What really scares me? Well, apart from mundane worries
about growing old, having enough money to live on and what the future holds for
the next generations, I have to say it is ‘the dark’ and horrors from my own imagination.
I remember feeling very scared of the darkness at the top of
the stairs in my great-grandmother’s house, and waking up into pitch black when
we stayed overnight there. My mother soothed me, put a light on and settled
down beside me. My great-grandmother
passed away sixty years ago but the memory remains and so does my fear of the
dark.
There was the time when I got locked in at work. It was a
cold, wet, winter tea time, a long time ago, decades before mobile phones. I was
upstairs in the office of a small department store, just gathering my things
and getting ready to go when the low buzzing of fluorescent strips ceased and I
was plunged into silent darkness. The last person to leave would turn off the
lights with the main power switch, situated next to the door. No chance to
shout, not that I would have been heard on the ground floor anyway, but I was
literally frozen to the spot with fear. I had keys, but I couldn’t bring myself
to try to negotiate my way out of the office and through racks and rails of
clothing and merchandise that filled the top floor. As my eyes adjusted to a
small glow of street-light coming through the tiny window, I could see the
telephone. Luckily, I knew the home number of the person who had locked me in.
With a trembling finger I managed to feel my way round the dial and sob my
dilemma to his wife, who knew me well and kept me company on the phone until
her husband got home then set off straight back to release me. No harm done,
but it was very scary at the time.
Then there was the last ghost hunt my friend and I went on,
and oh my, I was so scared that we haven’t been on any others, up to now. This
was at the Spanish Hall in the Winter Gardens, something we had looked forward
to for ages, after the fun we’d had at the Grand Theatre. It was semi-dark, but
we had torches and we were in a group, though everyone had spread out into different
rooms and areas. I was coping with the dark and with the odd things we kept
hearing. We had a medium with us a lot of the time, though I confess, I don’t
believe everything I’m told, I like to work things out for myself. My friend and I went into a dressing room
somewhere back-stage in the Spanish Hall theatre. We sat down, my friend on my right. I felt
something at my left, but no one was there. The presence became strong, so
strong that I was too scared to look, but many times since, I wish I had.
I’m used to staying at the lodge we go to in Dumfries &
Galloway, but the first time we went, the darkness, or rather, my imagination
outside late at night, scared the life out of me. I was taking our dog out on
my own for his last little walk before bed. I had my torch, a dim outside light
on the lodge veranda and a sky full of stars. I was shining the torch on my dog
and the path immediately in front of me when my mind started giving me horrors.
I was sure I’d see the feet of someone facing me. I didn’t dare to shine it on
the trees, terrified by what might be hanging there. I worked myself into a
blind panic rushed back to the safety of the lodge, only a few steps away,
before anyone could grab me. These days, confident that our dog won’t venture any
further than the first tree, we watch from the veranda and let him go by himself. Maybe seeing ‘The Abominable Snowman’ when I was eleven has affected me
for life.
This is my own poem,
A Ghost Tour in the
Spanish Hall
An
evening in the Spanish Hall
Fun-time
promised for one and all.
Exciting
times for you and me,
Paranormal
activity!
Hopes
and desires, all are risen,
Someone’s
speaking, we must listen.
“Enter
the rooms with open mind,
And
be prepared for what you find.”
The
semi-darkness of torch-light,
Anticipation
of the night;
Wondering
what there might be here
To
chill us with delight or fear.
We
heard a strange and weird sound,
Quiet
growling from underground.
Distant
laughter, joyful patter,
Ghostly
party fun and chatter.
Chink
of glasses, bell-like tinkle,
Passing
orb gives us a twinkle.
We
crept across the ballroom floor
To
where we hadn’t been before.
A
woman beckoned from her chair.
As
we approached, she wasn’t there,
Just
vanished, like she’d never been
But
we both knew what we had seen.
And
later, on the wide stair case
I
froze as something touched my face.
I
couldn’t scream, I couldn’t shout;
Someone
was with me, there’s no doubt.
When
we sat in the back-stage room
We
both smelt dated perfume
Like
musky lavender and rose
Stagnant,
lingering in repose.
And
that mirror! I dared not see
The
presence sitting next to me.
I
felt their breath upon my cheek
And
could not move, too scared to speak!
I
must now be most explicit,
Show
respect to restless spirits.
Never
ridicule, tease or taunt.
It
might be you they’ll come to haunt.
PMW 2012
