Kate Wallace's death wasn't peaceful. Legend has it she was shipwrecked off the coast of Ilfracombe, north Devon, when returning to the town in 1695. She was nursed, coincidentally, by her parents, but was so badly bruised that they did not recognise her. Three days later, she died, but only after her father, William – who, as a shipwrecker, had lured her ship to its doom in the first place – relieved the unknown woman of all her valuables. Upon realising who she was, the poor man was so overcome he entombed her body in a room in his house, Chambercombe Manor, where she stayed until 1865 when her dusty skeleton was discovered by some unsuspecting tenants.
So between her and Lady Jane Grey – another former visitor at Chambercombe who met a similarly grisly end – it's not surprising that ghost-hunters here get pelted with stones, pushed into corners by freezing blasts of air and are run out of the house by moaning voices.
"I don't believe in demons," says head ghost-hunter Jayne Hendy. "But I do believe in demonic spirits. They're like people, you just need to know how to handle them." She says this as I clutch two dousing rods, metal apparatus used to locate spirits and other paranormal activity. It is stage one of our paranormal training with Haunted Happenings, which throughout the evening will see us conducting lone ghost vigils in a scullery, having a séance in a spooky bedroom and taking a ghostly tour of the grounds. My rods and I don't communicate well. If there are any currents of unearthly radiation in Chambercombe, I'm the human equivalent of a nuclear bunker. It's not a situation I am keen to remedy. Despite the cheery gingham and bright lights of the Lady Jane's tearooms where we begin our night, there's little getting away from the fact that Chambercombe is creepy.
"Don't worry," says Jayne cheerfully as we skulk into the house behind her. "If you're scared, first look for a logical explanation for the sensations you're feeling, such as a massive spider climbing over your face. Something like that." After some consideration I decide that yes, this is a marginally preferable outcome to meeting a disgruntled member of the undead.
Jayne is a medium and a paranormal investigator with 25 years of spirit experience behind her. Together with Haunted Happenings founder Hazel Ford, who runs similar events up and down the country, she will be chaperoning us through the night. Some of the group are old hands, discussing recent sightings of spirits and whole tables shaking. But most of us are just curious first- or second-timers. One man wears an expression of bored disbelief and carries a very scientific-looking instrument which resembles a Geiger counter. I resolve to stay near him.
We begin our hunting in the main bedroom – a room dominated by an oppressive, intricately carved four-poster bed and a baby's cradle which has been known to rock by itself. Next door is where Kate Wallace's body was bricked up. I can't decide which part of the room scares me least, so I hover uncertainly by the end of the bed. Error. Jayne elects me to feel a certain part of the air near her which is icy cold. The whole room is icy cold. But this bit is definitely colder. According to Jayne, it is also five foot seven. I withdraw my hand and scuttle off to a corner, fearful of having groped Kate Wallace.
Sitting on the floor we begin the séance, and after 10 or so minutes there is a faint knock coming from outside the door. Jayne urges the assumed spirit to come in; I urge it to stay put. More minutes pass, during which time floorboards creak and other members of the group report feeling cold air blowing on their hands. Later on, I return in a smaller group with a spirit board (like a Ouija board) and we try to communicate with whoever was looming around the room earlier. The board spells out "Sofia" who says she is seven. I'm so interested in what Sofia is doing up at 2am talking with us that I forget to be freaked out by the fact that the planchette is moving apparently of its own accord. The guys at Haunted Happenings do this well: there is very little sensationalism in their actions, keen as they are to manage expectations.
Dissatisfied with Sofia, who bade us farewell pretty swiftly, confirming that child attention spans have not changed much over the centuries, we move to the Great Hall and sit quietly around a large, heavy wood table. A glass in the centre of the table begins to move. Whoever is guiding it seems keen to talk to one member of our group. Suddenly some pebbles come skittering across the floor. I jump out of my skin as we clatter around trying to find an explanation. No large spiders are apparent. But the house used to be inhabited by violent smugglers and shipwreckers – tunnels from the beach coming right into the room where I sit. I reckon they must have quite a good throwing arm.
By now it is 4am, and being on edge for eight hours is taking its toll. Yet clearly the spirits are not in the mood for talking or scaring the bejesus out of us tonight, which in many ways adds some authenticity to the proceedings. The part of me which wanted to believe is unsatisfied. The part of me which likes being able to sleep soundly at night most certainly is. And the cheery breakfast back in Lady Jane's tearooms does a lot to make me rationalise events. Pebbles? I muse while I scoff croissants: obviously it was just the wind. Yes, that makes sense. Doesn't it?
• Haunted Happenings (0115-972 9312) runs overnight ghost hunts across the UK from £45pp. Cottages at Chambercombe Manor can be booked through Country Holidays (0845 268 0773, ref 14651) from £119 for two nights (sleeps 2). Larger cottages available.
