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.
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.
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.
And Other Times They Bring Creepy Clowns And Much Panic
There are somethings in life that you just don’t expect to come across. A rogue five-pound note at the bottom of your bag (yay!). Your child tidying their room without being asked (what are my eyes seeing here, can it be true?). A dead body in an abandoned haunted house (…WTF?):
I don’t think you’d sleep again if you came across this one while you’re out having an innocent peek around a disused building.
Anything caught on CCTV always seems exceptionally eerie to me. Clowns abusing melons on your veranda and Nightcrawlers wandering past your house – they certainly make foxes going through your bins of a night a much more appealing prospect. And as for discovering that someone else is living in your house with you and you know nothing about it until you review your CCTV… I think I’ll be checking under the stairs tonight. And how do you get rid of them once you know they’re there? ‘Um, excuse me, either pay some rent or stop raiding my fridge! And while I’m at it…any preferences on the colour of the toilet paper?’ However, I suspect the poor sod in clip 13 may have been struck by lightning, but either way, he certainly wasn’t expecting it and he definitely wasn’t very happy at the end of his experience.
And finally, in the following selection of videos below, I particularly liked clip number 8 – the look of confusion on the security guard’s face is quite priceless. Either he’s searching for the strange black shadow that just went past the gate that or he’s having a look around before he heads off for a crafty fag.
Well, we have a nice turn up for the books today – I am delighted to be able to present you with a one off interview with Bloody Mary herself. Bloody Mary is known by many names (Mary Worthington, Mary Jane, Mary Whales and Mary White to name but a few) and she has taken time out from her hectic mirror stalking schedule to be here with us today. Just in case you are not familiar with Bloody Mary’s work, take a few seconds to observe the following:
I’ll give you a moment to come out from behind the sofa.
Nicola Kirk: Bloody Mary, welcome to Weirdworld!
Bloody Mary: Hi, nice to be here, thanks for inviting me.
NK: Wow, where to start! You seem to be doing very well for yourself these days?
BM: (Laughs shyly) Yes, well, there are a lot of mirrors out there.
NK: For those out there who aren’t aware of who you are, would you like to tell us a little about yourself?:
BM: Sure. Well, I kind of popped up in the 1970s, at least that’s when the folklorists and urban legend people started to take notice of me. I’ve built up a rather terrifying reputation for myself over the years, even if I do say so myself. I love Googling myself to see what comes up. There are endless tales of people being terrified out of their wits after having summoned me and then have me crawl out of their mirrors and trying to kill them – ha! I’m quite the horror celebrity these days. But people always seem to have found mirrors fascinating, haven’t they? People try everything with them – from divining the future to, well, calling up dead people. You know, historically, young women would try out a little ritual where they would take a lit candle and walk up stairs backwards with a hand mirror at midnight in the hope that they’d see their future husband in the mirror .
NK: Sounds like something exciting to try.
BM: Well, yes and no – if they looked in the mirror and saw a skull looking back at them then it meant they would die before they got married.
NK: Oh.
BM: Yes. Although, from my point of view, this sort of ritual can be quite entertaining. Some girls can’t decide which version of the ‘ritual’ to use. Should they carry the candle, and eat an apple at the same time, whilst walking backwards and trying to brush their hair? You know, some people just aren’t born multitaskers and the end results can be really amusing to behold.
NK: How have rituals progressed over the years? Any bloody sacrifices?
BM: (Sighing) Nothing that exciting. Sometimes, if they’re brave enough, people try to summon me on their own, in their bathroom with just with a candle, and other times, if they’re drunk enough, people try in groups with a bottle of vodka for backup. The drunk groups are the best. There’s always someone who runs into the wall while everyone else runs for the door. Sometimes I don’t even have to put in an appearance, they spook themselves out before they’ve finished the chanting and run away. That can be disappointing, especially if I’ve been gearing myself up for a grand entrance.
NK: So, if someone was minded to try and summon you, how would they go about it for the best results?
BM: The most generally accepted way is to stand in front of a mirror in a dimly lit room, candles are a nice touch, and to chant ‘Bloody Mary’ three times. Some people call for Mary Worth or Mary White, I even had someone calling for Mary Whitehouse once – I’m not sure what they were expecting but they looked pretty shocked when I appeared and asked them what they thought about social liberalism. Sometimes people try calling for the Candyman for a change but I don’t pull off the brutalised black male artist look too well. But a friend of mine, Hanako-San, she has a tough job. She haunts toilets in Japanese schools. People are forever banging on third cubicles on third floors and asking if she’s there. They get horribly frightened when she actually says she’s home – I don’t know why people go looking for us if they’re just going to run away screaming when we answer. I suppose it could be something to do with the way we sometimes attack them, but sometimes we can be nice.
NK: Hanako- San doesn’t know Moaning Myrtle does she?
BM: Who?
NK: From..uh… Harry Potter – okay, not to to worry, let’s move on. What’s your average customer like?
BM: Young and female. I don’t know why, but it’s always girls having slumber parties. The number of times I’ve turned up to find everyone in a onesie. It’s like no one makes an effort these days.
NK: What sort of thing can people expect when you appear in their mirror?
BM: Depends what sort of mood I’m in and if they’re interrupting me while I’m doing something important. I’m not always a bloody faced screaming corpse you know, I do have quite a repertoire.
NK: Funnily enough, I did try to Google reports of people having met you on a good day and I thought I was onto something when the search turned up ‘A friendly welcome and a good Bloody Mary!’ but unfortunately it was just a pub review on Trip Advisor.
BM: (Shrugs) Yes, well, you can’t have everything. I have to tell you, being summoned all the time by people looking for a bit of a thrill does get a bit tiresome so you can appreciate that I’m not always going to be sunshine and smiles.
NK: Um, not ever by all accounts. Having read a few experiences left by people on the internet, they’ve reported being screamed at, cursed and apparently you sometimes try to strangle people?
BM: (Holds hands up) Guilty as charged. Although I did see a piece of viral tat going around on Facebook once that if you didn’t forward a post on to at least fifteen people then I would appear at midnight to slit wrists, throats and pull eyeballs out with a fork. I mean really…
NK: Bit over the top?
BM: I don’t even own a fork.
NK: Right. You have become more famous as the years have gone on, haven’t you?
BM: I really have! I’ve had films made about me and all sorts. There was Urban Legends: Bloody Mary (2005), The Legend of Bloody Mary (2008) and I even got in on that Paranormal Activity 3 (2011).
NK: Yes, we featured a clip from that film at the beginning of this interview.
BM: Nothing like a little publicity.
NK: Have you see the doll they’ve made of you?
BM: Seriously?
NK:
BM: (Recoils in horror) Woah! That’s… that’s just nasty. I don’t look like that, do I? What’s going on with the hair? I do like her dress though, I think I could make that work.
NK: There are all sorts of back stories attached to your legend, aren’t there?
BM: Oh yes, I’ve got so many possible origins these days, it’s hard to keep up with them all. The one I like most is that I am Bloody Queen Mary, famous for her violently imposed religious views. Not that I’m particularly religious but being mistaken for royalty is quite flattering. Other stories I’ve heard about myself is that I was a particularly vain woman who spent so long looking in mirrors that I came back to haunt them, and anyone who dares to call me up in a mirror will do so at their peril – but I don’t think I’m that vain. I spend more time looking out of mirrors than into them these days. One thing I did read (an essay by Alan Dundes called Bloody Mary In The Mirror: A Ritual Reflection of Pre-Pubescent Anxiety) was that elements of my legend could be linked to the onset of menstruation due to the similarities in feelings between that and how people feel when summoning me.
NK: Yeah, I’m not so sure about that one. When I hit puberty I don’t recall experiencing mindboggling terror – certainly nothing in the same vein as being murdered by something leaping at me from my bathroom mirror. Getting your monthlies is a bit different, I think.
BM: I think it’s also something to do with the association with blood and the bathroom, too. An interesting notion but not one I personally like to be associated with. I still prefer the ‘mess with me and I’ll rip your face off’ approach to my legend.
NK: And finally, do you have any words of advice for people who are considering summoning you to their mirror?
BM: Yes: bring a change of underpants.
NK: So there we have it, coming to a mirror near you: Bloody Mary!
He’s Behind You!!! – The Ghost of Boothill Cemetery
This chap looks as if he’s having great fun dressing up as a cowboy at Boothill Cemetery, Tombstone, Arizona. He’s looking pretty suave and sure of himself as he poses for his photo… but wait a minute. Who is that just behind him, rising up out of the gravestone cluttered grass with what appears to be a… is that a knife in his hand?!
I have seen this photo many times before but it still makes me shiver whenever I come across it. The story behind this particular photo is that a chap called Terry Ike Clanton (cousin of the Clanton Gang who had some fisticuffs with the Earps and Doc Holliday at the OK Coral) took this photo of his friend during a visit to Boothill Cemetery one day. When the photo was developed Terry was somewhat perplexed to find what looked very much like a skinny man in a dark hat rising up from among the gravestones. Of course, it could just have been someone kneeling in the tall grass looking to have a bit of fun at the photographer’s expense, but Terry insists: “I know there was no other person in this photograph when I shot it.” And who am I to say otherwise – I wasn’t there. Terry also believes the figure is holding a knife (shudder):
“We thought this was a tie at first, but after further review, it appears to be a knife,” Terry says. “The knife is in a vertical position; the tip is located just below the figure’s right collar. If you’re not convinced that something is weird here, look at my friend’s shadow in the photo. It appears to be going back slightly to the right of him. The figure in the back should have the same shadow, but it doesn’t!”
Boothill Cemetery certainly looks to be an amazing place to visit – it’s stuffed with people who have met all sorts of horrid ends, whether it’s being struck over the head with a poker or suicide by strychnine. If you would like to find out more about who died and why at Boothill, you might like a look at the following website, which has more information than you can shake a skull at: http://www.boothillgraves.com/
And then we have… THE NIGHT WALKERS!
Walkies!
I’m not sure what we’re looking at here, but apparently these strange beings were filmed in Yosemite National Park one night and no one knows quite what they are – mummy and baby Night Walker out for an evening stroll? Or perhaps one is just further away from the camera giving it the appearance of being smaller. Yes, I think they could possibly be computer generated too, but I often think of this video as there is something beautifully weird about the way these ‘beings’ move. I especially love the way the smallest of the two seems to have a bit of a totter at one point before trying to catch up with the larger being again. So, computer graphics or something stranger (giant clothes pegs out for a wander?), what do you think? I’d love to read your thoughts in the comment section below.
And finally…
Just to finish off, here’s a nice little collection of ghost pictures from the internet to lull you to sleep at night.
A Nice Little Selection To Watch In The Small Hours
Of course, most of these photos are sure to be fake but they are still fun to look at.
But what if… what if perhaps just one of them is the real deal?
Go on, you can leave a light on tonight – I promise I won’t tell anyone…
The above photo is doing the rounds in the paranormal world at the moment. A paranormal group (ORBS) visited the basement of the Sandusky County Historical Jail in Ohio, USA, and managed to snap the above photograph during one of their vigils. It appears to show the torso of a being at the far end of the corridor. I, too, would be over the moon to snap a photo like this but I always find myself wishing that these ghostly images were clearer. They always seem to be so blurred. But yes, it does look ever so intriguing and I’m sure paranormal lovers everywhere are delighted that ORBS are sharing it with the rest of us. I wondered if anyone out there has any further information on who or what they think the figure might be – a long-lost prisoner who never emerged from their time in the dungeon perhaps or (don’t ‘boo‘ me here, please) is it just a photographic anomaly?
One of the other clips I’ve come across recently is the one below – you don’t have to watch the entire thing, but if you forward to 2:09… well, if it’s a fake it’s been well thought through! It makes me shiver even now and I’ve seen this clip quite a few times. Apparently no one noticed the headless figure making its way towards the camera until after they reviewed the footage. Sleepless nights, here we come!
I’m Coming To Get You…
Turning now to a bit of terrifying fun – I thought the video below was brilliant, though not for the fainthearted. It’s amazing how realistic people can make things look these days when it comes to scary effects (although it does make sorting fact from fiction pretty much impossible… and is it just me, or do the little arms that pop up from under the door look like little willies…?):
Give Us A Hand Mate?
The photo below is apparently from www.coasttocoastam.com and the story that goes with it is that a nurse was testing her camera flash in the hospital with the lights off. If you take a look at the ‘close up’ photo below the main one, it looks like someone else was keen to get in on the action – wonderfully chilling stuff – I love the way the figure is staring right at you as if posing for the picture.
Could You Get My Good Side, Please?
(Credit: www.moonslipper.com)
And so, until next time my dear ghost hunting friends…
I’ve often wondered about automatic writing. Is it true that if I sit down with a pen and paper, try and empty my head of all mundane thoughts (harder than it sounds, trust me – when I’m trying not to think of anything I start thinking about whether I should wear flip flops or hiking boots tomorrow or that I really must sit down and finish writing my latest novel/script/short story – that thought pops up all the time), then some passing spirit will take advantage of my temporary absence of mind and use my hand to write its memoirs. I had a go at this many years ago and I believe the only word I could make out was the word ‘lilo’.
Lilo?
Would a passing spirit seriously take the time and energy to possess me in order to write ‘lilo’? Nah, I’m thinking not.
The other evening I decided to have another go once sproglet had gone to bed and the rest of my family were engrossed in other activities (a highly technical game of cards – seriously, it was like watching tactics for world domination being put into place) leaving me free to effectively turn off for a while. And, oh boy, did I turn off. You’re going to have to bear with me on this post, because having read through what came out of my head that evening, it reads as if someone swallowed a dictionary and ate a thesaurus for dessert. And so, dear readers… the result went a bit like this:
Brace! Brace! You’re In For A Bumpy Ride!
“What’s going through my head right now? I’d have to say curiously little considering our minds are constantly on the go. I often accuse myself of writing too much about the mundane, the day to day, but what is the mundane? Isn’t every moment we live anything but, and a little miracle all in itself? Do those who profess to have the least have the most? Should my pen be confiscated for writing such tripe? Guaranteed it should be. Writing thoughts that want to sound more intellectual than they are. Filling a page with tired words. My mind often whirrs to its own beat and I doubt anyone else hears its music.”
By now, some of you will have decided that I’d probably been on the Bacardi when I wrote the above and will have stopped reading, but I can only put it down to my brain trying to clear itself of ‘the mundane’. What else came out of my pen when I wasn’t paying attention…?
“Are these words even mine? A disembodied voice whispering in my ear. CHOCOLATE! No, that word is definitely mine. I was reading the other day about an old mental asylum called St. Crispins. It was something out of a Victorian horror story. What remains there after the lights are extinguished for the final time, the last person leaves and the door is locked behind them? Do ghostly faces peer out of cells filled with anguish, wondering why they have been left behind? Or are they content, secure within the walls of their mental prison, curious at the sight of ghost hunters and thrill seekers who are convinced by the mental horrors of pain and torture their TV addled brains throw out at them. And here I sit at home, pen of purple in hand, wandering down the dimly lit corridors of my own mind while my husband and mother in law enjoy a game of cards, an unread book at my side that promises to be a good read but hasn’t yet been allowed to capture me while I write, write, write, a restless mind searching for a moment’s peace in the mental asylum of automatic writing.”
Hello? Any Crazy People Here?
Well, if I was coming out with some automatic writing that evening, whoever it was paying a visit had a thing about mental asylums. Or maybe that’s just me. Well, everyone loves a good gothic mental asylum, don’t they? Um… don’t they? Wait, I’m not quite done. Yes: there was more!
“I’ll read what I’ve written one day and I’ll wonder where the words have come from. So far from the mundane. So far from the average – more in common with the rain falling to dash itself on the conservatory roof – “
I think my brain may have short circuited a few sentences ago – I do apologise. Normal service will resume shortly.
“- I wonder if the roof in our bedroom has resumed its leak.”
See – there I am!
“I had a dream last night. A flame haired zombie with a smile like a shattered mirror and eyes with sparks of lucid insanity chased me over slippery ice. A curious thing – it was oddly amusing. I awoke needing the loo, wondering how I would react to finding such a zombie in my house in the dead of night. In the dark, it was an eerie thought; later in the light of day. the thoughts reconciled themselves into a single cohesive statement that I would, of course, remove its head without a single flicker of remorse.”
No more late night horror movies… no more late night horror movies…
“That’s what a zombie hunter in any number of books I’ve read would do. Is it not so? Well, we can but hope that we never encounter such beasties of the underworld so we can carry on our masquerade of life without burdening our little brains with such stresses and terrors. Because what we see on the TV and what we read in books is just for our cheap thrills and needs to be stored away in the recesses of our thoughts as bollocks so we can close our eyes at night. Sleeping with one eye open is not as easy as it sounds.”
I have never tried sleeping with one eye open. I don’t recommend it unless you have a bottle of Optrex in the cupboard.
Is It Over Yet?
“And so, drinking the cold dregs of my tea while Sandy winds her claws into my hair while she lounges behind me on my headrest -“
Sandy is my cat, not a pet zombie, please don’t panic.
“- at peace with the knowledge that when she throws up on the rug I have to clear up after her of a morning, have I achieved any kind of mindless Nirvana?”
Some of you will now be screaming that I’ve definitely achieved a mindless something right about now.
“I can tell you I have no idea what I’ve been writing but my subconscious tells me the zombies will keep.”
So…um…yeah. That was an insight into my world of automatic writing. I wasn’t paying much attention to what was coming out of the end of my pen that night as my brain seemed to be elsewhere (as it often is most days anyway). One day I may give it another shot, see if any revelations appear on paper. Perhaps an entire novel might appear – that would be handy – I understand it has happened to people before. Do spirits get writer’s block…?
I’d love to hear if you’ve had a go at automatic writing – perhaps you’d like to post up a transcript of whatever came out of the end of your pen when you least expected it?
I met up with some friends the other weekend and, while we were sitting there chatting over a nice cup of tea, the subject turned to ghosts (of course). My friends used to run paranormal events at a location that will remain nameless. They told me that, some time ago, they had decided to run a small experiment to see how much influence the power of suggestion had over people when it came to ghost hunting and all things spooky. They invented a story about a spook called ‘Bob’, I think we shall call him, and mentioned in passing to various people that ‘Bob’ haunted a certain area of the venue. For the record, there is no history for a ghost called Bob whatsoever, it was an experiment to see if ‘mediums’ and punters would start picking up on the suggestion of the imaginary ghost. Well, it appears that visitors and, embarrassingly enough for any true psychics out there, mediums did indeed start to pick up on ‘Bob the ghost’, which goes to show that people are, sadly, easily led and are eager to believe whatever they are told. I understand that ‘Bob’ became quite a celebrity rather quickly. It has been some time since my friends ran their tours at this property but apparently ‘Bob’ is still a hot favourite for visitors and mediums alike.
Here’s One I Made Earlier…
This incident reminds me of a similar experiment where a ‘ghost’ called Philip was created by a group of Canadian parapsychologists. They made up a‘history’ for Philip and made such a good job of it that the ghost of Philip actually started to show signs of manifesting, such as moving tables across the room, sometimes without anyone from the group actually touching the table. Further details can be found by clicking the link below:
I have heard further stories of people who have created a ‘tulpas’ – a fictional character that is believed in so strongly that it takes on a physical form. I have yet to try this but I’m considering creating a Chippendale tulpas …
Here is a link on the ‘tulpas’ theory which makes for interesting reading – the Creating Philip story is also featured on this website. I particularly liked this article and it’s well worth reading right the way through – perhaps what we see in day to day life is indeed not what we think – click on the link below:
So just how many hauntings are ‘real’? Are some ghosts merely the products of powerful imaginations conjuring a different reality (got a bit ‘woo woo’ there, sorry)? Perhaps stories that started out as just an exciting tale to scare people actually have taken on lives of their own because people now believe so strongly, as seen in the story of ‘Creating Philip’ and ‘Create your own scary monk’. If so, perhaps ‘Bob’ and I need to have a little chat.
Drive Carefully: Because if you crash and burn, there’s nowhere left in Pluckley for you to haunt.
Pluckley… oh, Pluckley! Surely this place has got to be the ghost hunter’s Valhalla. Often reported as being the most haunted village in England, such is its reputation even the car show, Top Gear, felt the need to visit and spend the night there whilst finding out what it would be like to live in a car for 24 hours (you can view this encounter from 6:26 of the attached You Tube link – Richard Hammond being stalked by a pizza delivery guy has got to be worth a watch):
Will Top Gear Survive The Night In Pluckley?
So, what makes Pluckley such a scary place to live? The number of ghosts terrorising the population varies, but the most popular ones are listed below:
The spectre of the highwayman Robert Du Bois speared to a tree at Fright Corner (even though the tree is now gone);
The pub “The Horse Inn” is haunted at night when you can hear the screams from inside of the lady of duke.
A phantom coach and horses, allegedly manifesting in the vicinity of Maltman’s Hill;
The ghost of a Gypsy woman who burned to death in her sleep;
The black ghost of a miller haunting the ruins of a windmill near “The Pinnocks”;
The hanging body of a schoolmaster in Dicky Buss’s Lane;
A colonel who hanged himself in Park Wood;
The screaming ghost of a man being smothered by a wall of clay at the brickworks;
The Lady of Rose Court, who is said to have eaten poisoned berries in despair over a love triangle;
The Phantom Monk of “Greystones”, a house built in 1863. There is a suggestion he may have been the unrequited love object of the Lady of Rose Court;
The White Lady of Dering, a young woman apparently buried inside 7 coffins and an oak sarcophagus who haunts the churchyard of St Nicholas’ Church – knocking has been heard coming from beneath the church at night – is the White Lady trying to escape from her coffins?;
The Red Lady, reputedly an earlier member of the same ancient Dering Family who also haunts St Nicholas’. The legend of the Red and White Ladies seem to overlap. A third ghost has apparently also been reported in the same place.
The Screaming Woods (Dering Wood), an area of forest outside of town supposedly haunted by the ghosts of many who became lost in the woods. It was given its name because you can supposedly still hear their screams from inside the forest at night.
Three other buildings in the village are also said to be haunted.
(List of ghosts courtesy of Wikipedia)
Knocking Heard Coming From Beneath St Nicholas’ Church, Pluckley:
Is The White Lady Trying To Escape From Her Numerous Coffins?
Quite a list, I’m sure you will agree! The Dering Family star quite heavily in the history of Pluckley; they even have their own chapel in Pluckley’s Church of St. Nicholas and the ghosts of various women from the Dering family appear to find it impossible to leave the village and head off into the spiritual sunset.
A bit of logical thinking (something I am occasionally capable of if I’ve had enough chocolate) helps to dispel a couple of the ghost stories; take, for example, the mystery of the Screaming Woods. Let’s not kid about here: the alleged screaming that can be heard at night is probably a fox. When those little sods start barking of a night, it sounds like someone’s shut their fingers in a car door. Sure, some die hard believers out there will frown at this explanation, but I remember the first time I heard a fox scream. It was the early hours of the morning and the unearthly screeching I heard quite convinced me that a woman being murdered in our back garden. But, as ever, people hear what they want to hear and logic be damned.
Phantom Fare: Are you going my way?
Another story that popped up while I was nosing about was that of a taxi driver who picked up a fare on an ‘unnamed road’ in Pluckley village. The man climbed into the back of the taxi but when the driver turned to ask where he wanted to go, the back seat was empty. Alas, this story is the stuff of urban legends. There are countless tales from all over the world reporting similar encounters. Are there fleets of ghosts out there who fancy a quick ride around in the back of a taxi or a good Samaritan’s car, or is it just another urban myth created to keep the ghost hunters entertained?
If finding the time to head to Pluckley for a nose about proves to be hard to come by, you can always have a look at the following link, which takes you on a ‘walking tour’ of the village and regales you with interesting tales of what you might find there:
The other week I was fortunate enough to be invited to a paranormal investigation, purely as an observer, but it was a treat nonetheless – these events generally are. I have changed the names of people and places to respect their privacy (and so they can’t hunt me down and lob rotten vegetables at me) but, at the end of the day, it is the experience itself that matters, isn’t it? And for this particular experience, if I was to play some theme music to it, the Benny Hill theme would suit it down to the ground.
My good friend, Sally, is the curator of a rather nice museum and she had been approached by a paranormal group, let’s call them… Almost Haunted, and was asked if they could investigate. Sally agreed that they could. A few weeks before the actual investigation, Almost Haunted‘s medium, (ummm, let’s call her Flossie) and one of her technical chaps had popped along for a pre-investigation investigation. During this pre-investigation, Flossie and her colleague had a brief wander around the museum while it was still daylight and the medium declared she was in touch with the spirit of a young boy of about six years old called Robert. She said Robert particularly liked the area of the museum that was full of 1970s artefacts but he was annoyed that Sally had recently moved a clock that had been sitting on top of a television there. Why that particular item being moved would bother a child considering that the contents of the museum are changed and swapped around on a regular basis, I don’t know. However, Sally was a little surprised by this piece of information because she had indeed moved the clock. When she was alone, Sally had a closer inspection of the area around the clock to see if there were any tell-tale dust marks that might have indicated to Flossie that the clock had been moved, but she couldn’t see anything. A lucky guess, perhaps? Who knows?
Where’s Casper when you need him? At least he was chatty…
Another spirit that Flossie picked up on at the museum was a Victorian looking woman called Emily who was apparently stuck on what Flossie referred to as a ‘loop’, meaning she was carrying out the same task again and again. Flossie said that the woman was ‘extremely busy’ and didn’t have time to stop and talk because she had people to feed. Furthermore, there was also a rather unpleasant spirit called George who was dressed as a farrier. George was not keen on the little boy, Robert, perhaps because Robert sounded like a bit of a brat.
As well as running the museum, Sally also has the use of an old house nearby where she keeps excess artefacts. She refers to the house as ‘the store’. I’ve been to the store myself a few times, and although it does have a bit of a musty smell to it, no carpets and an air of long disuse, there’s nothing particularly horrible about it, but I suppose the sheer fact that a house is unlived in is sometimes enough to give it an uncomfortable atmosphere and Sally particularly hates having to go in there alone. She told me that she was once downstairs working away in what was once the living room when she heard distinct footsteps coming from the room above her. She was completely alone at the time. Yup, feel those hairs rising on the back of your neck, ladies and gentlemen…
During the brief tour around the store in August, Flossie said that she didn’t like Room 1, which is just on the left as you walk in (the old living room). In Room 2, just behind Room 1, which is currently full of old uniforms and tunics, the medium said she sensed a man called Ted who was dressed in what she thought was some kind of railway uniform. Upstairs, she found a little girl who liked to play with Robert at times – Robert had apparently followed Flossie and Sally over from the museum to the store, and the little girl liked to watch Sally and her colleagues working sometimes – not creepy at all…
Ghostly Footsteps: Who was stalking Sally at ‘the store’?
Moving upstairs to Room 5, Flossie discovered the spirit of a chap called Edward who was also on a ‘loop’, sitting at a desk, busy slaving over some accounts. Now, is it just me, or does there seem to be an incredible abundance of ghosts running amok in the museum and store? It seems to be packed to the rafters with all things dead and who are too busy to stop and chat.
Flossie’s technical assistant took some photos while they were there but unfortunately they failed to show anything of interest, and the EVP recordings (electronic voice phenomena) were sadly blank too. Again, I find myself wondering that if there were that many ghosts/spirits/whatever you want to call them, all floating around the place, surely one of them might be a little bit interested in making an appearance on film or voice recorder? But no, not so much as a peep from mischievous little Robert or the ever busy Emily. It would appear that, mediums aside, no matter how many spooks are allegedly crammed into your abode, getting them to appear or stop for a chat is a mission impossible. You’d have thought the dead would relish the chance to scare the pants off the living. I know I would, but then I’m a bit evil like that.
During an EVP session the voice recorder turned off after about 30 minutes and Flossie declared that the batteries had been mysteriously ‘drained’, although Sally suspected the batteries may have just died of natural causes because she had overheard Flossie asking one of her technical chaps earlier if they had remembered their voice recorder – possibly because Flossie’s batteries weren’t very fresh to begin with and she was worried they might die during the preliminary investigation. Which they did.
Why doesn’t it work? Try new batteries…
At this point my imagination was beginning to run riot over what the actual investigation in October was going to be like…
But I’ll have to tell you all about the official investigation in the second part of this post.
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Creating Weirdness On A Daily Basis... 
Written
on April 9, 2013