The following are excerpts from the diary kept by actor Michael Langridge who plays the agent in the film. Saturday 11th May 2002 One of the runners came out to meet the car, took my bags and showed me to my accommodation. I was to sleep in the "Blue Room" one of the many bedrooms on the first floor of the main part of the house. I was brought a light snack (Duck Pate followed by a lightly grilled Fillet of Dover Sole with a White Wine Veloute and Dauphinoise Potatoes) and told that we would be rehearsing at 1.00pm prior to shooting around 3.00pm. I started to unpack my things. My costume was ready for me, hanging in the wardrobe. 1.00pm. Rehearsals. I was collected from my room and guided through the many corridors and stairways to the top of the house. My scene was to be shot in one of the attic rooms, which we approached down a long corridor with a low ceiling. To my right a series of rooms, with their doors half open. Inside they looked empty and forgotten, all very similar, piled high with stacks of papers, files and furniture. As we reached half way, I was stopped in my tracks by one particular room with a green door. Inside, the room was not particularly different from any of the others, but it seemed to posses a sense of foreboding and gloom, as if it had witnessed something bad. In addition there was a faint smell of lavender. I had had this feeling once before, in a Georgian house in London. In this particular house, when you walked down the stairs to the cellar, you were overwhelmed by a sense of doom and depression. It was an unpleasant feeling and clearly must have been the site of some severe trauma. Years later I found out that in 1889, a servant girl had been savagely raped on those very stairs. And here, years later I was having the very same feelings. I was jolted back to reality by the First AD who called me onto the set for the rehearsal and I put the matter out of my head. We worked through the scene, blocking moves and working out camera positions. The scene required that I was to enter from the corridor into the Artist's room. During this part of the rehearsal I duly went outside and waited for my cue to enter. The corridor was cold and quiet. The midday sun did not reach this part of the house and the air was cold. From where I stood I was able to look down the corridor at the rooms I had walked past earlier. I could clearly see the door to the room that had disturbed me. Was it my imagination but as I looked the door seemed to quiver slightly. A draft perhaps? 3.00pm. I had changed and been to make-up and was now ready for final camera rehearsals and shooting. Although this scene was fairly short, about five to six minutes, the Director was anxious to cover it as fully as possible, bearing in mind that this was the penultimate weekend at the location and re-shoots were going to be out of the question. This being the case, we were warned that we might be in for a lengthy session. Things progressed fairly well and broke for dinner at 8.00pm. By now it was dusk and darkness was rapidly advancing. Our dinner was superb and I have enormous respect for the catering staff working in the ancient kitchens of Compton House. After a splendid Cheese Soufflé, we were served with a Crayfish Ravioli in a Red Pepper Sauce. This was followed by a Pan-Fried Canon of Lamb on a Parsnip Rosti with a Red Wine and Veal Jus Reduction. Pudding was a classic Nougat Glace.) 9.00 pm. Lights we turned on and whilst the main parts of the house were adequately lit, nobody had warned me that certain parts of the house were unlit and that we were to be guided back to the attic by torches. Cast and crew gathered at the main staircase and we set off to the attic. We left the main part of the house taking a backstair to the attic corridors. For some reason I was last and followed the light from the torch being waved around by one of the grips. As we turned into the attic corridor and approached the room we were working in, something hurtled towards me and hit me in the chest. Startled I jumped back and in the dim torchlight saw a bat fly off down the corridor and into the room with the green door. 9.30pm. After some detailed work on the end of the scene, it was time to shoot from the top again. I waited in the corridor for "Action". Nothing came. I could hear the Director talking to my fellow actor. The corridor was purposely left unlit because the view through the door had to be masked. Shots through the door of the corridor were taken elsewhere in the attic. My eyes slowly grew accustomed to the light. From where I stood the long attic corridor slowly took on shape and depth. Even though it was now quite dark, I could just make out the room with the green door. I waited. Conversation continued on set. I carried on waiting, pacing up and down, running through my lines. Then it happened. I turned towards the corridor and immediately felt my hair stand on end. A pale glow was coming from the green room. Had someone just come up the stairs and turned on a light? It had been completely quiet. In any case, anyone coming up the stairs would have surely used a torch. I backed away slightly. I couldn't say anything because I was waiting for my cue to enter. I just had to wait. The glow seemed to be moving as if it too was pacing up and down inside the room. And then it disappeared as abruptly as it had appeared. "Action" was called and I went onto the set. 10.00pm. I was in the corridor again. This time much more scared then before. But nothing happened and we progressed through some more "takes" of the scene opening. 12.05am. Although we were close to a "wrap", the Director wanted some more cover and we agreed to press on. Sunday was going to be another long day for me as I had some solo scenes in the cellar and that would take up most of the time available. We needed to finish this scene tonight. 12.15am. I am in the corridor for what promises to be one last take of my entrance. I have deliberately not relayed my experience in the corridor to my colleagues on the set as I guessed they wouldn't take me seriously. The First AD calls out to me to hold on a second whilst they adjust some lights. I dutifully wait, deliberately not looking down the corridor. I admit to myself that I am quite scared and what I saw earlier has rattled me. You stand around a lot when filming and usually it's okay, but here and now it was not so good and the darkness was getting to me. I hear a sound. It is almost imperceptible, a whimpering as if coming from a child. I spin round. The pale glow is now in the corridor and moving slowly towards me. It measures about three feet from the ground and is sort of oval shaped. I stand still, petrified, unable to speak, unable to move. The glow stops as if contemplating what to do next. And then something peculiar happens; it drops to the floor and spreads out like a pool. It stays like this for a few seconds and then fades away. My hair stands up on the back of my neck, a desperate fear runs through my body, lights appear before my eyes, sweat breaks out. I am sitting in a chair, surrounded by the crew. Someone hands me a drink of water. Chris the DOP tells me that it seems that I fainted in the corridor and hit the door. Everyone puts it down to long hours, standing up etc. 3.00pm. I am in bed, tired, disturbed, the table lamp is on, I do not intend to turn it off. There is a knock and a "Mike, are you awake?" It is one of the runners. I go over and open the door. "I think this might be yours," he says. "You must have dropped it in the corridor." It is my script. I thank him and go back to bed. I glance at tomorrow's scene. One funny thing though, as I turn the pages, I notice there is a faint smell of lavender. Sunday 12th May 11.00am. We are rehearsing in the cellars. A catacomb of rooms, some large some small, all-interconnecting. Although the temperature in the courtyard outside is rising to the mid sixties, it is extremely cold in the cellars, so much so that your breath condenses into vapour. We are set up ready to shoot a number of scenes of me basically being scared and running away from unspeakable horrors. After yesterday, my imagination needs little encouragement. 12.00 noon. Commencing shooting in the cellars. Everyone has noticed that the temperature has dropped quite considerably since we started. My feet are cold and the air is musty and difficult to breathe. Only the front two cellars are lit and the others have a stygian gloom. We set up for a tracking shot of me peering into the dark of one of these distant cellars. Whilst waiting for the crew to finish I wander into the gloom. It is difficult to see very far as there is a complete absence of natural light in these cellars. Even the artificial light for our shoot has little influence. I stop walking. It is very still. Above me I hear the faint rustling of the many bats that I know are above me, hanging, asleep, waiting for the night. Apart from the bats I am aware of another sound, higher in pitch and in the distance. I peer into the dark but see nothing. One thing I do know though is that there is no mistaking the whimper that I heard last night in the room with the green door. It sounds like a child hurt and in distress. I call out gently, "Hello", but there is no response. I back away, retracing my steps and then turn to go back to the shooting. As I do, I again detect the faint scent of lavender. 14.00pm. After a fantastic lunch. I have never been so well fed on a shoot, (A chilled Vichysoisse followed by a Lobster Salad with Minted New Potatoes and a Passion Fruit Crème Brulee), we resume shooting. All goes extremely well and at 4.00pm we break again and the crew disappear to the courtyard and the late afternoon sunshine. I choose to stay behind to rehearse some moves and run through my final lines. I hear the cellar door closing away in the distance. I practice running the full length of the cellars (we are about to shoot a held hand tracking shot that will require both the Camera Operator and I to be very careful how we navigate the space.) I run to the top of the stairs and commence a descent into the cellars weaving in and out of the pillars and archways. I turned into the last section. There are always many explanations for what I am about to relate and I feel sure that you will not wish to give much credence to my version of events. In spite of this I have to recount what I saw that afternoon at 4.10 pm in the cellars of Compton House because for me it was as real as the stones in the courtyard and the trees along the drive. I know it could not be real because if it was it defies all sense and knowledge of our tangible world. Against the wall of the very last cellar, the darkest, coldest of them all, sat a child, sobbing, a girl of about 7 or 8. She looked up in my direction but not at me. She stopped crying. In her hands was a tiny bunch of lavender, barely three or four stems. At first I assumed she had wandered in whilst we had been filming, so I spoke to her and asked her name. She looked through me into the distance not responding. I walked towards her. As I did she rolled over onto the ground. " Are you okay," I said, do you live near here?" I bent over the child to touch her and as I did my hands grasped nothing but a few strands of cloth lying on the ground. I walked back to the bottom of the cellar stairs. The crew were on their way down, refreshed and ready for the last couple of scenes. 20.40pm. I am sitting on the train to Waterloo. The evening is cloudy and wet and the train almost empty. I have kept quiet about this until now. At first I thought I would leave my diary blank for this weekend to avoid the whole issue, but I felt compelled to write it all down. In my life I have had a number of what some would call, paranormal experiences. Some people are fascinated, some are sceptical, others choose not to want to know. What happened at Compton House is in itself not exceptional in a world full of darkness and pain. My belief is that I did witness a connection with another plane, call it what you will. I believe that buildings record emotion and the things that are recorded most clearly are those moments of extreme pain and anguish. I believe that sometime in the very distant past, about 100 years ago or so, by the style of the child's clothes, some severe trauma was inflicted on the child that I glimpsed, who for a brief moment was allowed to replay her hurt to me. A gesture; a cry for help. Who knows? At 11.00pm I step out of Waterloo Station, I hail a cab and travel home through the late night London traffic. Some of the events of the 11th and 12th of May I have omitted from this diary as I found them too distressing. What you have is all you need to know, for now at least. |