Possibly." I said. " Anyhow there's a lever here on the governor that may switch them off." the lever it was very stiff.

" Don't break it." said Joe.

By tapping it with the spanner I managed to push it to the off position.

" Now perhaps we can get some sleep." I said.

" I'm all for that." said Joe.

We put the light out and got back into bed.

Werrrbeeeeee... Werrrbreeeeee...

" What was that? " shouted Joe.

" The wind blowing through the rope on the roof flagpole." I said. " Now go to sleep."

" How do you know its that. " said Joe.

" There's a flagpole outside my flat, that's one noise I can recognise in my sleep." I said

" Thank goodness for that." said Joe. " I thought we'd got another ghost."

At half past five in the morning a crowing cockerel woke us both up from a very deep sleep.

" Well." I said. " It looks as if we've beaten the challenge."

" Do you reckon it was all a wind up." said Joe.

" What you mean." I said.

" I wonder if Fogget knows all about the clock and will come in having a good laugh about it." said Joe.

" They were all in rather a jovial mood last night." I said. " Weren't they? "

" And we fell for it." said Joe.

" Mind you, that panel has not been opened for a very long time, it made a fresh scratch on the floor where there was not one before."

" You mean perhaps it's never been opened since they took the bells out." said Joe.

" Possible." I said.

" Shall we tell them about it." said Joe.

" If we do." I said. " And it's not a big joke on their part, we will probably miss out on the fifty quid."

" We deserve that fifty quid after last night." said Joe. " I've aged at least ten years."

" Lets switch the clock back on and see what they say. If it is a joke we'll just laugh, if not we take the money and cycle away heroes." I said.

We reset the clock and closed the panel that hid it, then rubbed some dirt into the fresh scratch on the floor where the panel had scraped the boards. Having done that you couldn't tell it had ever been moved.

Fogget arrived at half past seven amazed that we had lasted the night. Several other villagers arrived as word got around about our success at staying a whole night in the tower. We were given a good breakfast, even a champagne toast was given to our success.

At nine o clock, Colonel Randolf himself turned up to give a little speech and ask us if we had heard the ghost, we said we had, which was true. With all the fuss we were getting we would not have dared say it was really just the clock and ruin a peace of village folklore.

Colonel Randolf personally gave us the money, but not the framed banknote which stayed where it was with our names added below as having survived the bet. Joes stories about the ghosts that floated about the room and rattled chains, were beginning to get so ridiculous I thought he was going to blow our credibility, it was time to go.

We waved good bye to every one as they all lined up outside the Castle and Stumps, mounted out tandem and rode quietly in the morning sunshine out of the village. We were much richer and feeling somewhat like Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson .

The only small shadow that remains even to this day about the event is about the sound we heard after switching the clock chimes off, the sound of the wind blowing through the rope on the flagpole. I never did tell Joe but just before turning away from the village for the last time, I glanced back at the pub and noticed something rather odd. There was no flagpole on the Castle and Stumps or in fact anywhere near.

Very strange.