Albert, a literature professor, was no stranger to ghost tours.
He remembered the first time he joined a ghost tour at Covent Garden—he couldn't sleep that night, plagued by nightmares. In his dreams, that opera singer floated behind them like a silent phantom, the image haunting him even to this day. When he awoke, he swore he would never again set foot in that dark alley.
Yet time had its strange magic. As the years passed, the fear gradually faded, replaced by a kind of thrilling sensory excitement that tempted him to return.
Perhaps people are simply forgetful. In the end, Albert couldn't keep his promise. When ghost tours began popping up in other areas, his curiosity drove him to step out once more.
Whitechapel, however, was a truly indescribable place—filthy, dark, crowded. It was hardly the right environment for an immersive spooky experience. The actors at London Bridge merely splashed fake blood, and to Albert, many of the classic scare tactics no longer had the same effect. He already knew what to expect and naturally wouldn't be frightened a second time. That night, he didn't have a single nightmare.
So when he read in *The Strand* that Covent Garden had launched a new ghost tour experience, he was immediately intrigued and dragged along a newly acquainted friend to join.
As ghost tours gained popularity, participants began forming a small, loose-knit club. Anyone interested in ghost tours was welcome to join. It became something of a community for like-minded enthusiasts.
Thanks to the ghost tours, they were surprised to discover just how many ghost stories were hidden throughout London. They grew curious about every local legend, even conducting their own investigations into alleged paranormal sites. But when visiting these places in person, they often found them dull and no different from anywhere else. They never truly encountered anything terrifying.
This only deepened Albert's admiration for the creators of Covent Garden's ghost tour. They were truly imaginative, able to turn ordinary stories into spine-chilling scenes.
His new friend was also a fear enthusiast—someone who scared easily but still relished the experience. Every scream from his friend made Albert both amused and impressed.
When they arrived at Covent Garden, Albert instinctively glanced at the other participants. He was a bit surprised to see two particularly beautiful women among them. They stood together, not resembling each other enough to be sisters, nor did they seem like mother and daughter based on age and demeanor. Their elegant behavior clearly marked them as upper-class. It was curious—what were upper-class ladies doing on a ghost tour?
Besides them, Albert noticed a lone man who seemed particularly clear-eyed—and stupid. Probably a recent graduate. Another dark-haired man with a hardened demeanor looked like a soldier, though not quite a disciplined one. Perhaps a mercenary?
Albert found it odd. A "tough guy" like that, interested in something as theatrical as a ghost tour?
The child guides, each holding a candle, came to greet the guests. Albert felt a sense of "coming home." While other districts also used children as guides, their performances always felt forced—deliberate attempts to scare. Covent Garden's guides, by contrast, exuded an eerie authenticity.
In the revamped tour, the dramatic actors were gone, replaced by a pair of tragic lovers.
As the guide explained, the couple had been forbidden to marry due to class differences. In despair, they committed suicide by slitting their wrists. Even in death, their souls remained in love but forever apart. Albert rolled his eyes—wasn't this just a knock-off of *Romeo and Juliet*?
As the guide spoke, a woman in a white wedding dress slowly drifted to the entrance of the alley, her face buried in her hands, sobbing softly. Her crying echoed down the narrow street.
Albert's friend shrieked. The rest of the group remained composed, but Albert himself was startled more by his friend's scream than the ghost.
The bride ghost wandered near the alley's entrance while the guide pointed to the far end, where a man in a tailcoat silently stood.
Trapped between two ghostly figures, Albert felt a twinge of unease, but not much.
"But there are rumors," the guide whispered, "that the lady was actually three months pregnant when she died—without knowing it."
As the words left her lips, a child's voice cried out from the group, "Mommy!"
It was like a bomb went off in Albert's chest. He staggered back. The bride's white gown instantly turned blood-red, the color soaking through in a horrifying transformation. She slowly lifted her hands from her face to reveal a deathly pale visage, her hollow eyes searching for the source of the voice.
"Mommy! Mommy!" The child's voice rose and fell, distant and near, echoing like a summons from the depths of hell. Albert couldn't even begin to guess what kind of technology produced it—his whole body was frozen. His friend kept screaming. Lord Norman braced himself against the wall, while the bright-eyed fool shouted at the ghost bride, "Come on! I'm not afraid of you!"
Albert was stunned. The bride ghost actually floated toward him. The so-called brave man retreated with every step she took.
"Dearest," the ghost murmured, stretching her skeletal arms toward him as if to caress his face. Up close, her eyeless sockets and slow-bleeding tears made everyone gasp. The so-called brave man dropped to the ground, covering his head in terror.
Elena clung to Lady Clare's arm, pretending to be terrified. Lady Clare—Berkeley—put on a good show of shivering. Lord Norman, in contrast, appeared calm and composed, as if everything were proceeding exactly as expected, though in truth, he had been frozen for some time.
He never imagined the ghost tour would be this terrifying. He didn't consider himself timid, but when the ghost bride walked toward him, a chill ran down his spine.
"Bloody hell," muttered Lord Norman, resisting the urge to bolt. "These fake ghosts are scarier than real spirits."
Only after the ghost bride, drawn away by the child's voice, drifted off into the darkness, and the groom silently vanished, did the group finally begin to relax.
Subsequent ghost encounters were similarly tweaked. The candlelight was now placed inside white paper lanterns, giving the familiar scenes a fresh twist. Eventually, they arrived at the final destination—a church graveyard. Along the way, the young guide told tales of vampire-like creatures, setting the mood perfectly.
"Some say these creatures can't see well," the guide instructed, "so if you encounter one, blow out your candle. But they have excellent hearing, so stay quiet."
Truth be told, this vampire tale was far more terrifying than anything the old men of the Inquisition had ever put out. If vampires weren't real, Norman would've complimented their imagination.
"And," the guide added in a hushed voice, "they say if you're bitten, you become one of them."
"I don't believe that!" the bright-eyed fool—William—boldly declared. "I can buy the ghost stuff, but vampires? Please. That's just something you made up."
Albert rolled his eyes. He'd grown used to this so-called "brave one's" routine—loud boasts at the beginning, then trembling terror later on. All he could do was silently hope William could hold it together a little longer this time.
The child guide grinned and opened the churchyard gate. "Of course," she teased, "this is a ghost tour, not a vampire tour. We just wanted to show you the place. Some say they've heard strange gnawing sounds here—maybe vampires? But how could they be real, right? You're free to explore on your own. We'll wait here at the gate."
Without a guide, the group hesitated but eventually entered, candles in hand, slowly making their way through the small graveyard.
"If this weren't a ghost tour, you couldn't pay me to come to a place like this at night," Albert's friend muttered. Suddenly, he froze. "Did you hear that?"
They were at the graveyard's center. The moment he spoke, the air thickened. A soft rustling sound crept in from all directions.
William kept up his "brave" persona, leading the group by a few paces. He called out, "Who's there? Show yourself!"
As he spoke, a hunched figure slowly rose from behind a tombstone.
The group held their breath. Someone whispered for William to come back. But he turned smugly, saying, "See? No sound at a—"
Before he could finish, the figure lunged at him, knocking him to the ground. Other tourists rushed forward, only to see more hunched shapes rising one by one from behind tombstones.
Elena clung tighter to Lady Clare's arm. The others tried to check on William, only to see him rise—trembling, his face deathly pale and clearly not human.
Albert was terrified. He had thought this was all a show. Now, a fellow tourist had turned into one of them. Vampires *were* real. Getting bitten *did* turn you.
His friend covered his mouth in fear, recalling the guide's warning about the monsters' sharp hearing.
Meanwhile, the hunched figures closed in. Their movements were stiff and unnatural, like puppets. They emitted strange groaning noises, their faces red and pale, their bodies filthy as if they'd just crawled out of graves. And William—once "brave"—was now eerily agile, spider-like, crawling atop a tombstone on all fours.
Faced with such horror, Albert's friend couldn't help but scream. The sharp cry shattered the graveyard's stillness.
The creatures became agitated, their limbs twitching grotesquely as they advanced toward the source of the sound.
Albert grabbed his friend's arm and backed away quickly.
Elena and Lady Clare also retreated. The latter even studied the creatures closely, as if comparing them to herself.
Only Lord Norman remained frozen in place, in danger of being surrounded. Elena rushed forward, grabbed his arm, and dragged him back before it was too late.