Chapter Eighteen-A Fitzhume Tale

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London, England,

1666

I walked up Sheppard Bridge.

     The old creak of the brown colored wood caused my sore feet to feel severe pain. Its atmosphere chilled my cold bones...as my blood shivered as I smelt the unnatural air that wafted down my mouth, and into my lungs.

       The Bridge was built by Lord Sheppard Fitzhume in 1666. You see, that was the year of the Great Fire, and all thoughts of dread filled me with horror.

       I stared at the bridge where Emma Fitzhume threw herself off the Bridge...because her lover, Roger DeWitte, killed a man in a fight for her affections.

         The sword went through his chest...and the blood gushed forth on the cobbled ground. And she was so sad that her ghost still dwelled along the Bridge at night time scaring anyone who came to sleep there...

           ...So this begins my long, sad, romantic and tragic tale of the ghosts of Sheppard Bridge Manor...

           ...A tale so horrible that discussing this tale can lead to eternal madness.

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