Nicola Kirk: Author and Collector of Paranormal Stories and Other Strange Encounters

Archive for the ‘supernatural’ Category

Coming Soon – NECROTIST – A Novel

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New Novel for 2020…

Being recruited by the enigmatic Governor Cloud into the curious role of Necrotist for Firs County’s Finest wasn’t something Victoria Christie had ever envisaged as a career choice and she soon learns that being able to ‘See’ the true events of a crime carries a high price for all involved.   

When Victoria learns that Oscar Hale, a criminal on Death Row, isn’t guilty of the terrible murder he’s accused of committing, she discovers that there are darker forces at play and they want Hale gone before secrets are revealed. 

Torn between her loyalty to Governor Cloud and jaded Ring Chief John Hunter, can Victoria stop Hale from being silenced. 

Nicola

weirdworld@hotmail.co.uk

©Nicola Kirk and http://www.nicolakirk.wordpress.com 2019

I Saw Him

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I travel to and from work on the Central Line.  In summer, it is the hottest place on earth known to man.  You can fry eggs on other commuters.  People clutch their 2-litre water bottles for fear that they might dry up and die of dehydration between stops.

The other evening, I entered into the state known as Commuter Mode and left the office.  At the end of the day, I just want to get home, same as everyone else.  If I’m going to stand on a steaming hot train for the best part of an hour, I want to get on as soon as possible and lose myself in the pages of a book until the trip across the virtual Sahara is over.

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Like Rats In A Maze

Recently, they’ve changed the layout at Bond Street Station so you have to wiggle through a maze of subterranean corridors to get onto the platforms.  It was business as usual.  The guy who busks at the foot of the escalator was singing the same song he always sings at that time of the evening (the song never changes.  Never.  It’s Ground Hog Day meets Coldplay) and full on Commuter Mode was engaged.   Just as I turned a corner at the bottom of the escalator I noticed a woman in an adjacent corridor.  Strangely, for that time of the evening, the corridor was deserted apart from the woman, who was busy rummaging through her handbag looking for something, and a man.  The man was Asian, perhaps Chinese, and he was just standing there, close to the tunnel wall, staring at the woman while she rummaged.  He wasn’t just looking at her as if he was waiting for her to get her stuff together so they could go, he was staring at her.  Hard.   And she didn’t even seem to know he was there. 

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You can tell when two people are together, there’s interaction, chatter, something.  Anything.  But this guy just stood there by the wall, wearing a brown jacket and non-descript trousers, empty hands by his sides, just staring.  It made the skin prickle on the back of my neck.  I glanced away for just a moment and when I looked back, the woman was closing her bag and beginning to make her way towards the other end of the corridor.  

And the man was gone.

He was just… gone.  I did a double take,  ignoring the annoyed tut from the woman who had just stumbled into the back me, irritated that her Commuter Mode had been disrupted.  How had he managed to disappear so quickly?  Where had he gone?  I had only looked away for just a couple of seconds.  The woman who had been buried up to her armpit in her handbag seemed to be none the wiser, she just continued on her way, joining the masses of people rushing to get home.   She never even saw him.

But I saw him.

 

Nicola

weirdworld@hotmail.co.uk

©Nicola Kirk and http://www.nicolakirk.wordpress.com 2019

Two For The Price Of One!

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So you’re not my husband… or the kids… or the cat… um… can I phone a friend?

When I wake up in the night, I don’t expect to find anyone else in my room. Other than my husband. And perhaps the kids if they come up for something. Or perhaps the cat, if the kids have let her escape from downstairs. But other than that…

Just by way of background information, in our room, we have a large skylight just over the foot of the bed. I did wonder if it was going to let too much light in when we first had it installed, and whilst we could have got a blind for it (at a massively unreasonable and inflated cost) we eventually decided it was fine without, and to be honest if I get up for any reason in the night, I appreciate the ambient light so I don’t go clumping straight into the bedpost. So when I turned over the other night, surfacing from sleep as I did so, it was a bit of a shock to find my husband half sitting up in bed next to me and what looked like another figure of my husband standing next to the bed looking down at himself. I had a moment where I struggled to make sense of it all and then woke up completely with a jolt. I half sat up and found that what I thought had been my husband sitting up in bed was actually just his elbow sticking up from under the duvet at a strange angle instead. Ah… thank goodness that’s all it was, I thought to myself. But… who had been standing next to the bed? What had I seen there?

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Amusing Pareidolia At Its Finest.

There are various reasons why I think I actually saw something that night and that it wasn’t just a case of pareidolia. The first reason is that it stays quite light in our room because of the big skylight, even with the blinds drawn in the rest of the room. You can see quite well, even in the middle of the night. Also, there is nothing on my husband’s side of the room other than a pair of blank wardrobe doors. There’s nothing hanging from those doors, certainly nothing that could be mistaken for a person. All the crap in our bedroom is mine and is, uh, artfully arranged on my side of the room… I laid there for a few minutes wondering what I’d actually seen before finally settling enough to drift off again.

Bubble Gum Fail

I’ll teach you to wake me up with your phantom bubble blowing antics…

And then there are the odd noises… oh, we LOVE odd noises in my house! Some nights, at about three or thereabouts, I’ve woken up to the sound of something going ‘POP!’ Not the kind of popping or clicking I expect to hear in my house as things contract and expand, but the sound you get when someone’s blown a nice big bubble with gum. Two or three times I’ve woken up to that noise. I suppose it could just be a noise my ears make as I start to wake up, however, about a week ago I awoke to hear a door open in our room followed by the sound of something skittering across the wood floor. But our door hadn’t opened. It didn’t even sound like our door opening (which makes a very distinctive scuffing noise as it opens because it’s dropped a bit and needs adjusting). As for the skittering sound… nope, I got nuthin’.

Nicola

Weirdworld@hotmail.co.uk

© http://www.nicolakirk.wordpress.com 2018

The Whistler

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My son has been learning to whistle.  That’s nice, I hear you say  (come on, I’m sure one of you said it).  Well, it would be nice if he could string a tune together.  At the moment, it’s nothing short of brain damage.  He’s discovered he can make a sound if he sucks air in, but hasn’t yet mastered whistling when he blows out, so he always sounds as if he’s on the brink of hyperventilation.  Our house is haunted by random wheezy half notes and disembodied complaints that it’s ‘too hard to whistle’, followed by other disembodied complaints elsewhere in the house that ‘if you don’t learn a tune soon, I swear I’m going to go crazy!’

Whistling has recently taken on a new interest for me.  I have been watching Most Haunted and they have discovered that whistling sometimes gets results of the paranormal kind.  (My partner in crime, Tarryn, and I are currently on season 20 of 21, and we’re rapidly dissolving into a panic as to what we’re going to Armchair Ghostbust once we’re up to date, so any suggestions for future hunts would be much appreciated … apart from Ghosthunters because, well, the drama that goes on in that programme is anything  but paranormal)

Ghost Hunting | Ghost Hunting | Pinterest | Ghost hunting, Funny ...

During Most Haunted’s visit to HMP Shrewsbury (Part 2) (series 18) at 22.10 mins in, Karl whistles and asks for whatever is lurking to copy him.  And… it apparently does.  There are quite a few other instances during that investigation (which is a massive three-part investigation) where they get whistled responses to their requests, so it’s worth a watch.  Also, during a visit to Rowleys House (series 20) at 29.40 mins, whistling and asking for a response pays off.  Where does the whistling come from?  I wouldn’t have thought ghosts possessed sufficient lung capacity to squeeze a whistle out?  Yes, yes, I know, I can hear people shouting in disbelief ‘you’re taking Most Haunted seriously!?‘  But I have to say, having seen every episode from series one, the team has come along in leaps and bounds, edging away from mediums who quiver spasmodically while they declare that Mary Loves Dick!!! (yes, I swear it happened, you have to see it to believe, even Yvette can’t quite keep a straight face) to chairs being tipped over balconies and dragged across the floor (series 20, The Fleece Inn).  And if you take it at face value, it’s all very impressive.

Image result for MOst Haunted amusingBut going back to whistling, one story I read years ago that involved paranormal whistling has stuck with me after all this time.  In Robert Schneck’s superb book ‘The President’s Vampire: Strange but true tales of the United States of America‘ there is a story which I believe is called ‘The Bridge to Body Island’.   I won’t ruin the story for you, suffice to say that whistling is the last sound you’ll want to hear after you’ve read it.  You can also watch The Bye Bye Man for a cinematic treat based on the same allegedly true story.  Sadly, it didn’t get a very good rating on Rotten Tomatoes BUT… don’t let that stop you from seeing if it’s as chilling as Robert Schneck’s story that’s haunted me all these years.

Nicola

weirdworld@hotmail.co.uk

©Nicola Kirk and http://www.nicolakirk.wordpress.com 2018

It’s An Addiction… But Don’t Cure Me.

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Everyone has an addiction of some kind.  Don’t tell me you don’t, because thou shalt be deemed a fibber of the most Shameful Kind.  I have many addictions.  Books.  Books.  Chocolate.  Paranormal investigation programmes.  Oh, the need to see a group of people bumbling about in the dark waving gadgets about that squeak and beep and flash… And I do so love the way they all suddenly freeze and look at each other and say:

‘There’s someone upstairs… there’s someone upstairs?  Who’s upstairs?  Do YOU know who’s upstairs?  I don’t think I’m upstairs?’

“Guys, has anyone actually been to see who is upstairs?”

“Uh… No.”

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For these past few months, my intrepid (decrepit?) mate in South Africa has been joining me on a veritable pub crawl of paranormal investigation programmes to see what they come up with.  We want the TRUTH!  Buuuut… we don’t really want to have to leave the safety of our homes to get it.  So, we have so far been through the whole of the Ghost Adventures series (well, who wouldn’t want to watch that lot charging about in the dark together yelling ‘DUUUUDE!!!!’ every five seconds?) and I thought the evidence they got in their very first documentary, before they went viral with their GAC adventures, was pretty compelling stuff (I refer to the flying brick incident).  I honestly think my friend and I have spent more time with those three GAC guys than we have our own husbands. That reads in a very bad way but, whatever.  We’ve worked our way through Nick Groff and his Paranormal Lockdowns (the first episode of series two was pretty fantastic, we loved that) and now we are busy abusing Ghost Hunters.  Right from the very first episode.  So far, it’s been like watching badly lit episodes of Hollyoaks with lots of cables, EMF meters and ‘spontaneous’ interludes where the team members grumble about who’s leading the tech department and whether they’ve captured dust or an orb on film.  Or possibly a full-blown poltergeist with laryngitis.

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My friend and I continually gripe about what they get up to in Ghost Hunters – ‘it’s dust!  That’s not an EVP, that’s someone sneezing!  What the hell is he doing with that thermometer!?’ but… we still keep on watching the episodes.  Just in case.

Zak Bagans, Nick Groff and Aaron Goodwin (ahh Aaron, bless him, no one can erupt into a war cry of “DUUUUDE!” like Aaron),  Grant Wilson, Jason Hawes and all your Minions – we salute you!  You go ahead and carry on falling over stuff in the dark, you carry on bickering amongst yourselves over who left the power cable at home, WE LOVE YA GUYS!

Nicola

weirdworld@hotmail.co.uk

©Nicola Kirk and http://www.nicolakirk.wordpress.com 2017

Early One Morning… Or Was It Late One Night?

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Early one morning – and I mean early, I have young children who have no concept of what waking at a ‘sensible hour’ is – my bedroom door pinged open and my two Small People marched in looking determined.  I think that was the expression they were wearing because, as I said, it was early and I had to pry an eyelid open with great reluctance to see what the deal was.  The conversation went something like this:

“Hello, you two, what’s up?  You know, it’s a bit early…”

“She woke me up,” advised my son.

“Oh.  Um… why’s that then?”

“She,” he pointed at his sister, just in case there was any doubt as to who the troublemaker was, “said the TV is on downstairs in your sitting room and it’s playing 101 Dalmatians but there’s no picture.”

I sat up.  Well, okay, perhaps she had been up early pressing buttons?

“Sweetheart,” I addressed my daughter (who was wide awake, bright-eyed and showed no signs of going back to bed without a lengthy debate about it first), “have you been playing with the television?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“She came and woke me up to tell me that it had woken her up,” my boy told me.  They both stared at me expectantly because apparently parents have the Answers to Everything.  Even at 5am.

“Um… okay, well that’s a bit odd,” I muttered, throwing the covers back to go and have a look.  The television set up we have downstairs in our sitting room is the stuff of nightmares for any technophobe.  It took me ages to figure out that praying and sacrificing remote controls to it wasn’t sufficient to get it to turn on and much pressing of many buttons on a multitude of remotes was also required to appease the gods of technology.  If my daughter had managed to get the DVD player going by herself and turn the TV on from standby (even if it refused to display a picture) was quite an impressive feat.  So I went downstairs, posted various small people back into their beds in the hope that they might stay there for another two hours (fat chance, I’m laughing to myself as I write that) and turned the TV and DVD player off again.  Finally, I crawled back into bed and snuggled down once again…

…only to wake up about fifteen minutes later to the radio pinging on in our bedroom.  By itself.  My husband opened one eye and peeked at me sleepily as if to say ‘did you forget to turn off the Ouija board, dear?’

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I’ve mentioned in the past that our house has many a foible and likes to let rip with many odd noises in the night, usually resulting in me bumbling off downstairs to make sure one of the cats hasn’t managed to get trapped in the bin.  It’s not even as if it’s a particularly old house with many skeletons buried in its closets.  I believe the house was built in the 1960s but it has been extended and built up and goodness knows what so many times now that if it’s true what they say about ghosts hating renovation, I suppose that would explain where some of the noises and weird bangs come from.

Another very early morning had both my husband and I doing a tour of the house looking for the source of three, loud clear knocks.  I’d sprung out of bed (well, it felt like I sprung out of bed, but in reality it probably would have looked like me getting caught up in the duvet and falling gracelessly from the side of the bed onto the floor) and had scuttled off to see if someone was in trouble and was banging at our door for assistance.  Nothing.  Not a thing.  Well, thanks SO much whatever that was for getting me out of a nice warm bed.  At other times I’ll wake up because I’m certain I’ve heard the doorbell ring at some weird hour. And then last night both my father in law and I were scurrying about trying to find the cause of what sounded like a load of toy cars rolling off somewhere high up and hitting the floor.

“You alright?” he asked, dashing into the kitchen where I was looking about for the source of the noise myself.

“Me?  Sure.  That noise wasn’t you then?”

We had a moment of confused face pulling while we thought about it.

“I looked in on the kids and they’re asleep, so it wasn’t them,” he said.  More confused face pulling.  “This house is haunted…” he muttered as he wandered off back upstairs.  Comments like that would probably make most people uneasy but, well, I couldn’t help grinning like an overly excited Cheshire Cat at the prospect. My daughter often palms off her misdemeanours on the Great Unseen by saying, ‘oh, it was the ghost that did it’.   Hmmm… if I was a ghost in this house, I’d probably keep my head down when she’s on the rampage.

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Nicola

weirdworld@hotmail.co.uk

©Nicola Kirk and http://www.nicolakirk.wordpress.com 2017

Ain’t Nothing Gonna Resurrect That…

When Your Nine Lives Is Up But You Refuse To Peg It.

The other day, my elderly neighbour, Mrs R., came to see me asking if I could help take her cat to the vet.  She didn’t look at all happy but the cat looked infinitely worse.

“He was fine up until it rained yesterday,” she told me sadly as we stood over the cat who was busy languishing on her living room carpet.  I eyed the cat and quickly concluded that the poor thing should have been put out of its misery a fortnight ago.  Our other neighbour, Mr B., had come over to see if he could help but, alas, it was clear that there was nothing more he could do other than dig another hole in Mrs R.’s garden.  (Whoever lives in Mrs R.’s house next is going to get one hell of a shock if they landscape that back garden: “Doris!  Doris, you’ve read Pet Sematary – what was the outcome and should we consider moving?!”).

“You know, I’m not sure that cat’s going to make it to the vet,” Mr B. muttered to me as Mrs R. scooped the stricken creature up and laid it in the cat carrier.  I peeked at the cat through the bars of its box.  Glassy eyed, mouth open, tongue trying to escape its head… it looked like it was somewhat… dead.

“Uh, I think it might be a bit late to take him to the vet,” I started to tell her as gently as I could, but then the cat gasped and twitched a bit.  “Oh!  Hold on… no, I think…” The cat went still  again.  “No, sorry, I think…” Gasp!  Twitch! Damn it cat, make up your mind!!

Best Paint Job Ever.

I kid you not, that cat was having a game with me as we loaded the carry box into my car and trundled off to the vet.  It waited until we parked up, walked in and sat down before it finally decided it would be better off vacating.  However, we stayed until the vet had a look at the now rapidly stiffening cat, pronounced him DOA (and probably dead quite some time before arrival too… days… perhaps weeks… it certainly smelt that way…) and gave poor Mrs R. a sympathetic smile.  I’m sure it was on Mrs R.’s lips to ask the vet to give the cat a shot with a defibrillator to see if that would do anything but I quicky ushered her back out through the door and into the waiting room again, her ex-cat firmly wedged back into its travel box ready for future planting in the back garden.

While I was sitting in the vet’s waiting room with zombie cat quietly trying out his latest rigor mortis poses at my feet, I thought about experiments that have been carried out in the past to try to resurrect animals.  Because in the 1940s, the Russians decided this was a good road to go down.  And us humans just can’t leave anything alone, can we?  Dead or otherwise, we just have to tinker.  Well, let’s face it, this kind of experiment is never going to be pretty, so people with a weak disposition probably shouldn’t proceed beyond this point (who am I kidding, we all know  you’re going to go ahead and watch it anyway):

And when you consider how we have progressed from that to this:

My, we have come a long way!  Hopefully Mrs R.’s cat will remain at peace in the back garden though because I’d hate to have to go after it with a shovel.  Hey, I’ve read Pet Semetery, too.

But for those of you who are now thoroughly traumatised, here, this should sort you out:


Nicola

©Nicola Kirk 2016 and www.nicolakirk.wordpress.com

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