There will be only one illustration in this post. There will be no names, only initials, in the manner so beloved of old-fashioned ghost story tellers.
First, a word about my own attitude to phantoms, spirits and revenants of every type. While I may not believe in them, I do think they're a wonderful resource when you're writing fiction. One of my very first books was Letters of Fire, long out of print, which was a collection of supernatural tales.
One story (and it provides the image on the cover of this edition) concerns a boy who goes on a school trip to Lancaster Castle. The memories of everything that has happened in that place through the centuries are very strong. I felt them when I visited the place myself and it was this feeling that inspired the story called 'Billy's Hand.' The castle is thick with history, which is a kind of haunting. I do firmly believe in atmospheres attaching to buildings because the past is always with us. I've felt it and I'm sure many of my readers will know precisely what I mean.
But in the whole of my 67 years I've never seen anything spooky. This in spite of having friends (one in particular, when I was at University) who routinely claimed to see figures reflected in mirrors, felt chilly on just that landing and so on and so forth.
One night, though, about half a dozen years ago, I travelled to a picturesque part of the country and spent a night as a guest of...let's call her L. Her house is beautiful and also extremely old. In the hall, there's a window and on one of the panes, a name appears. It's been scratched on the glass, maybe by a diamond, in (L thinks) the 18th century. The whole name is there but let us call her - for it is a woman - Mrs W.
When L showed me to my room, she mentioned Mrs W and assured me that she was a most benevolent phantom. All she did, it seemed, was tuck sleepers up in the bed, in the very bedroom I was to sleep in. The room was blissfully comfortable. I was tired. I'd had a glass of wine and some food with L. I didn't feel in the least spooked. Nevertheless, when I turned the light out, I decided that it was better to be safe than sorry. So I said, aloud: "If you're there, please tuck me in very gently because I'm really tired and want to go straight to sleep."
This would be a much better story if I had been tormented all night long. As it was, I slept like a log and Mrs W either tucked me in so gently that I didn't feel it, or else decided to be peaceful on that particular night.
Before writing this post, I checked with L. I phoned her to see if she could shed any light on Mrs W and her activities. We spoke for about ten minutes and L produced more and more evidence to show that Mrs W was indeed a presence in that beautiful house. Mostly, it seems, she confines herself to bedrooms. She rearranges furniture. People feel as though she's there in the bedroom with them. Some do indeed get the tucking-up treatment. There's a part of the house which isn't a bedroom, but a passage on the way to the bathroom that some members of the extended family like to avoid when they visit. L was adamant that her mother, a very sensible and sceptical woman in every way, had felt the presence of Mrs. W as had L's children and L. herself. I hasten to add that L. is as sensible and practical and intelligent a person as you could wish to meet. She told me that one friend of hers, a man she described as a 'sensitive' had actually seen Mrs W going up the stairs to the bedroom...he was standing in the hall at the time and had read her name on the glass just a moment or two before...
I hadn't been haunted but Mrs W is still with me. I like to think of why she's in bedrooms tucking people in....that could be the beginning of a story.
First, a word about my own attitude to phantoms, spirits and revenants of every type. While I may not believe in them, I do think they're a wonderful resource when you're writing fiction. One of my very first books was Letters of Fire, long out of print, which was a collection of supernatural tales.
One story (and it provides the image on the cover of this edition) concerns a boy who goes on a school trip to Lancaster Castle. The memories of everything that has happened in that place through the centuries are very strong. I felt them when I visited the place myself and it was this feeling that inspired the story called 'Billy's Hand.' The castle is thick with history, which is a kind of haunting. I do firmly believe in atmospheres attaching to buildings because the past is always with us. I've felt it and I'm sure many of my readers will know precisely what I mean.
But in the whole of my 67 years I've never seen anything spooky. This in spite of having friends (one in particular, when I was at University) who routinely claimed to see figures reflected in mirrors, felt chilly on just that landing and so on and so forth.
One night, though, about half a dozen years ago, I travelled to a picturesque part of the country and spent a night as a guest of...let's call her L. Her house is beautiful and also extremely old. In the hall, there's a window and on one of the panes, a name appears. It's been scratched on the glass, maybe by a diamond, in (L thinks) the 18th century. The whole name is there but let us call her - for it is a woman - Mrs W.
When L showed me to my room, she mentioned Mrs W and assured me that she was a most benevolent phantom. All she did, it seemed, was tuck sleepers up in the bed, in the very bedroom I was to sleep in. The room was blissfully comfortable. I was tired. I'd had a glass of wine and some food with L. I didn't feel in the least spooked. Nevertheless, when I turned the light out, I decided that it was better to be safe than sorry. So I said, aloud: "If you're there, please tuck me in very gently because I'm really tired and want to go straight to sleep."
This would be a much better story if I had been tormented all night long. As it was, I slept like a log and Mrs W either tucked me in so gently that I didn't feel it, or else decided to be peaceful on that particular night.
Before writing this post, I checked with L. I phoned her to see if she could shed any light on Mrs W and her activities. We spoke for about ten minutes and L produced more and more evidence to show that Mrs W was indeed a presence in that beautiful house. Mostly, it seems, she confines herself to bedrooms. She rearranges furniture. People feel as though she's there in the bedroom with them. Some do indeed get the tucking-up treatment. There's a part of the house which isn't a bedroom, but a passage on the way to the bathroom that some members of the extended family like to avoid when they visit. L was adamant that her mother, a very sensible and sceptical woman in every way, had felt the presence of Mrs. W as had L's children and L. herself. I hasten to add that L. is as sensible and practical and intelligent a person as you could wish to meet. She told me that one friend of hers, a man she described as a 'sensitive' had actually seen Mrs W going up the stairs to the bedroom...he was standing in the hall at the time and had read her name on the glass just a moment or two before...
I hadn't been haunted but Mrs W is still with me. I like to think of why she's in bedrooms tucking people in....that could be the beginning of a story.
