Assorted True Ghost Stories
Many years ago Robert, a friend of mine, found employment on a country estate of Jacobean age.
He was a gardener/handyman housed in a converted ploughman's cottage on the farmyard.
One warm Summer's night Bob was dragged out of a dream by merry fiddle music and laughter. He gazed at his bedside clock; it was 2:35 AM. The neighbours must be having a party, he thought, but wait a minute, there were no close neighbours!
Pulling on his housecoat he left the bedroom, and as the door behind him slammed shut the music interruptionsstopped. He peered out on to the farmyard, but there were no lights in any of the barns.
After checking around the rooms of the house, for he had heard tales of squatters, he headed back to bed. An owl hooted in the distance as the balmy Summer air flowed under the open window. Bob was about to drift off to sleep when the music and laughing began again. Louder this time definitely coming from inside the house.
Robert rose out of his bed and crept toward the door. If there were people hiding in the house, he thought, he would catch them. He opened the door, passed through and silently closed it. He crept downstairs toward the sound, which came from the backroom-a room he hadn't used.
The sound intensified as he inched along the small hallway. With a pounding heart Robert put a hand on the door-handle and turned. He pushed open the door and gazed into the silent, empty room.
The next morning he descended the stairs to find an ornament of a coach and horses sitting on the hallway window sill. “That's weird,” he said to himself, “I'm sure I put that on the living-room window sill.” He grabbed it and put it back in the living-room.
The following day after a night of noisy interruptions Robert found the ornament back in the hallway.
Later, while working with the older estate hands he found out there was a history of merry-making nights in the cottage. One in particular where a fiddler played to men before they marched off to the Battle of Culloden. None including the fiddler returned. The ornament belonged to a former, now deceased resident.
That night, after being woken by the music and laughter, Robert stood on his bed and bellowed: “Leave this place in peace, all of you!”
The noise stopped and never restarted. The next morning the coach and horses was sitting on the living-room window sill.
****
When I was seven-years-old my family lived in an old three-bedroom apartment in the centre of town close to the sea front. The building of three apartments was built around 1750 with red sandstone blocks plundered from the local, disused abbey.
One day I came home from school with a fever and having refused a meal my mother sent me to bed. I slept in a room furnished with old-fashioned furniture on my own being the only boy in the family. At night the room creaked, and the window rattled. On this particular night I awoke delirious from a dream with sweat running down my forehead. A white shape hovered above me. I screamed, but nothing came out of my mouth. I pulled the sheets over my head and lay trembling with a thumping heart. After what seemed like an age I summoned up enough courage to pull the sheets down. The shape had gone, and I called to my mother.
“Probably the fever and the aspirin,” was her explanation when she finally appeared. The rest of the night I spent with my head under the sheets.
Years later my mother told me the reason she took so long to come through after hearing me call was because when she opened her eyes a woman was staring at her. Standing next to the bed dressed in old-fashioned clothes the woman caused my mother to pull the sheets over her head.
When she pulled them down again the phantom had gone.
****
Many years ago I worked off shore in the oil business and could not attend my grandmother's funeral due to being stuck on a rig with no replacement.
Weeks later I wanted to place flowers at the grave, so I asked my sister where it was.
“I can't remember,” she said, “somewhere in the Eastern Cemetery.”
I decided to go and look. Shouldn't be too hard, I thought. I knew there had to be ways to get the exact location, but I liked a challenge.
The day was bright and still as I strolled into the graveyard. People walked in both directions along the main path which connected two areas of the town. I headed up the slight hill to the rear of the cemetery and worked forward through the rows of headstones.
After two hours I had covered most of the area with no success. I decided to pack it in and come back another day as I was receiving strange looks from other visitors to the cemetery. Heading toward the main Western gate I heard a voice calling my name in the distance. I turned in voice's direction but could see no-one. I shrugged my shoulders and resumed my walk to the gate; again the voice called my name. A shiver ran through my body as I realised it was my grandmother's voice with the tone she would use to tell me to comb my hair before going to school.
“Is that you grannie?” I whispered as I walked back among the headstones.
After hearing the voice again I found myself in a small shaded area of the cemetery. I had previously dismissed the section for no real reason other than laziness. There were two rows of headstones. I looked along one, then halfway along the second I found where my grandmother was buried.