WELCOME to Haunted Wirral, a feature series written by world-famous psychic researcher, Tom Slemen for the Globe.

In this latest tale, Stephen and Terry gatecrash a terrifying party.

I'VE changed a few names in the following strange story to safeguard the privacy of various individuals involved in the account.

In July 1964, two petty crooks named Stephen Dunn and Terry Holland – both aged 18 – were sat in Sheridan’s Café on Birkenhead's Chester Street.

As Stephen sipped his coffee and dreamt up schemes to make money, Terry, saw a pretty blonde girl totter past the window in her high heels and remarked: "Hubbah Hubbah ding ding, look at the legs on that thing!" 

Stephen didn't bother to turn around to look at what Terry was referring to, and his friend said: "Have a gander at her; quick before she goes." 

"It'll be a blonde girl," sighed Stephen, "always the same type with you. Why would she go with a penniless nomark like you?" 

That really took the wind out Terry’s sails, and he sulked at the remark.

"You little mardy baby", said Stephen, over the rim of the coffee mug. "You can't take the truth can you? Unless you’ve got money, a girl’s not interested.

"Looking at all these lovely birds why you’re living on a quarter of tea is no good, mate." 

"Well, have you got any ideas to get a few bob then?" asked Terry, choked up and annoyed.

Stephen said he’d been casing a few places of interest.

They were a garage at Spital Crossroads and a garage belonging to Ollerhead Ltd, both in Bebington.

The two teen felons donned their Sunday best clothes so as not to give the impression they were opportunistic scruffs and at 9:30pm they went walkabout in Bebington but saw police in the vicinity of both garages, so they walked almost two-and-a-half miles north and were about to pack it in when they saw a gleaming Bentley swerve off Bebington Road into the drive of a palatial house.

That drive was chockablock with some beautiful prestigious cars, including a Jag and a Rolls.

There was a small queue at the grand-looking entrance and two doormen were admitting the well-heeled to some party. Stephen and Terry could hear the music from the gateway to the house.

Any experienced burglar will tell you that the best time to rob a house is not in the dead of night when every sound is amplified in the nocturnal silence, but during the day when you dress as a milkman carrying a crate and a little book or a postman with a sack, and the same accomplished burglar will tell you that if you have to do a job at night, you’ll have a high success rate if there’s a raving party on the premises to distract everyone.

Stephen Dunn opted for the latter plan and led Terry to the rear of the house by climbing over the back garden wall of the mansion which backed onto Cavendish Drive.

Straight away, Stephen pointed to the second floor window, which was wide open on this sweltering July night.

There was a light on in the room up there but no movement.

The two young robbers looked at the room from a few angles in the back garden until they were fairly sure there was no one up there.

Stephen went up the cast iron drainpipe first, and it took him straight to the side of the window.

He peeped in, and saw a naked couple lying on the bed as they passionately kissed. Stephen gestured for Terry to halt his ascent of the pipe with his palm.

The man on the bed said something about a shower, then got up and led his partner out the room.

Stephen waited for a minute, then quickly climbed into the room, followed by Terry.

They opened the door and looked from the landing down into a hallway of marble pillars, and everyone was dancing and there were coloured balloons everywhere – but all the party people wore domino masks – of the type the Lone Ranger wears in the westerns.

"Too crowded, let's split," said Stephen and he returned to the window, but there was a policeman down below shining a torch up at the window.

The two burglars backed away and Stephen saw the two masks at the side of the bed were the couple had been lying.

He convinced Terry to put one of them on, then put on the black mask and the two young men went onto the landing.

"Hello there, bacchanalians!" said a slim grey-haired man in a mask.

The two teens said hello back at him and the man said: "Excellent turnout, what?" 

"Yes," replied Stephen, smiling, but moving away along the landing, headed for the stairs with Terry close behind him.

A lady in a pink mask came up the stairs with a tray of drinks and said: "Martini?" 

"Why, thank you," said Stephen, confidently, and he took a glass and so did Terry, who whispered, "We need to get out of here." 

"How the other half lives, eh?" said Stephen, eyeing the glittering chandeliers.

"The corps d’elite. Wonder what the occasion is for a masked ball?" 

He danced with an aristocratic lady named Tamara and once Terry had relaxed after a few gin and tonics, he arm-wrestled with a man who professed to be an antiques expert – but at midnight everyone became quiet, and a tall figure in a long red hooded robe came silently down the stairs and everyone followed him into the back garden, where a fire had been lit.

Nearby was the struggling body of a man tied to a type of spit on wheels.

Tamara explained that he was a tramp who had been gagged. They were going to barbecue him.

Stephen assumed it was a joke, but a guest asked Terry: "Have you tasted flesh before? It's rather like chicken." 

Stephen and Terry ran out of the mansion and went straight to the police, who refused to believe their far-fetched tale.

A single policeman was finally sent to the house two days later because Stephen continued to maintain that he and Terry had broken into a house of cannibals, but the man who owned the mansion said a barbecue had been held - and nothing more – and he was believed.

• Haunted Liverpool 34 is out now on Amazon.