 Philosophers in their writings as well as ordinary men in their everyday lives are accustomed to make a sharp distinction between the animate and the inanimate between mind and matter. But in the annals of the strange and the incredible, the line of demarcation between the two often grows dim. Witness, for example, the astonishing case of the earth that was consecrated to murder. It was on the night of July 16th, 1823 that William Wood met his death. He had ventured after dark along the lonely road that ran between Manchester and his native village. And he'd not gone more than a mile or so when... Hold it a minute! Well, what is it you want? I think you know what we want. If you're referring to my purse, I'm afraid I must disappoint you. You hear that, men? Well, perhaps we can make them change his mind. Let him have it now! For all his courage, William Wood was no match for these three ruthless men. In less than a minute, they obtained his shoulders to the ground and were rifling his pockets of everything they contained. I'll be able to identify you, every one of you. Well, in that case, perhaps we'd better make sure you don't. Harry, give me that club you're carrying. Oh, for God's sake, men, don't! No, don't! It was a brutal murder. So violently was the club used that William Wood's skull was forced into the soft ground. And the next day, when his body was found and carried to the general arms at Whaley Bridge, the hole remained there. Before the year was out, a legend began to spread throughout that whole section of England. And eventually, it reached the ears of Alfred Friar, a man who had written a book called Wilmslow Graves. When he arrived, accompanied by John Fox, one of the local townsmen, the hole in the earth was still there. There it is. That's where his head was lying when they found him. Look at any other hole in the ground, and after the first heavy shower, you'll find it all silted up. But not this one. Nothing fills up this hole. Well, it's true. There's nothing growing in it. There never has been. Not since he died there. The imperturbable Mr. Friar proceeded to collect a pile of stones from the road and pack them tightly into the hole. And when all traces of the cavity had been removed, he remarked, Well, it doesn't seem to object too strenuously to being filled. Just give it time, sir. All right, we will. Let's go and have a glass of ale. And then we'll come back and see what happens. It was just an hour later that John Fox and Alfred Friar returned to the spot. Good lord. Look. The sod and the stones. They scattered all around the embankment. Again and again, he filled the hole. And again and again, its contents were mysteriously ejected. In setting down the strange story, Alfred Friar made no effort to explain it. In the eyes of his readers, he would have seemed a fool to have announced that a lifeless, senseless piece of earth could be rendered barren by an act of murder that was perpetrated on it. How else can one account for this astonishing fact, a fact incredible but true?