Caught on Camera: The Terrifying Secrets of a 1000-Year-Old Haunted House

We thought we were ready. We’d done haunted pubs, deserted hospitals, even a graveyard at midnight. But nothing prepared us for the night we left cameras rolling inside TUDA World—a nearly 1000-year-old house in Stratford-upon-Avon, infamous for its dark legends and the evil spirit said to lurk inside. We brought our bravest faces, our best gear, and a healthy dose of skepticism. What happened next made us question everything.

It started with a dare and a laugh. “Serious question now—do you think someone’s coming?” Adam joked as we set up the motion sensors. The old timber creaked, and the air felt thick, but we shrugged it off as nerves. Then, as we checked our cameras, one had stopped recording. “It’s been switched off all together,” Luke muttered, brow furrowed. “Did you just go?” We hadn’t. Something—or someone—had.

We split up, each armed with a torch, a static camera, and a device designed to pick up even the faintest movement. The house was a maze of echoing corridors and shadowy corners, filled with centuries of secrets. Reports of deaths clung to the walls: Lucy, the little girl who survived a fire only to die during a botched autopsy; Lee, the soldier hanged for spying and buried beneath the floorboards; William, the mysterious owner. And John—the evil spirit who, according to legend, hated everyone who entered.

We tried to keep things light, but the tension was real. “I just heard a cry,” Mick whispered. “A kid’s cry.” The rest of us heard it too. Clear as day, not muffled like the pub next door. The ball sensor lit up, then stopped. We asked questions—“Is somebody in here?”—but the only answers were knocks, bangs, and the feeling of icy fingers running down our spines.

The investigation ramped up. We called out to Lucy, offering jewelry for her to play with. We dared John to scare us. We invited William and Lee to make themselves known. The ball sensors flickered, the K2 meter spiked to orange—something we’d never seen before. The pub next door finally closed, and the real strangeness began.

We left cameras watching the empty rooms, hoping for proof. That’s when the impossible happened. Both camera lights switched off. Not a technical glitch—a physical button had been slid to the “off” position. “That’s literally impossible,” Adam said, voice shaking. “They don’t just turn off on their own.” The motion sensor at the door went off, too, as if someone—or something—had entered. We rushed to check. No one. No footsteps. No explanation.

Then, the footsteps started. Heavy, deliberate, running up the stairs right past us. All three of us heard it. “That was definitely in here,” Mick said. “You can tell the difference.” The ball sensor lit up again. The air turned cold. We felt watched.

In the darkness, we tried solo investigations. “John, I’m on my own now,” Adam called, voice echoing down the hall. “Can you make a bang? Can you touch me? Scratch me?” Silence, then a sudden rush—something ran up on him, invisible but undeniable. “That just come straight up on me,” he gasped. “What was that?”

We regrouped, nerves frayed. Every attempt to get a shot was interrupted by strange noises, voices, and the feeling that we weren’t wanted. “It feels like somebody wants us out now,” Luke said. “John wants us out. Feels horrible, doesn’t it?” The house seemed to pulse with energy, resisting our presence. We tried to reason, to debunk, but the evidence was stacking up.

A woman’s voice shushed us. The motion sensor tripped again. The cameras, which had worked flawlessly all night, were suddenly drained of battery and switched off, only to turn back on with a press of the button. “How can you turn the lights off on both?” Adam asked, hands shaking. “It’s freaked me out that motion sensor going off. I know that thing don’t go off.”

We caught it all on camera—the footsteps, the voices, the impossible battery drains, the sensors that responded to nothing visible. Our skepticism crumbled. “I’m putting this down to it being paranormal,” Adam admitted. “It’s a physical button. There’s no way that can happen.”

As dawn crept over the ancient beams, we packed up, shaken but exhilarated. “For the most part, it was a fairly quiet night,” Luke said, “but once the pub closed, it really kicked off. The lights on the cameras have been turned off, which is literally impossible. I can’t explain that.”

We left TUDA World with more questions than answers. The footage spoke for itself—a haunted house that didn’t want us there, an evil spirit that played with our equipment, and a night that proved some legends refuse to die.

If you want to see what we captured, subscribe. Because next time, the cameras are staying on—and we’re not leaving until we get the truth.