Deep in the Yorkshire Wolds lies a place that feels frozen in time – a settlement which once echoed with the sounds of medieval life but now sits eerily silent, visited only by those curious enough to make the journey.

Wharram Percy, a so‑called “ghost village,” has been deserted for centuries, yet its ruins still carry a story of tragedy, mystery and a dark secret which has baffled historians for decades.

It’s easy to see why it unsettles visitors. To reach it, you must leave your car behind and walk – over fields, across an old railway line and up a chalky path – before the remains of a 12th‑century stone church emerge into view. All around are grassy mounds where cottages, workshops and two manor houses once stood. But the real unease lies beneath the soil.

In the 1960s, archaeologists digging at the site made a startling discovery – a pit containing more than 100 human bones, buried far from the churchyard where Wharram Percy’s dead would normally have been laid to rest.

At first, experts assumed these remains were prehistoric or Roman – but radiocarbon dating revealed something far stranger. They belonged to the village’s medieval residents. This raised chilling questions of why these people were buried away from consecrated ground, going directly against what was common at the time.

Some researchers believe these villagers met violent ends, while others point to gruesome practices designed to prevent the dead from “walking” – medieval superstition at its most macabre. As presenter Clive Anderson said while exploring the site for Mystic Britain: “This village holds a secret so grisly you’ll scarcely be able to believe it.”

Yet before it became an archaeological mystery, Wharram Percy was an ordinary, thriving community – one that survived for more than half a millennium. Its story stretches back to the Iron Age, when a small farming settlement stood here as early as 50 BC. By the 9th or 10th century, a proper village had formed, with a wooden church at its heart and fields stretching across the valley.

After the Norman Conquest, the land passed to the Percy family – powerful barons who expanded the settlement, replacing the wooden church with stone, building manor houses and organising the land into neat strips for cultivation.

At its height in the 13th and early 14th centuries, Wharram Percy was home to around 200 people. They lived in longhouses with their animals, worked the arable fields and gathered in St Martin’s Church, which still stands – albeit roofless – at the centre of the site.

But disaster soon crept in. The early 14th century brought Scottish raids and years of poor harvests, followed by the Black Death, which wiped out entire families. Tax records from 1334 show that Wharram Percy was already in decline, its value ranking low compared to neighbouring villages.

Even so, the community clung on for another century. But by the late 15th century, wool had become England’s most lucrative export, and landowners realised they could earn far more by turning arable fields into sheep pastures than by collecting rents from struggling tenant farmers.

Around 1500, Baron William Hilton, who then owned the manor, began evicting villagers. Some left quietly, others resisted. One defiant resident reportedly died when his home was torn down with him inside.

And by 1527, the process was complete – the fields were grazed by sheep, the houses left to rot, and Wharram Percy was effectively dead.

It wasn’t until the mid‑20th century that the village re‑emerged as a subject of fascination. In 1948, economic historian Maurice Beresford began excavations, and for more than 40 years, Wharram Percy became a laboratory for archaeologists.

Their work pieced together the lives of its medieval inhabitants, from diet and disease to evidence of childhood growth and even breastfeeding practices. But those human bones, dumped in that pit, remain the most haunting find of all – a puzzle that no amount of research has fully solved.

Today, Wharram Percy is managed by English Heritage and is one of the most famous deserted medieval villages in Europe. Getting there is part of the experience – look for the signposted lane that leads to the car park (£2 for non‑members). From there, it’s a 25‑minute walk through fields and over a stream to the site itself. The route is dog‑friendly (leads are essential due to grazing cattle), but not ideal for those with mobility issues.

Locals warn visitors to enter at their own risk – not only because of the physical challenge, but because of the unsettling stories and unanswered questions that hang over the place.

St Martin’s Church is the focal point of the ruins, with its chancel, tower remnants and gravestones dating back to the 18th century. Information boards dot the landscape, showing what the long‑vanished homes once looked like.

As one visitor wrote on Tripadvisor: “What a privilege to be able to visit this incredible place… We sat on the grass by the pond and soaked it all in.”