Thursday, 27 November 2008

Ghosties and ghoulies and long-legged beasties

I think we have a poltergeist.

Well, I'm not entirely convinced. But I went out yesterday to get kindling for the fire from the bag in the shed that the previous owners had left. It was full of kindling, but in pieces too long to get in our wood burning stove. I had to break some up to use.

I went out again earlier this evening for more kindling. This time, the same bag was full of the same pieces of wood, but neatly broken into kindling of the right size. So we either have a bizarrely helpful though shy neighbour, or a very helpful and friendly poltergeist. Either is a plus, it seems to me.

Anyway, I was reminded of the genuinely terrifying case of the Amherst poltergeist, also known as the haunting of Esther Cox, who was born in 1860 in Nova Scotia. I read a lot about ghosts when I was small, and this was definitely the scariest true ('true'?) account I came across. It is particularly impressive because of the way the account is backed up by various witnesses incuding the very sober and sensible Dr Carritte.

There's a reasonable summary of what happened here. I still remember reading about in bed at about nine or ten, and being scared witless at how, while the good doctor was attending the teenage Esther at home, the words 'Esther Cox you are mine to kill' were, as he watched, scratched by an invisible hand - with a terrible scraping sound - onto the wall above her bed...

2 comments:

Captain Haddock said...

My guess is a senior moment, JM.
(or possibly too much of the sparkling sherbet)

dNo said...

We employ a team of leprechauns to do our firewood. We have them in at the weekend for a sherry and sing songs about the old country. At least we did until they designed a very bad crop circle out the front and tried to blame it on the aliens. And we know it wasnt them because they had come with us to the local village hall to watch the Henfield Players in "An Inspector Calls". Which recovered from a weak opening to a marvellous second act, particulary when Mr Frobisher the butcher confronted the Inspector in a tense final scene. The Inspector (played by the ghost of Abraham Lincoln - surprisingly confident in a theatre setting) cracked... tears were shed. Of course, on the drive home we had to swerve to avoid the headless hitch-hiker...