| Hairy Hands | |
|---|---|
 An artist's rendition, courtesy of BBC | |
| Background | |
| Type | Haunting |
| Continent | Europe |
| Country | England |
| One-Time? | No |
| Theories | · Road conditions · Ghost · Speeding drivers |
The Hairy Hands haunting is a spirit rumored to haunt a stretch of road in Dartmoor, United Kingdom, which was purported to have seen an unusually high number of motor vehicle accidents during the early 20th century.
Picture this: the year is 1925, and the world is enveloped in the grip of a dark, frigid winter’s night. Above, the sky stretches infinitely, impossibly clear but nonetheless intimidating in its vastness, revealing a blanket of stars that twinkle like tiny diamonds. The air is sharply cold, biting at your cheeks, and the frost is starting to creep its icy fingers along the verges, transforming the once lush greenery into a ghostly white. You and your partner are cruising along the B3212, a historic old turnpike road that winds between Postbridge and Two Bridges, having just concluded a delightful visit with friends in the quaint town of Moretonhampstead.
The B3212, which locals fondly used to call the ‘Carters Road’, pays homage to a man named Carter who originally constructed this route — a testament to bygone days when transportation was a different affair altogether. Inside your vintage automobile, the chill of the moorland winter wraps around you like a heavy blanket, making every move feel laborious. To shield yourselves from the penetrating cold, you both wear thick, heavy coats and sturdy gloves that have seen many a winter night.
As you drive, to your left, the moon begins to rise over the craggy silhouette of Arch Tor, its mellow, yellowish beams casting an ethereal glow that dances in tandem with the dim light of your car's headlights. Suddenly, you see a pair of fiery eyes gleaming ominously in the middle of the road, as though they are the very embodiment of the night’s mysteries. As you approach, apprehension grips your heart; a brown, hunched figure stands utterly transfixed, those blood-red eyes boring into you and your partner, deep into the very depths of your soul.
Panic surges through the vehicle as your partner lets out a terrified scream, igniting a primal instinct inside you. You slam down on the brakes, the tires screeching in protest as they slide across the icy surface. In those fleeting seconds, time seems to elongate, each moment stretching out into eternity as the car glides sideways along the bumpy road, dangerously close to the stationary creature. Only the grace of fortune prevents you from colliding with this enigma of the night.
Finally, the vehicle comes to a stop, just shy of the creature blocking your path. Gradually, your heart rate begins to decelerate, and your senses start to resurface. It’s then that you realize the shadowy figure is none other than a red deer, paralyzed with fear in the headlights’ glaring glow.
The deer stands there, quivering, its body taut with trepidation. Your partner is caught in a swirl of emotions, unsure whether to unleash laughter or sob at the tension that has just passed. Suddenly, the deer regains its composure, its instincts kicking in, and with an elegant bound, it flees towards Archerton Bog, its retreat marked only by the faint rustling of the icy grass — a brittle sound that punctuates the haunting stillness of the night.
If only the chill in the air wasn’t so oppressive, you would eagerly remove your gloves, light a cigarette, and revel in the aftermath of this startling encounter. But with many miles still ahead of you before you can seek rest, you guide the little car onward with resolve. As the headlights illuminate the road ahead, you notice the faint outline of Higher Cherrybrook Bridge in the distance, along with the sharp right-hand bend that leads into it.
As you approach, fully aware of the icy treachery of the road that lies ahead, you gently ease the brakes and adjust your steering with caution, keenly conscious of the sturdy granite parapet that looms nearby. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the car seems to rebel against your control, veering sharply to the left.
With a terror-filled grip, you clutch the steering wheel tighter, only to suddenly notice grotesque, severed hands — hairy and putrid — grotesquely steering the vehicle away from your intended path. In a surge of fear, you wrestle against the cursed grip, desperately trying to steer the car back to safety. But the hands, with an obstinacy that chills your very bones, refuse to relinquish their hold, guiding the car away from the road.
A sickening jolt jars your body as the car’s tires break free from the asphalt, followed by a hair-raising screech as the willow branches scrape against the automobile, a shrill reminder of your perilous situation. At last, the car comes to a shuddering halt, steam erupting and hissing into the sharp night air, leaving an uneasy silence in its wake — a silence that reverberates with a stomach-churning sense of dread.
Nervously, you glance at the steering wheel, where the grotesque hands have vanished as suddenly as they appeared, leaving only an unsettling memory behind. Stealing a glance at your partner, she is as pale as the luminous moon that hangs overhead, illuminating the sand dunes of Dartmoor. The acrid smells of hot, oily water and burning rubber assault your nostrils, a reminder of the night’s harrowing events.
Congratulations, you have just encountered the legendary ‘Hairy Hands of Dartmoor’! Tales of this eerie phenomenon are whispered by the locals, a chilling reminder of the moor's mysteries — and you have become part of that haunting narrative, a story to be shared and retold long after this winter night fades into memory.
In the early 1900s, a string of baffling accidents began to emerge along the stretch of the B3212 road, which extends from above Postbridge to Two Bridges. This scenic route, nestled within the picturesque landscapes of Dartmoor, soon earned notoriety as the site of unexplainable phenomena. Cyclists traversing this road recounted alarming incidents where the handlebars of their bicycles would be abruptly wrenched from their grasp, propelling them into the nearby ditch, leaving them shaken and bewildered. Likewise, pony and trap drivers found themselves similarly forced off the road, veering wildly onto the grassy verge. Drivers of automobiles and motor coaches echoed these reports, sharing their tales of sudden, uncontrollable steering, which left them equally astonished and fearful.
By the time the 1920s rolled around, a particularly chilling incident occurred involving a woman who was staying in a caravan parked amongst the ruins of the Powder Mills. One fateful night, she was stirred from her slumber and, to her horror, spotted a hairy hand creeping up against her window. In a moment of sheer terror, she instinctively made the sign of the cross, and at that very instant, the dismembered limb vanished into thin air. Shortly after this unsettling encounter, an overturned car was discovered in a ditch, with its unfortunate driver slumped lifeless at the wheel. Strangely, the cause of this tragic accident remained an unsolved mystery.
In 1921, a well-respected figure, Dr. Helby from Princetown, found himself involved in a horrific accident while riding his motorcycle with a sidecar. As they neared the entrance of Archerton, his vehicle was inexplicably forced into a loss of control, resulting in a catastrophic crash. In the sidecar were two young girls, with some sources claiming they were the daughters of the Deputy Governor of Dartmoor Prison, while others suggested they were Dr. Helby’s own daughters. The two girls were ejected from the sidecar but fortunately sustained only minor injuries, while Dr. Helby succumbed to a fractured skull. In the subsequent inquest, the coroner concluded that the motorcycle's wheel spokes and axle had failed, attributing the accident to mechanical failure rather than any supernatural interference.
Not long after this tragic occurrence, an Army officer reported a similarly frightening experience. While riding his motorcycle, he also found himself forcibly driven off the road, and in harrowing detail, he recounted how muscular, hairy hands had clamped down on his, compelling the bike onto the verge. The Daily Mail seized upon this chilling tale, thrusting the ghostly events into the limelight as headline news. In a letter to the Western Morning News dated October 24, 1921, Dartmoor authoress Beatrice Chase ventured an explanation for these unnerving occurrences.
She hypothesized that “these things may be due to magnetic rocks, of which there are many on Dartmoor. This extraordinary season may have increased or altered the magnetic currents. It would appear to have some connection with metal, and the steering wheel or handlebars would act as conductors, and an electric shock might account for the strange sensation described by the young officer." Her suggestion spurred local authorities to send engineers to inspect the road, leading to repairs, although they did not include assessments for any potentially magnetic currents.
The narrative took another eerie twist later that same year when a charabanc—essentially a large bus—carrying a group of tourists along the B3212 experienced a harrowing encounter with the reputed ‘Hairy Hands’. As the vehicle sped along the road, it suddenly swerved violently, careening across to the opposite side and mounting a bank. At the time, seat belts were not mandatory, leading to several passengers being violently ejected from the charabanc, one sustaining serious injuries. The driver reported that he had felt a pair of ghastly, hairy hands seize the wheel, compelling him off the road.
The year 1947 brought yet another tragic accident near the Cherrybrook Bridge. A young couple from Exeter, having spent time in Princetown, were on their way home aboard a motorbike equipped with a sidecar. The boyfriend had consumed a couple of beers, prompting his girlfriend to urge him to drive slowly. Yet, as they approached Cherrybrook Bridge, the motorbike inexplicably accelerated and lost control.
The young lady was flung from the sidecar onto the grassy verge, while her boyfriend continued on uncontrollably, crashing into the bridge. He was swiftly transported to Tavistock Hospital but tragically succumbed to a fractured skull. Witnessing officer P.C. Tancock of Princetown determined that the couple had been sober when they departed Princetown and suggested that as the motorcycle neared the bridge, it went into a ‘wobble’, an event that led to the young man's inability to regain control. The eventual verdict was ruled accidental death; however, lingering questions remained—is this merely a consequence of fate, or was there a mysterious force at play that caused the bike to ‘wobble’ and crash?
Fast forward to 1962, when another unnerving account emerged. A visitor to Dartmoor, Florence Warwick, was leisurely driving along the road when she pulled over to consult a map. To her absolute horror, she looked up and saw what she described as a pair of immense, hairy hands pressed against her windscreen. Frozen in fear, she attempted to scream but couldn’t muster the words to express her terror.
In more recent times, in 2008, another motorist recounted an alarming encounter while driving the same stretch of road. He claimed to have seen a massive pair of hairy paws seize his steering wheel, intensifying his panic as they fought to force him off the road. To this day, reports of spectral hands gripping steering wheels or an ominous, malevolent presence causing erratic driving continue to surface, perpetuating the eerie legend of the ‘Hairy Hands’ of Dartmoor—a phenomenon that remains deeply woven into the lore of this hauntingly beautiful area. As the stories persist, the mystery of the B3212 remains unsolved, leaving many to wonder whether there’s some otherworldly force at play, forever entwined with this treacherous stretch of road.
The origins of the mysterious hands that have become legendary in this area remain shrouded in uncertainty, leaving room for speculation and folklore. One widely circulated possibility suggests that these disembodied hands belonged to a particular worker at the nearby Powder Mills Factory, an establishment notorious for its production of gunpowder. According to local lore, this man was noted not only for his dedication to his craft but also for the distinctive appearance of his hands—their large, hairy features became a topic of conversation among both colleagues and townsfolk alike.
In a fortunate turn of events, this worker received a substantial inheritance from a distant relative in Italy. The financial windfall meant that he could finally retire from the exacting labor of the factory, marking a significant turning point in his life. To commemorate his last day on the job, he planned a lively celebration, inviting all of his coworkers to join in revelry after their shift ended. Amid laughter and camaraderie, the evening unfolded with joy and nostalgia, as he shared tales of his time at the factory with friends who had become like a second family to him.
Once the festivities concluded and the sun had set on this chapter of his life, the man had a thought that lingered in his mind: he wanted to keep his tools as tokens of the hard work and memories he had forged over the years. Driven by this desire, he made his way back to the factory to collect his belongings. However, an essential rule that governed the safety protocols within the factory escaped his mind in the haze of celebration; workers were advised against wearing hobnail boots in the gunpowder production areas. This precaution was critical because the factory's floors, constructed from granite stone, posed a significant risk: if struck by the hobnails, a spark could ignite the highly combustible powder, resulting in catastrophic explosions.
Tragically, it was this very oversight that would seal his fate. As he entered the factory, the sound of hobnails tapping against the stone was soon accompanied by an ominous crackle. In a horrifying instant, a spark erupted, igniting the gunpowder and setting off a colossal explosion that reverberated throughout the factory grounds. The magnitude of the blast obliterated everything in its vicinity, leaving behind a scene of utter devastation. The poor man's life was claimed in that instant; all that remained of him were his hauntingly recognizable ‘hairy hands,’ which, in a tragic twist of fate, still clutched his treasured tools.
These ghostly appendages, steeped in both history and tragedy, have since become a part of local folklore, said to be the harbingers of inexplicable accidents along the B3212 road. Many who traverse this route claim to feel a strange and unsettling presence, attributing the occurrences—disruptive mishaps and eerie phenomena—to the restless spirit of the man whose life was cut tragically short.
Yet, while ghost stories abound, they often contain threads of truth. Historical records corroborate that the Powder Mills Factory was indeed the site of numerous gunpowder-related incidents, resulting in loss of life and injuries. One particularly harrowing account from 1851 describes a catastrophic fire at the Dartmoor Powder Works that claimed the life of one worker and left three others with severe injuries.
The report, as published in Bell’s Weekly Messenger on July 19th, 1851, details how “One man was so much burnt that he died shortly after the accident; three others were also much injured, but they are doing well. The man who received the fatal injury has left a wife and five children. The next morning another part of the works was blown to atoms by an explosion.” This was just one of many documented disasters at the factory; shortly thereafter, in November of 1857, yet another explosion resulted in the untimely death of a worker named Roger Northcote.
Given these documented tragedies, one must ponder: if it is not the restless spirit of this unfortunate worker or paranormal activity that accounts for the accidents along the B3212, then what could be the underlying cause? Is it mere coincidence, the result of careless handling, or perhaps some as-yet-undiscussed environmental factor at play? As the veil between the past and present continues to weave its intricate tapestry, the answer remains elusive, leaving us to contemplate the very nature of tragedy and memory in this hauntingly beautiful landscape.
Manifestations[]
- A pair of disembodied hands that appear suddenly, grab at the steering wheel of a moving car or the handlebars of a motorcycle, and then force the victim off the road.
Background[]
Since around 1910, drivers and cyclists have reported suffering unusual accidents between Postbridge and Two Bridges. In many cases, the victims reported that their vehicle had jolted or swerved violently and steered off the side of the road, as if something had taken hold of the wheels and wrenched it out of their control.
Notable Accounts[]
That's a story that's been repeated many times since its first suggested incident in June 1921 when a worker at Dartmoor Prison was killed as his motorcycle became uncontrollable and crashed.
The tale was related by his children who were riding in the sidecar, all they knew was their father shouting at them to get off the bike and apparently wrestling with the controls.
They jumped clear, he didn't.
This was repeated again sometime later, another motorcyclist, this time with a pillion passenger, seemingly driven off the road approaching the same spot.
This time the passenger saw things more clearly and insisted he saw a large hairy hand grasp the handlebars and forcibly upset the bike.
-BBCIn 1924 a young couple were camping in a caravan in the area and the woman was woken in the middle of the night by a heart-racing fear.
Her bunk faced the caravan window and up it she saw crawling a large hand, covered in hair and, she said, exuding an intent to do her and her husband harm.
Instinctively the lady made the sign of the cross and said the hand balked and made its way away.
-BBCTrivia[]
- In some cases, the hands are described as being invisible.
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