A Tale of the Fluffy Undead
Hurrah! It’s Halloween! Apparently this is a huge event for Americans (I’ve no idea why) but I’m afraid that the UK’s version of Halloween is fairly low-key in comparison. We’d rather pull out all the stops for Guy Fawkes night on 5th November instead. Nothing like a good torching of a famous terrorist to liven up those dull winter nights.
Anyhoo, since it’s supposed to be a spooky week, I thought I’d share a suitably creepy story. Now y’all please remember that I’m no storyteller so please make allowances:
When I was a young lass, I used to live in the south of England in a seventeenth century Grade II listed New Forest townhouse which had a thatched roof, low ceilings and wonky whitewashed walls that were stuffed with straw for insulation purposes. Of course the house was haunted - all the best British houses are, you know.
The resident ghost was a male Quaker, about 5 ft 10 inches in height with big pale eyes and a solemn face. He was stylishly attired in a black suit with a wide brimmed hat, although he displayed a slightly transparent appearance at times. I was six years old when I first saw him. He used to visit me in the middle of the night and stand by the side of my bed, just looking at me. Of course, you had the usual paranormal scenario – the room turned deathly cold and there was a strange damp smell in the air. Alas no ectoplasm though. (I guess we ghostbusters can't have everything.)
The first time I saw Mr Q I was pretty freaked out. I remember calling out to my mother: “Mummy, Mummy, there’s a strange man in my room!”
My mother was unpeturbed. She just called back, “Don’t worry dear! Go back to sleep. He’ll go away soon.”
No she didn’t get out of bed and come check on me. It was no big deal. Mr Q the Ghost was a regular visitor in our house, so much so that he was accepted as normal. After a while I just learned to go back to sleep after his visits. Mind you he only appeared to women, and for quite a while my father and brother thought all the ladies in the house had gone totally wacko. My mother saw him quite often, as did my sister-in-law who was dating my brother at the time. The poor girl was so freaked out that she refused to visit again after a couple of months of nightly visitations. Clearly she didn’t have a very strong constitution.
When I was a bit older I nagged my parents to investigate Mr Q. I figured there must be a reason why he was still around. After researching the history of the house, it turned out that these particular Quakers had buried their dead under the floorboards because that was the done thing in those days. The ghostly Quaker dude in question had lost his wife and daughter to cholera, and we concluded that he only appeared to women because he missed them so much and was looking for them. Poor guy had never recovered from their loss.
Poor old Mr Q was feeling a bit below par actually
So the answer to your burning questions are: (1) Yes, it’s a true story (2) No I’m not crazy, or rather, I probably AM crazy but at least I’m crazy with a strong constitution, and (3) Yes, I’ve either stayed in or lived in several haunted houses in my lifetime, and thus have many more dubious stories to tell over the next few years. You have been suitably warned.
Happy Halloween!
Anyhoo, since it’s supposed to be a spooky week, I thought I’d share a suitably creepy story. Now y’all please remember that I’m no storyteller so please make allowances:
When I was a young lass, I used to live in the south of England in a seventeenth century Grade II listed New Forest townhouse which had a thatched roof, low ceilings and wonky whitewashed walls that were stuffed with straw for insulation purposes. Of course the house was haunted - all the best British houses are, you know.
The resident ghost was a male Quaker, about 5 ft 10 inches in height with big pale eyes and a solemn face. He was stylishly attired in a black suit with a wide brimmed hat, although he displayed a slightly transparent appearance at times. I was six years old when I first saw him. He used to visit me in the middle of the night and stand by the side of my bed, just looking at me. Of course, you had the usual paranormal scenario – the room turned deathly cold and there was a strange damp smell in the air. Alas no ectoplasm though. (I guess we ghostbusters can't have everything.)
The first time I saw Mr Q I was pretty freaked out. I remember calling out to my mother: “Mummy, Mummy, there’s a strange man in my room!”
My mother was unpeturbed. She just called back, “Don’t worry dear! Go back to sleep. He’ll go away soon.”
No she didn’t get out of bed and come check on me. It was no big deal. Mr Q the Ghost was a regular visitor in our house, so much so that he was accepted as normal. After a while I just learned to go back to sleep after his visits. Mind you he only appeared to women, and for quite a while my father and brother thought all the ladies in the house had gone totally wacko. My mother saw him quite often, as did my sister-in-law who was dating my brother at the time. The poor girl was so freaked out that she refused to visit again after a couple of months of nightly visitations. Clearly she didn’t have a very strong constitution.
When I was a bit older I nagged my parents to investigate Mr Q. I figured there must be a reason why he was still around. After researching the history of the house, it turned out that these particular Quakers had buried their dead under the floorboards because that was the done thing in those days. The ghostly Quaker dude in question had lost his wife and daughter to cholera, and we concluded that he only appeared to women because he missed them so much and was looking for them. Poor guy had never recovered from their loss.
Poor old Mr Q was feeling a bit below par actually
So the answer to your burning questions are: (1) Yes, it’s a true story (2) No I’m not crazy, or rather, I probably AM crazy but at least I’m crazy with a strong constitution, and (3) Yes, I’ve either stayed in or lived in several haunted houses in my lifetime, and thus have many more dubious stories to tell over the next few years. You have been suitably warned.
Happy Halloween!
Labels: Miscellaneous
posted by Lin at 10:37 AM
3 Comments:
I also lived in a haunted (Victorian) house, but my ghost was much less romantic and debonair that yours. It was the ghost of a man who died in the downstairs bedroom, to which a bathroom had been added on during his long illness. From my upstairs bedroom, I could hear him slam the toilet seat up during the night.
I never saw him, but a housesitter told me she did. Just out of the corner of her eye. The guy hung out in that bathroom eternally. Must have had some unfinished business. I hope he finally got some satisfaction and moved on.
I wonder if this happens to a lot of "artistic" people. As an engineer trying to get in touch with my artistic side (assuming I have one, no signs yet) will I know I've "arrived" when I see a ghost?
I stay at a "haunted mansion" in Key West quite frequently and have never seen her although my wife swears that the house "feels" welcoming when she enters.
Would love to hear additional stories.....
Well one thing about living in the Chicago area that it's rumored that a lot of dead people vote in Chicago at each election. So if you want immortality it's a good thing to die in Chicago.
I have a 104 year old grandmother who has communication with spirits, but will not tell you about about unless you ask. Not that she hides it. It's just a part of her life. Something she has had all her life.
I have had a couple of experiences and I don't talk about it because it scares the hell out of me.
Happy Halloween.
D.L. Wood
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