I Love Ghost Stories
I grew up in a small, remote village on the road to nowhere. Surprisingly there's a reference to the place, dating from 1203. At the start of the 18th.century a stranger turned up with a name nobody had heard of : Follet. An extreme recluse,he appeared to have plenty of money and yet in local parlance was "a ha'penny short of a shilling".
It soon became known he was designing himself a house a couple of miles from the village and engaging builders, Follet's Folly as it came to be known : a large grim looking structure that looked like a cross between a French chateau and a prison. Even in my day people would shudder going past on their way to Mass. On its completion, its owner vanished as abruptly as he'd arrived.
A local farming family moved in, claiming they'd been commissioned to protect it from intruders. Over the next fifty years or so a strange pattern began to become evident. Everyone who took over the tenancy died shortly afterwards. Eventually it was securely sealed, even the windows bricked up - albeit very roughly; abandoned, waiting in vain for someone to arrive and claim it. Towards the end of the 20th.century a team from Health and Safety made their way in and let it be known that the upper floor had completely collapsed. It was made more impregnable than ever and left. People reported seeing lights inside and it was believed to be haunted.
When I was eleven we moved to the nearest large town. I had an elderly friend in the village; a retired teacher who had virtually taken over my education. Every month or so I'd visit her, returning on the late-night bus. One Saturday afternoon in early November, I arrived to discover she was in hospital. Hanging round the village for a couple of hours, I rashly decided to start walking back towards the town, knowing there was a bus-stop near the Folly. It was pitch-dark - avoiding falling into the ditch was actually a problem; the wind was howling in the trees but at least it was dry. I eventually reached the bus-stop.
I stood waiting for what seemed like forever. Then the strangest thing : I could see a dim flickering light moving behind the windows of the Folly; like a candle or an oil lamp being carried from room to room. Worse, it was on the top storey, where there wasn't supposed to be a floor. A mixture of fascination and fear kept me rooted to the spot - a rabbit caught in headlights. It eventually went out. Minutes passed. I glanced to my left and became convinced I could see a figure standing a few feet from me in the dark. At that I started to run/stumble in the direction of the village. I started to hear the bus engine, going fast and apparently not going to stop. He saw me waving frantically at the last moment :
"We're not supposed to stop outside the village when its dark. You look like you've seen a ghost. Were you waiting at that Folly place? You've got a nerve lad!" He waved aside my fare : "Maybe you're the ghost", he joked. I was glad to get home.
It soon became known he was designing himself a house a couple of miles from the village and engaging builders, Follet's Folly as it came to be known : a large grim looking structure that looked like a cross between a French chateau and a prison. Even in my day people would shudder going past on their way to Mass. On its completion, its owner vanished as abruptly as he'd arrived.
A local farming family moved in, claiming they'd been commissioned to protect it from intruders. Over the next fifty years or so a strange pattern began to become evident. Everyone who took over the tenancy died shortly afterwards. Eventually it was securely sealed, even the windows bricked up - albeit very roughly; abandoned, waiting in vain for someone to arrive and claim it. Towards the end of the 20th.century a team from Health and Safety made their way in and let it be known that the upper floor had completely collapsed. It was made more impregnable than ever and left. People reported seeing lights inside and it was believed to be haunted.
When I was eleven we moved to the nearest large town. I had an elderly friend in the village; a retired teacher who had virtually taken over my education. Every month or so I'd visit her, returning on the late-night bus. One Saturday afternoon in early November, I arrived to discover she was in hospital. Hanging round the village for a couple of hours, I rashly decided to start walking back towards the town, knowing there was a bus-stop near the Folly. It was pitch-dark - avoiding falling into the ditch was actually a problem; the wind was howling in the trees but at least it was dry. I eventually reached the bus-stop.
I stood waiting for what seemed like forever. Then the strangest thing : I could see a dim flickering light moving behind the windows of the Folly; like a candle or an oil lamp being carried from room to room. Worse, it was on the top storey, where there wasn't supposed to be a floor. A mixture of fascination and fear kept me rooted to the spot - a rabbit caught in headlights. It eventually went out. Minutes passed. I glanced to my left and became convinced I could see a figure standing a few feet from me in the dark. At that I started to run/stumble in the direction of the village. I started to hear the bus engine, going fast and apparently not going to stop. He saw me waving frantically at the last moment :
"We're not supposed to stop outside the village when its dark. You look like you've seen a ghost. Were you waiting at that Folly place? You've got a nerve lad!" He waved aside my fare : "Maybe you're the ghost", he joked. I was glad to get home.
