A True Ghost Story by Beyond Midnight

Summary

The Horror! (Old Time Radio)

Episode: A True Ghost Story by Beyond Midnight
Date: October 25, 2025
Podcast Host: RelicRadio.com

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Brief Overview

This episode of The Horror! features the chilling “A True Ghost Story” from the South African radio series Beyond Midnight. First aired on April 18th, 1969, the episode recounts a "true" haunting experienced during a golden summer in 1921 England. Through a mixture of atmospheric narration, dialogue, and supernatural tension, this tale explores grief, trauma, and the persistence of the past in everyday life.

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Key Discussion Points & Story Breakdown

Setting the Stage: The Summer of 1921 (03:01–06:02)

• The narrator, a young man of 21, seeks solitude in the countryside to write a novel.
• He arrives in the village of Crome Stratford, opting for private lodging at Sevastopol Terrace—"four red brick cottages without elegance of any sort."
• He is introduced to Mrs. Wayne, the widow owner, and her companion Mrs. Jennison.

Quote:
"It was good to be 21 at Crome Stratford in the sun that summer." — Narrator [04:07]

An Eerie Unease Settles In (06:05–08:43)

• The guest quickly develops an inexplicable fear, especially when left alone in the house.
• He feels an unnerving presence whenever he is on the stairs or upstairs alone.

Quote:
"I began to be afraid of something. Afraid in a way that I'd never experienced before, or for that matter, since this time." — Narrator [06:44]

The Backstory: A Tragedy Unfolds (08:43–12:54)

• The narrator learns that Mrs. Wayne’s husband, depicted in a photograph above the mantelpiece, hanged himself in the house after returning from the war.
• Mrs. Jennison suggests the trauma of post-war adjustment drove him to despair.
• The photograph of Sidney Wayne becomes a sinister focal point.

Quote:
"He used to brood a lot... Sometimes I stared at the photograph of Sidney Wayne and then at Mrs. Jennison. Do you mean he killed himself because he was spoiled? ... Killed him in action, you might say." — Mrs. Jennison & Narrator [11:28–11:54]

Supernatural Manifestations & Confessions (14:46–15:16, 15:16–18:43)

• The photograph of Sidney Wayne inexplicably falls from the wall—an omen intensifying the narrator's anxiety.
• Seeking solace by the sea, the narrator tells a stranger his story. She asserts that the spirit is restless, trying to deliver a message, and that the narrator may be its only hope.

Quote:
"You must take it and let the poor ghost free." — Stranger by the sea [17:57]

The Climactic Night: Terror & Release (18:48–26:19)

• The narrator attempts to confront his fear, staying alone in the kitchen where the tragedy occurred. He drifts into a half-sleep and witnesses the apparition of a hanging form.
• The next morning, Mrs. Wayne discovers a mysterious letter addressed to "Meg" in the narrator’s handwriting—though he has no memory of writing it, and the handwriting is not his own.
• Mrs. Wayne, deeply moved and distressed, reveals that “Meg” was her husband’s pet name for her. She believes her husband's spirit has finally made contact and can now rest.

Quote:
"She held out to me a letter. The envelope and note paper were mine. It was addressed to someone called Meg. 'How did you know he called me Meg?'" — Mrs. Wayne [24:43]

Quote:
"And now he's gone. Forever." — Mrs. Wayne [26:14–26:19]

Resolution: Acceptance and Catharsis (26:19–End)

• Mrs. Wayne expresses closure and sorrow, but also relief; the haunting influence has lifted with this final communication.

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Notable Quotes & Memorable Moments

• The feeling of dread:
  “I became certain that I was being followed by something down the stairs...” — Narrator [08:21]

• War’s enduring impact:
  “He used to brood a lot... Whatever makes you like life had gone out of it.” — Mrs. Jennison [11:28]

• Supernatural explanation:
  “That poor spirit was given to his terrible deed by distress... He’s trying to tell her that, and he can't leave the house until he has done with it.” — Stranger [17:14]

• The spectral letter:
  “How did you know he called me Meg?” — Mrs. Wayne [24:43]

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Important Timestamps

• [03:01] — Idyllic summer in Taunton and the narrator’s arrival in Crome Stratford.
• [06:44] — The narrator describes a growing, unexplained fear.
• [09:38] — Mrs. Wayne’s premonition and backstory of Sidney Wayne’s death.
• [14:46] — The photograph of Sidney Wayne falls, escalating supernatural tension.
• [16:21] — Narrator shares his story with the seaside stranger.
• [18:43] — The stranger explains the “unfinished business” of the ghost.
• [21:46] — The narrator endures a terrifying vision while alone in the kitchen.
• [24:43] — Mrs. Wayne discovers the spectral letter to “Meg.”
• [26:14–26:19] — Mrs. Wayne acknowledges the spirit’s departure.

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Tone & Style

The episode is scripted in atmospheric, emotive language, weaving a sense of unease and melancholy throughout. The performances are marked by understated emotion, dignified sadness, and sudden spikes of terror. The psychological depth is as pronounced as the supernatural elements, making for a haunting, reflective experience.

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Conclusion

“A True Ghost Story” captivates with its slow-burn dread, exploring the way grief and unresolved emotions can haunt both people and places. Through subtle sound design and careful character dialogue, the Beyond Midnight episode asks whether a spirit’s unrest might simply stem from its need to say one last thing. This classic narrative impresses with its evocative themes, psychological resonance, and memorable denouement, making it a standout entry in the anthology of old-time radio horror.

Transcript

[A]

Welcome back to the Horror. Thanks for joining me once again for another spooky tale from the golden age of radio. Our story comes from beyond midnight this week. South African series that aired over Springbok radio stations from November 1st of 1968 to April 24th of 1970. 78 episodes in all. Our story today is from April 18th, 1969. It's titled A True Ghost Story.

[B]

Dear Ghost. Dear Ghost. Dear Ghost. This is a true story. There's not much point in inventing ghost stories. Anyone can do it. It's rather like playing a game whose mood one has made up without telling one else what they are. The event I am going to report took place in a glorious blaze in a most marvellous summer in living memory England. The summer of 1921. Good it was that summer. To be alive, but to be young was very heaven.

[C]

I was as old as the century.

[B]

21.

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[B]

There are plenty of people still alive who will recall the endless procession of golden days. 1921. Its unclouded dawns, its magnificent looms of blue and gold. Its days sinking in into warm noble evenings full of the promise of another day of the kind of summer one dreams about but seldom gets. I was living at this time with my parents in Taunton and they, knowing my ways, were not at all put out when I went off saying I would write When I found out where I was going. I had never been to Crome Stratford. I read its name and decided I made up my own fantasy of characters. I was the only Passenger to alight. 4 o' clock in the afternoon the whole earth growled pleasantly in the heat. Bronze trappers groundstrappers the station master wore.

[C]

A cap of golden braid, but it.

[B]

Appeared he was doing duty as porter as well. It was good to be 21 at Crome Stratford in the sun that summer.

[C]

Breakfast. Afternoon, sir.

[B]

Ticket, please. Good afternoon.

[C]

Oh, this is beautiful.

[B]

Oh, yes, thank you. I want to stay here for a while. Have you any suggestions where I might put up?

[C]

Put up?

[B]

Well, there's the Bell Inn. Especially if you don't mind a bit of jollification on market days and Saturday nights. Oh, well, you see my search out to be quite a long one. I think I would prefer private accommodation. You go out of the station there you go over the bridge. You'll see four houses in a row. They're called Sevastopol Terrace. Now, you call it number two. Ask for Mrs. Wayne. Tell her I sent you. Mr. Dalbery, I think you'll find she'll pick you up. Sevastopol Terrace consisted of four red brick cottages without elegance of any sort. They could not have been more ordinary if the architect had entered a competition for the most ordinary, the most mediocre dwellings.

[D]

Please come in.

[B]

Thank you very much. Oh, it's a beautiful day. A dead front room, seldom used. Uneasy chairs. A small piano with a fretwork front panel. The front room fire grater stuffed with orange tissue paper. Above the mantelpiece there was the enlarged photograph of a man in khaki. It was dark, with a full moustache and an expression of slight astonishment on his face. I made a satisfactory deal with Mrs. Wayne.

[D]

The other lady was Mrs. Jennison, 50ish.

[B]

Stout, and as it was called then, a kindly, infectious laugh. I knew I was going to be comfortable. Six weeks or so, I decided upon time in which to write a novel. Oh, yes. That is what I had set my heart on doing. The blue, cloudless days went by and I wrote not a word of the novel. I liked my ladies. We took our meals together, and the household was an easy one to dwell in. And then a strange uneasiness began to make itself manifest in my mind.

[D]

For no reason at all, it seemed.

[B]

I began to be afraid of something.

[D]

Afraid in a way that I'd never.

[B]

Experienced before, or for that matter, since this time. As Dr. Johnson said, if you think well of what you wrote at night, tear it up in the morning. This is quiet. The lady. Now. Come on, Fielden. What's the matter with you? What is there to be afraid of?

[D]

Man.

[B]

So quiet. But there was no doubt about it. For some strange, strange reason, I was afraid to stay in that house. In the Bastropol Terrace. Alone.

[D]

Wayne, are you. Are you going out? Yes, we're just going to walk, Mr. Field, and we won't be long. Yes, we won't be long, Mr. Fielder.

[C]

Just a little walk.

[D]

We could be back to tea. Bye. Bye.

[B]

You see, I became certain that I was being followed by something down the stairs. Whenever I'd been up to my room. It was worse. Somehow, when they were out of the house. All right, somehow, when they are here.

[D]

Quiet.

[B]

Something wrongful, stupid. Yesterday too, when I went up to get my penny. I wasn't imagining it. I wasn't. I knew, of course, that Mrs. Wayne was a widow. And I knew that that exceptionally plain soldier in the picture was her deceased husband. One Sunday, after the ceremonial tea, Mrs. Wayne had used him as a time tag, as people do. She was putting the tea things together to take them out into the kitchen and was at that moment holding what I privately thought to be a very ugly teapot. Mrs. Jennison regarded the teapot. She nodded at it.

[D]

I always liked that teapot. Do you believe in premonitions?

[B]

No, I can't say that I do. At any rate, I've never had one that was worth having.

[D]

Do you believe in premonitions, Mrs. West?

[B]

Oh, tell me about it, Mrs. West.

[D]

I'd rather not. It's a painful subject. She often thinks about that on Sundays. Two years ago, on a Sunday, she had a premonition of something awful all day. Her husband, who went into business when he came out of the army, used to get up first and go off to work. That Monday morning when Mrs. Wayne came down, she found him in the kitchen.

[B]

He'd hanged himself there. Why?

[D]

There had to be an inquest, of course, but nothing definite ever came out of it. He had trouble, money or drink or something like that.

[B]

Well, there had to be a reason. There had to be. Tell me about it. Tell me what it was.

[D]

Well, if you ask me, it's only my opinion. Of course.

[B]

I'm asking you. Excuse me.

[D]

I must go and help Mrs. W with the one. The reason.

[B]

Tell me the reason.

[D]

I reckon that, like a lot of other men couldn't settle down to ordinary life when he came out of the army, it wasn't the same anymore. Whatever makes you like life had gone out of it. He never liked being a soldier, but when he got back home, he didn't like that either. Some fellows manage better than he did with it. He couldn't.

[B]

He used to brood a lot.

[D]

He could hardly get a word out of him.

[B]

Sometimes I stared at the photograph of sidney wayne and then at Mrs. Jennison. Do you mean he killed himself because he was spoiled?

[D]

No, they laughed. It was a lot like that when they came back. Killed him in action, you might say.

[B]

I moved close to the photograph and stared at the dead face in it. He stared with the same cold intensity, not at me, but past me. It was horrible, the stillness of the face. Those eyes fixed on some object of vision beyond me or my glance. His hair was close cropped beneath his hat with its badge of the suffolk regiment. The peak of the cat came down almost to the bridge of his nose, hiding his forehead. Nothing fitted with either his body, his temperament or his final act. Now that I knew what that could be. He was dressed for me in the horror of the grotesque. My eyes moved involuntarily to his neck. I turned away alike from the photograph and the dreadful images which I violently excluded from my mind.

[D]

Now, how shall we spend the evening? Is anyone to church or a walk? Or shall we have a game of cards?

[C]

Darling, let's go out and paint the dun red.

[D]

But what about your headache? Oh, that's gone.

[C]

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[D]

Ah, grandpa.

[C]

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[B]

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[D]

Hello. What do you think? A wolf? You fancy? Oh dear, look at that.

[B]

Sydney's picture.

[D]

Well, well. Can you ever go one of these days? Sit here just ben and blush, will you? I'll soon clear this message.

[B]

All right.

[D]

I'm sorry that happened. Now you'll have to have his frame. Oh, frame is broken too. I can't do that. I never really liked that photograph. I only put it up there to please sydney. I like to remember him the way he was before he went into the army. I shall just put it away somewhere.

[B]

And then I knew that we were not three in that house, but four. The situation had taken A new turn. I did not know what to expect. I decided that that day after the falling of the picture was a day to be spent by the sea. So accordingly I went to Lowestoft. I soon settled with a newspaper on the promenade in a deck chair. There was an empty chair beside me. It was not empty long though. A middle aged woman sat beside me. After only a few minutes she made occasion to talk to me. You are troubled about something, aren't you?

[C]

Yes.

[B]

Yes, I am. Will you tell me what it is? Yes. Yes, all right, I will. And as if it was the most natural thing in the world, I told her the whole story. From my arrival in the house in Sebastopol Terrace right up until the falling of a picture.

[D]

May I tell you what I think?

[B]

Certainly. I'd like to hear. It's quite clear to me. I believe in spirits or ghosts or.

[D]

The other thing would I could give.

[B]

To that part of us that we now know exists when the body's fallen away.

[D]

That poor spirit was given to his terrible deed. I by distress. It was very well to him, however.

[B]

Fully you or anybody else may think it was seen.

[D]

And afterwards, in the clear vision death.

[B]

Brings with it, he saw how wrong he had been, how cruel to that kind little woman. He's trying to tell her that.

[D]

And he can't leave the house that he has done with. He's in touch with me to be his messenger. You know that. Now you're refusing the message.

[B]

Oh, you mustn't, my dear.

[D]

You must take it and let the poor ghost free.

[B]

I can't do that. I won't read his message if there is one be carried out of the way. You told me that you don't dare stay in the house when the others have gone out for a walk or. Oh, that's right. Dare to be the right word.

[D]

That's just the time when he was.

[B]

Trying hardest to get his message to you.

[D]

You must stay in the house and give him his chance.

[B]

I doubt he'll leave you till you do. Maybe you're his only chance. How do you know? Experienced.

[D]

And now I must go home to lunch. How things I should come to you this morning.

[B]

And then she was gone, walking against the sun so that I could hardly see her departure. I arrived back at Crome Stratford at six. And now letters. I must keep up my correspondence if any great novel is to come out of this holiday. But at least I must. The night Mrs. Wade and Mrs. Jennison. The house is completely silent. Yet somehow I. I don't feel afraid anymore. Even though I. I'm in the kitchen where he. Where did the body hang? Behind me or in front? The little kitchen had the peace of a Dutch interior. The place shone quietly with care. There was not even a sound from the outside world. The shadows in the room moved solemnly with the sun and the light imperceptibly faded. The window was open a little at the top, and occasionally the curtain stirred in a passing, soundless breeze. My eyes felt heavy and my limbs agreeably warm. I felt for the first time completely free of fear. Slowly I moved into that half slumber that one gets in church at sermon time. One hears the sound of the voice and sometimes the words, but the whole, the impressions are jumbled. And then something happened. Something happened that turned me into a thought of terror. I uttered a sound like a man in a nightmare. I struggled to shout at the dark terrors that flapped in my mind. I thought I saw something, a limp form unnaturally hanging in the room in front of me.

[D]

Been doing your correspondence? What a good man. Now, off you go while I make supper.

[B]

I'll just get everything sorted out and then I can feel a little tent tomorrow. I'm quite hungry. Yes.

[D]

Why, of course he isn't an officer of the Royal Flying Corps. He's wearing the uniform of an army chaplain. Then we all knew, you see, at once.

[C]

Oh, Mrs. Patterson, you're a giddy limit.

[D]

You really.

[C]

Are.

[D]

You all right, dear? Quite all right. Why shouldn't I be? Oh, I thought maybe you had one of your headaches. Fun, maybe? No, no, I'm all right. This Tired, perhaps. I think I'll go to bed shortly after supper. You do that. We'll wash up, won't we?

[B]

Oh, rather. She had lost her air of commonplace acceptance of life. She looked like. What could it be like? Someone who had mislaid a possession was trying to remember where it might be. She wasn't going to bed because she had a headache. She was going because she wanted to be alone, to think about whatever it was that preoccupied her. When the meal was over, she rose.

[D]

Well, if you don't mind disputing. Not at all. Will you go have a good rest?

[B]

And so Mrs. Wayne went up to bed. Next morning I was having breakfast when I heard the postman knock at the door. I expected her to return to the kitchen where I sat at breakfast. I was reading the paper, which I'd propped up against the teapot. Mrs. Wayne didn't come back. I thought she was being a long time out in the lobby. There was no sound at all. Then, just when I was going out to see if anything was the matter, she came in slowly. Her face, with its snub nose and sandy hair was as pale as death. It had a terrible dignity of sadness, a piercing accusation, like an angel with a sword and a dreadful quietness. She held out to me a letter. The envelope and note paper were mine. It was addressed to someone called Meg.

[D]

How did you know he called me Meg?

[B]

I did not need to ask any questions. She had found this letter among my mail on a little table and she gave the rest to the postman. I didn't know.

[D]

Well, I never told you. Read the letter.

[B]

I don't want to read it. Matt dear Forgive me, Sophie as me. That's not my writing, it's his.

[D]

But you wrote it. I found it with your letters. He came to you last night, didn't he?

[B]

I don't know.

[D]

I knew as soon as I came in the house was empty.

[B]

He stayed with me into the uk.

[D]

And he was here. I knew he was always here. I didn't think anyone else would ever know.

[B]

But he knew indicate to you.

[D]

And now he's gone.

[B]

Forever.

[D]

You must stay Mahal, and give him his choice.

[B]

I doubt if he leave you until you do.

[D]

Maybe you are his only chance.

[B]

Max dear Forgive me. Forgive me.

[C]

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[B]

Friday night at half past nine by Biotex, the new Soak and pre wash Powder.

[C]

The program is adapted for broadcasting and Produced by Michael McCabe.

[A]

There's more from Beyond Midnight, the Horror and all of the Relic Radio podcasts at the website relicradio.com. you'll find our shoutcast stream there as well and a donate button if you'd like to help support this and all of that. Visit donate. Relicradio.com if you're able to help. Or click on one of those support links in the show notes. Thanks to those who have thanks for joining me this week. Be back tomorrow with Strange Tales next Saturday with another episode of the Horror.