I bought a luxury apartment in Taylor Wimpey’s The Denizen but I was forced to abandon it. When I moved in most of the other flats were empty. The concierge told me more than fifty percent of those who’d bought into this investment block hadn’t even bothered to pick up their keys. There were 99 flats in the development but mine was the only one with a live in owner. Despite being surrounded by ghost homes I regularly heard footsteps in the corridor leading to my apartment. Whenever I went to investigate no one was there. At times I heard people whispering in Middle English, talking as if they still inhabited a London that had existed hundreds of years ago. Shadows and inexplicable movements appeared in my peripheral vision. I was returning to my flat one night when something flashed before me in the hallway, then disappeared. It was gone in a second but it was the shadow of a woman wearing a long old-fashioned dress. That’s when I moved out. I could stand it no longer.
Tag: ghost homes
"Then there is The Denizen," said Meagle, "full of luxury apartments available at absurdly low rents and nobody will take them. It has taken toll of at least one life of every family that has lived there - however short the time - and concierge after concierge has died there. The last caretaker died just a few weeks ago."
I did not tell you last night but there was a murder done on this site hundreds of years ago, and when Taylor Wimpey laid the foundations of The Denizen, they disturbed the spirits and their luxury apartment block is now haunted by ghosts. People shy away from this place.
Digging deeper beneath The Denizen’s foundations, the labourers found some bones attached to and intermingled with fetters. Believing that burying the bones elsewhere would lift the curse of The Denizen, Johnson ordered the men he’d hired to carry them out of the basement. But when those charged with removing the human remains touched them, they dropped dead. The same fate befell Alex when he attempted to pick up the bones. The ghost was happy enough with The Denizen for its home. It was a quiet location because no one lived there….
The Denizen was - and for that matter still is - designed to repel the attention of the curious. Generically designed by Allford Hall Monaghan Morris in the bland contemporary style favoured by developers hoping to get rich from investment flats that will never be lived in, there was absolutely nothing of interest about the block beyond the reprehensible political manoeuvering and money-grabbing that led to it being built. 110 social housing flats for key workers had been replaced with 99 ghost homes for investors with no on site social or affordable housing, not a single flat, not one! The new building was much taller than the old one and between September and March blocked all afternoon sun from the neighbouring and heavily used Fortune Street Park. In short the entire development was a disaster for local people. And that is before factoring in that the malevolent spirits living beneath it were disturbed by the construction of the development and angry about it...
The full moon was now high above The Denizen. Through the open window they could see the comforting stars like friendly eyes watching in the sky. One by one the clocks of the City struck midnight, and when the sounds died away the deep silence of a windless night fell again over everything. Only the roar of car engines, far away and lugubrious, filled the air with hollow murmurs. Inside Taylor Wimpey's The Denizen development the silence became awful; awful, he thought, because any minute now it might be broken by sounds portending terror. The strain of waiting told more and more severely on the nerves; they talked in whispers when they talked at all, for their voices aloud sounded queer and unnatural. A chilliness, not altogether due to the night air, invaded the room, and made them cold. The influences against them, whatever these might be, were slowly robbing them of self-confidence, and the power of decisive action; their forces were on the wane, and the possibility of real fear took on a new and terrible meaning...
There was nothing in the bland external appearance of Taylor Wimpey’s luxury apartment block The Denizen to bear out the tales of the horror that were said to reign within. It was neither lonely nor unkempt. It was packed in between the Barbican and Golden Lane Estate, and looked exactly like similar developments aimed at property investors throughout London and beyond. It may not have been aimed at the very wealthiest investors, and so it did not boast a private swimming pool, but there was a private cinema and games room. And yet this apartment block in Golden Lane, externally was extremely similar to dozens of other bland and ugly ghost home developments on the City fringe, was entirely different, horribly different. Wherein lay this marked, invisible difference is impossible to say. It cannot be ascribed wholly to the imagination, because persons who had spent some time in The Denizen, knowing nothing of the facts, had declared positively that certain flats were so disagreeable they would rather die than enter them again, and that the atmosphere of the apartment block produced in them symptoms of a genuine terror...
On a sunny summer day at lunchtime Fortune Street Park is packed with office workers eating food bought from stalls on neighbouring Whitecross Street. There is barely room to move. Before I started to shoot from my luxury apartment in The Denizen overlooking the park, I made some handwritten calculations about where to aim in order to maximize the death toll. Killing the muppets in the park was like shooting fish in a barrel. I took them out like turkeys on a meat factory production line at Christmas. People were such idiots; many of them lay flat on the ground in a bid to escape the leaden death spewed by my guns. Others tried to run away and I laughed as I saw claret stain the white shirts of those I’d hit. They made weird twitching movements like spastics before they died.
Junkies became a problem around here a little bit before The Denizen was built. There used to be a police section house where your luxury apartment now stands and when that had coppers living in it, the junkies stayed away. But as soon as the old bill went the junkies took over. They use the telephone box just outside The Denizen as a shooting gallery. We’ve been trying to get the phone box removed. It's known locally as The Cripplegate Shooting Gallery. There's a huge problem with both used needles and human excrement.