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Let me state quite clearly that I do not believe in ghosts... but

 

I met my wife to be in the early '60s, she lived at that time in Bulcote in what was once a coaching inn built late 16 early 17 hundreds.It's grade 2 listed.The house is large with 7 or 8 bedrooms, a small library type sitting room, a main lounge with an inglenook fireplace that has direct access to the street. At some point in its history the archway that led to the stable block was bricked up and became the dining room, also with an inglenook large enough to stand in.

Up a narrow staircase and turn left led to a bedroom. Turn right there's  a bedroom that leads to another bedroom. Through a room to reach a second room. The same arrangement on the next floor but with an exception. Where you should be able to go through a room to another room there is a blank wall. A secret room! I think the window was bricked up when there was a light tax but that doesn't explain why it was sealed.

 

Living there is her mam and dad, sister and two young brothers. There is quite a large annex that was lived in by older sister and husband.

The two boys often complained that their sister sat In a rocking chair in their room and refused to speak to them. I thought nothing of this until I was told their sister had gone town earlier on the bus. Hmmm, don't believe it. There's a ghost of a young girl they said but it only appears to females and young children. Hmmm well it would wouldn't it.

Married sister claims to have heard sounds of fighting in the small hours and metal clashing like a sword fight. Hmmm and how much did you drink before you heard it?

 All of this they spoke of quite openly and did not seem overly concerned until the wedding.

They were volunteers for the Samaritans and took in a young unwed mother to be whilst a wedding was hastily arranged at Bulcote church. Wedding went OK and the reception was at the house. In the main reception area they loaded a large circular table with sherry glasses for the guests. As the guest started to enter the room people commented on how cold is was in the room (it was summer time) when a few seconds later the table and all the drinks crash to the floor. Hmm now that was a good trick.

 

Later there was just myself, the two girls and mate lounging in front of the fire in the dining room talking about this supposed ghost when Abby (an afghan hound) began howling, the grandfather clock struck once.. and stopped. There is probably a perfectly rational explanation for this but although we are laying in front of an open fire all of us were suddenly cold. Not chilly, shuddering cold and it lasted for a good few minutes. The girls accepted it better than I did. I wasn't frightened but I was certainly 'uncomfortable'. My mate flatly refused to go to bed until we found him a bible he could put under his pillow.

 

Later in bed I was suddenly aware that there was something on the bed and it was making its way slowly from my feet towards my face. It is so dark a hand just a fraction of an inch away can't be seen and now whatever the hell it is - is making a noise and seems to be probing each side of my legs as it advanced. OK so now I'm scared!. It gets closer and closer until something, barely perceptible is stroking my cheek... and its breathing!. I'm out of there like bat from hell and moving at a million miles an hour until I hit the door. It's pitch black, I've smacked my head and shoulder against a door and  there is a howl like you wouldn't believe. Dearly beloved comes flying from her room with a torch to find me gibbering in a heap, a bloody nose and one very, very angry cat!

They forgot to tell me they had a blind cat with enormous whiskers who usually slept on the bed I was using and found its way round by feeling with its whiskers. At least it wasn't a ghost!

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Let me state quite clearly that I do not believe in ghosts... but   I met my wife to be in the early '60s, she lived at that time in Bulcote in what was once a coaching inn built late 16 ear

Do you like my ghost bird?   Took a photo of it this morning...

A spiritualist meeting is held monthly In a local community hall down here and I've been to a few. It's worth a visit to see the reaction of people. There are those who have recently lost a friend or

The house is still there and I often wonder if the secret room was ever opened. Someone said that due to it being listed it had to stay as it was.

Picture upload failed but here's a link to Dropbox and clearly shows where the window for the room should be (covered in ivy). I slept in the dormer room on the left.

https://www.dropbox.com/s/2flv9vok380kspx/house.jpg?dl=0

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I began writing a poem about ghosts but after constructing five verses, for the first time I ran out of words to make the rhymes. Waste not want not, I have changed the format into a short story. Pure fiction of course. 

 

The long wait

 

The night was foul, not fit for man nor beast. Through the rain-run windscreen the traveller saw the lights of an inn, and pulled into its car park. He ran to its oak, studded door and pushed it open, ringing its bell. As he entered he instinctively turned right and looked around. A voice said 'Good evening, sir, can I help you?' The man said he wanted a room for the night, but something had led him to believe he had been there before, and the room he was standing in had been the reception area. 'No' said the manager, 'this is the original pat of the inn, the reception desk is through there, in the modern extension'. We only have one room unoccupied, room 5, the haunted one', he laughed. 'Haunted' ? said the man. 'So they say,  I'm told', said the manager. 'I'll take it, spook or no spook' said the man.

   The rain lashed upon the bedroom window, the lightning flashed and lit the room. The storm's noises were loud, but tiredness overcome them. Then at three o'clock the storm suddenly relented and the quietness woke him up. The room, which had been warm, suddenly attained a clammy coldness. In the gloom appeared a phosphorescence that slowly morphed into an apparition of a young woman standing at the foot of the bed. So, thought the man, the ghost story must be true; but he was not afraid.

   'Hello' he said, 'what is your name'? The face of the shade bore little expression, but it stared at him, then spoke. Hardly audible he heard the name 'Florence Robinson'. The man replied 'Hello Florence, my name is'  'William', she interjected to his great surprise. Tell me Florence, are there others'? 'No sir' she replied. 'Do you live in heaven' he responded. 'I know of no such place' she said. She told him that she had died in that room on her wedding night, died of a broken heart. And then the apparition, until then of a transparent nature, suddenly became as obvious as he was. She approached him and kissed his forehead and then left the room, at which point the storm and its noises recommenced.

   Checking out, the man told the manager that he had indeed encountered the spirit. 'Really'? said the manager, disbelievingly. 'Any Idea who she was'? asked the man. 'Well', said the manager,  the original name of this place was the Red Lion, then for a couple of centuries it was the Jilted Bride, until the brewery gave it its new name a few years ago. So that's who she was, thought the man. He paid the bill, picked up his bag and made for the door. As he approached it a young lady got up from a sofa, kissed him and they linked arms. The manager thought 'where on earth did she come from'? Not on earth, as it happened. He looked down at the credit card receipt. It said W Robinson. Looking up the couple were gone, but how, the bell above the door had made no sound.

   Just then the chamber maid approached him. 'I've just found this in room 5' she said, holding an old-fashioned wedding dress. He took hold of it and looked out of the window. 'She's waited for him, all these years', he thought. 'She waited and knew he would return'.

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Nice little musical ghost story by the inimitable Joan Baez.

 

 

Col

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1 hour ago, crankypig said:

Brew #101

 

The house in Bulcote,was once a pub and opens its doors as a pub sometimes,I remember reading this somewhere.

I think you may be confusing the house with one further in the village at the crossroads. It use to have a very old sign on the wall saying Kings Head.

 

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  • 4 months later...

Not really spooky.....  it's the imprint of a pigeon that flew straight into our window this morning.  It flew off again ....didn't appear to be injured

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Back in March I posted a short story about a ghost (The long wait). Thanks to the acclaimed success it brought me in the international literary world, and that I had Mills and Boon knocking on my door, I have been prompted to write another. If nothing else it will make carni go 'oo-er'.

 

The visitor

 

The knock on the front door was answered to find a lady dressed in clothes whose fashion was long since a memory. She spoke first, 'Does Eric Jones live here?', 'No' was the reply. 'I think you will find that he does', said the lady, 'I think you will find that he does'. And with that she walked away, or rather melted away because he did not see her turn left or right beyond the gate. 'Did you see her?' he called out to a passer-by'. 'See who?'  was the reply. 'Oh never mind' he said closing the door.

   'Who was that?' the wife called out. 'Just someone at the wrong house' he replied. 'Wanted to know if an Eric Jones lived here'. Eric Jones, she pondered, 'don't we know that name?'. Don't think so' he shouted back; 'at least she got the first name right'; is dinner ready?'. 'Come and get it'. As he walked into the dining room a shudder went through him. 'Oh', he said, 'someone just walked over my grave'. But something had happened; he detected a definite change in the room's ambience. As he sat down at the table he looked around - something was not the same as usual. There was no clock tick and its silence attracted his eyes to its face. The clock had stopped, but showed a time in advance of that depicted by his wristwatch - 5.20 instead of 12.17. His wife confirmed that until a few minutes previously the clock had shown the correct time.

   As he ate his meal his eyes fixed on the steamed-up window. There. plain to see was the finger-scribed 'EJ 7.10.47'. 'Look at that' he said, pointing to the window. 'Look at what?' came the response. 'Someone's written on the window'. 'It wasn't me' she said. 'How strange, he said, doubly so as it's the date of my birthday'. They both looked at each other. 'What's all this about, what is happening, I'm beginning to get frightened', whimpered the wife, her voice showing signs of a tremble. 'Now then', he said, 'don't let it bother you, there has to be a logical explanation; this place isn't haunted'.

   To the question 'What was the woman like?',  he responded 'I didn't get a good look at her; she wasn't there long enough to, but I did notice a small birthmark on the neck, just like I....' His voice trailed away, 'Same as you have' said the wife finishing his sentence. 'Look her, I don't like this, something is happening to this house and us. There must be something in your past that explains what its all about. Go and see your sister, she was close to your mother, see if she knows anything'.

   The next day he paid a visit to his sister and told her what had happened. 'Oh dear, it's come to this; I thought it might one day' she said, averting her eyes from the awkwardness of the situation. Facing up to him she said, 'You were never told that our mother could not have children for the first years of her marriage. Thinking that she might never have children they secretly adopted a baby boy. That baby boy was you. Dad registered the baby and gave it his name and no-one was ever the wiser. In mother's papers I found your original birth certificate, which you will not have seen before'. He looked at it and saw that there was no father's name on it. But what caught his eye was his time of birth - 5.20. 'Mother never wanted me to tell you, saying that she would let you know all in good time. But she died and never did. His relief was evident, the ghost had been laid, and with a wistful smile of understanding said, 'True, she didn't, but my real mother did, yesterday'.

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Dont know if we have a ghost or not. Mum lives with us, shes 95 and just lately has been asking who the man is that comes into her bedroom. When I told her no one she told me she wasnt dreaming as it had happened a few times. She tells me he comes out of a door in her room and passes the foot of her bed and goes out of the other door towards the bathroom. Now the door he supposedly comes out of is a store room with no window and no access from anywhere. She insisted until I asked her to come and look. She confirmed that it was impossible for anyone to come out of there but still insists that he passes every night. My husband doesnt go into that room without asking me or mum if he can go through as we have a filing cabinet in there. 

Now shes convinced theres a mouse that gets into her bed walks over her neck and down her back. I've stripped the bed more than once to convince her theres nothing but every morning its the same story.  I have laid 3 traps and strips of glue laden wood but as yet nothing. There are no dropping s or other signs.

We did have a mouse in the lounge a couple of weeks back after they cut the field opposite. But the dogs no longer try to sniff it out . I have put glue and traps everywhere. Im certain there isnt one because with these traps in the past we've caught them straightaway. Living in the country certainly has its drawbacks. The only things we catch in the traps are lizards and spiders.:(

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My mum used to say that people were wandering round her room at night. I know for a fact that they weren't. She once asked me what I'd been doing standing by her bed in the early hours when I'd been sound asleep in my own bed in the next room all night. Mum was perfectly compos mentis and not on medication to cause hallucinations, although she was misdiagnosed with Parkinson's.

 

She was able to describe these folk in great detail but said she didn't recognise any of them, apart from me! One night, I left the lamp lit in her room so she would able to see there was no one there. The following morning, I asked her whether she'd slept well but she said they had all been there again although, with the lamp, she could see them more clearly! Very disconcerting!

 

Odd thing was that she said none of them took any notice of her. They just seemed to be going about their business.

 

So, nonna, your guess is as good as mine!

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A few years ago,when my late husband and I were walking around cleethorpes  we saw a very old house for sale,I was itching to have a look round it .As I stood staring at it the owner came out and invited us in.It was a massive place,the lady showed us all the rooms,it even had what used to be servants quarters ,the lady opened one door and said this is the parlour,I stood there transfixed,what I saw were people dressed in old fashioned black clothes ,sitting round tables,there were large plants around the room...I looked at my husband then at the owner,I thought ' they can't see what I see' it was very strange,we didn't enter the parlour.When we left I asked my husband if he saw what I saw,he said no but the room looked like it hadn't been disturbed for years.

I later thought could this have been a Victorian wake ,I really don't know what to think.

 

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#121

 

Some people have the ability to see the past, crankypig, and you are clearly one of them.

 

I once knew a chap who, with his wife, ran a little country pub. He was ex army and not the sort to imagine things. One bright summer's morning, he went straight into the bar after getting out of bed as he had left something in there the previous evening. He was, he said, thinking of nothing in particular and was surprised to encounter a bar filled with men wearing flat caps and mufflers, dressed for winter. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and the babble of conversation. Going back upstairs to call his wife, they both returned to the bar which was totally empty apart from the early morning sun streaming through the windows. Half a century earlier, that pub was in a mining village and was filled with mine workers in the evenings. Mining ended there long ago but clearly there are still echoes of the past around for those who have the ability to see them. It fits with the theory that time is not linear, as we tend to think it is.

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#121. In my opinion, this is what happened to CP. As she looked into the room, for whatever reason her mind imagined it how it might have been many years before. The image in the mind was so vivid that it convinced her eyes that they could see it also - a patent hallucination. Obviously this doesn't happen every time she imagines a scene, but for some people, perhaps, it overpowers their true vision at certain times. 

 

I think I have told the story of our mother in hospital where she was weaned off tablets that she had been taking for years. As we sat with her she pointed out of the window and said 'look at that band marching outside'. She could see it as plain as anything, but nothing was there. That was the DTs, Perhaps CP's experience is a related condition some how and she one of the few people whose mental ability has a slightly different wavelength to us mere mortals. 

 

BTW. I once read/heard that there has never been a recorded instance whereby a ghost has killed anyone. So we are safe it we ever do meet one. 

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I think I must have just met one. I was in a queue behind a young woman and her very boisterous little boy. She said to him, 'Be careful. Don't bump into that old lady.' I looked around and THERE WAS NOBODY ELSE IN SIGHT!  I wonder what apparition she was seeing.

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Just along from the country pub I mentioned earlier are some very old Stone cottages. These have obviously been remodelled and modified over time and most of the people who now live in them are not locals but come from some distance away, attracted by the quietness and picturesque nature of the village.

 

Some years ago, the owner of one of these cottages came home from work, got out of her car, opened the door and walked into the house to be confronted by a scene that was completely alien to her. She said there were two young boys, both covered in flour and throwing dough at each other whilst laughing and giggling. The scene she was looking at appeared to be some kind of a bakery and not the sitting room into which she would normally have stepped on her return from work. As she watched with an open mouth, the scene faded from view and once again she was standing in familiar surroundings.

 

It wasn't until she had done some considerable research and spoken to several people who were members of the local Historical Society that she discovered the building which now comprised her Cottage had, centuries before, been the local bakehouse. Since she could not possibly have known this information, it stands to reason that her imagination could not have produced such an hallucination. What she was possibly witnessing was a scene that had actually taken place on the spot where she was standing centuries earlier and had somehow been recorded.  Not ghosts, just memories.

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