Showing posts with label ghost stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ghost stories. Show all posts

Friday, May 02, 2014

The Ghostseer



I saw a ghost on Monday night. At least I think it was Monday night - the event is getting a little blurry now, a few days later. It might have been Sunday night, the end of mid-semester break, with the alarm clock set for the new working week, but I'm pretty sure that it was Monday.

When I say "saw a ghost," I have to admit that I was in bed at the time, and was definitely in that state of drifting in and out of sleep when most apparitions are seen. It might be better to say "I saw a hypnagogic hallucination of a woman on Monday night" instead, then.

I was lying in bed, as I say, and I saw a woman walk past the door of our room, up the corridor towards the bathroom and the stairs. My impression of her was that she had dark mid-length hair, and was wearing a trench coat or some other kind of dress coat. I think she was wearing a skirt, and had reasonably dressy shoes on too. I only saw her for a moment, though, so I could be wrong about that.

She definitely looked in at me as she passed, and I think she smiled at me - not a particularly warm or reassuring smile, as I examine it now in my mind's eye, but not a clearly threatening one either. A bit of a grimace, really.

I knew at the time that I should get up and go and check if there really was a woman in the house. The bed was very warm, though, and I felt somewhat reluctant to venture out into the cold dark hall. I did hear a few thumps and scrapes later on which (again) should probably have got me out of bed, but didn't. Such things are fairly typical in an old house built in the 1940s, anyway. It wasn't Bronwyn. I could see her lying asleep beside me.

Once before I've had a similar experience, half-waking in a motorcamp unit with the strong impression that there was a strange woman in the room, leaning over the bed. On that occasion, though, there actually was a woman (or so I conjecture). Our neighbours in the motorcamp had been having an uproarious time of it next door, and presumably this was just one of them who'd mistaken the door and walked into the wrong unit. I was wearing my earplugs to shut our the racket they were making, so it would have taken a fair amount of noise to wake me.

On this occasion, though, there's no reason to suppose that the woman was real. The front door was still snibbed with its chain next morning, and the back door was bolted. I don't have any clear guesses who she was, either. She wasn't my sister, who did die in that house: wrong hair colour, and quite a different face.

I record the event for what it's worth, then (not a lot in evidential terms). I've seen hypnagogic phenomena before in that half-asleep / half=waking state: grey cats coming at me across the bed-covers; other animals, friendly and threatening - never a person or even a human face before.

I should add that I'd been reading a book about ghosts before going to bed (Roger Clarke's A Natural History of Ghosts: 500 Years of Hunting for Proof), so no doubt I was primed to see something. I have read an awful lot of books on that subject, though, and even slept in allegedly "haunted" houses and rooms, but there's never been so much as the hint of an apparition before - certainly nothing as clear as this.

So is our house haunted? Who can say? There's been no repetition of the sight in the nights since then, and I suspect there won't be - it was an unusually concrete dream manifestation, that's the best I can do. I have no idea why it took that particular form, though.



Woman in trench coat

[She looked something like this: only without the bag and the styly boots:
she had straighter hair, too, and her face was turned towards me]


Tuesday, November 13, 2012

The Intrepid Ghost-Hunters (1):



[Warning Notice: Waitomo Caves Hotel]
[unless otherwise noted, all photographs: Bronwyn Lloyd]

Waitomo Caves


"Did you see any ghosts?"

I don't know how many times I've fielded that particular question since we came back from our weekend away in the picturesque (and famously haunted) Waitomo Caves Hotel.




The straight answer, I'm afraid, is "no." But I do have to make a number of provisos to that. Perhaps, in fact, it would be better to begin by telling you the whole story from the start ...

It was Bronwyn's idea, essentially. She was the one who came up with the notion of a weekend in a haunted house to celebrate my fifieth birthday (yes, I say it without a blush or a shudder: fifty years old today, hooray hooray hooray, you'll never be fifty years old again ... etc. etc. etc. AAAAaaagh! I'm old!!!! ... !!!)

Anyway, she ascertained that the most haunted hotel in New Zealand was the Waitomo Caves Hotel, and so we found ourselves barrelling down the highway towards it on Friday last, 2nd November.




The first sight of it from the road is pretty epic.

They don't exactly advertise, to be honest. All the way from the main road we were running into signs for this backpackers and that B & B -- but the moment you see that vista, you understand why they don't have to. Talk about the Overlook Hotel in The Shining!



[Jay Weidner: Overlook Hotel (1980)]


Actually, from the front, it looks even more like the Stanley Hotel in Colorado, which was used in the filming of the 1997 miniseries (overseen by Stephen King himself, and unfortunately pretty lame by comparison with Kubrick's original masterpiece):



[Big B Bob: Overlook Hotel (1997)]




[Waitomo Caves Hotel (2012)]


Anyway, we followed the long snaking driveway up through the village and towards the hotel itself.










Pretty cool, huh? I have to say that the shots of the hotel on their own website simply do not do it justice.

After that, of course, it was time to explore the interior of the place. Nobody offered to carry our bags, which suited us fine, as it enabled us to snoop around the practically deserted corridors by ourselves (it was early afternoon when we arrived):



[looking down at the lobby]




[one more flight of rickety stairs]




[the creepy corridor]




[the door of our room]




[the spyhole from the inside]


As for the view out of the window, that was quite spectacular, too.




There was a little balcony adjoining it, which we proceeded to explore:






[up, anyone?]


Now, one of the most famously haunted rooms in the hotel is No. 12A (between 12 and 14 -- get it? No hotelier ever wants to label a room "Number 13" for fear of bad consequences). And here it is:







It's situated in a small alcove at the top of the main stairs, but - curiously enough - the first time we looked for it we couldn't find it anywhere! No. 12, that was there - no. 14, too, but no 12A. Later that evening, when we walked back to our room from the restaurant (also famously haunted with orbs and cold spots), we spotted it right away. Weird - or what! ...

The owners of the hotel sure have interesting taste in art. This cheerful piece was up on the wall opposite our room:




Kind of puts one in mind of this masterpiece from the original Shining, wouldn't you say?



Or even this shot from the more recent - and rather underrated - Stephen King film about a haunted hotel, Room 1408 [Get it? 1 + 4 + 0 + 8 = 13! Bwah, hah ha ha ha!]



[sengook: Room 1408 (2007)]


More to the point, though, is this rather atmospheric painting of the original discovery of the glow-worm caves, which is pretty much the first thing you see when you come into the hotel:






[The first discovery of the GLOW WORM GROTTO
by FRED MACE and TANE TINORAU - December 28th 1887
]








Enough of all these atmosphere shots, though. What of the investigation? Bronwyn's already written a post on her blog about her preparations for the trip, and -- in particular -- the ghost kit she put together for the occasion.

With all due respect to her subsequent post lamenting a general absence of ghosts, I think I'd have to say that the evidence does really have to be allowed to speak for itself.

First of all (and most impressively), there's the undoubted movement of a trigger object during our first night in Room 7. As you can see below, the stone adze has clearly moved - not much, but a little - between the first shot and the second. We'd drawn a pencil line around it, and there was a perceptible shift in its position.







Now, it's true to say that it's a very old wooden hotel (the wing we were in was opened in 1910), and it creaks and groans quite a lot - and anyone moving around outside can cause the floorboards to shift ... So maybe that explains the shifting adze. But the direction of the movement was not what one would predict from the slight slope in our bedroom floor.

Also, the shift took place while I was reading out a particularly creepy version of the story of the terrible ghost Glám from Grettir's Saga. This story certainly seemed to strike more of a chord than any of the others we read aloud on either night. Certainly there was no further movement in any of our trigger objects after that first one:



[Power Objects (Night 2)]


Secondly, there's the series of strange coincidences that plagued us throughout the trip. Here's an example of one of them, a notice dating from 1962, the year of my birth, situated oh-so-casually up on the wall near our room. (Do remember that this was a jaunt designed to celebrate my fiftieth birthday):




And there was the fact that, when we stopped for breakfast at a cafe in Te Kuiti after our first night in the hotel, the number we were given at the counter was "50" - and there was the fact that Bronwyn got a distinct feeling of coldness and paralysis just while I was reading out a story from Lord Halifax's Ghost Book called "Here I Am Again!" which described just such a feeling in its protagonist ...

Easy enough to write off individually, but taken in aggregate, perhaps less so. Who can say? They certainly struck me as a little ... suggestive, overall.

There's no denying the beauty of the hotel grounds, and their rather neglected state just adds to the effect.




The back of the building is almost as good as the front:




The old walkway down to the caves is too overgrown to follow now, unfortunately:




Up above the hotel is an old, dried-up fountain:




and a wishing well.



[photo: JR)]


It's the path leading down to the village that's really spectacular, though:




There are fine old trees ...




with strange faces visible in their bark ...




and up in their branches ...




There are strange overgrown glades ...




and a picturesque old park ...




with a great view of the hotel ...




from the balcony of the pub ...




before you have to climb back up again.




What can I say in conclusion? We didn't detect any orbs or clouds of mist (or ectoplasm) in any of our photos - but we did feel some strange twinges when we said disrespectful things about the place. Make of that what you will.

So, no, we didn't actually see any ghosts, but I wouldn't be prepared to swear that there weren't any lurking around. It's certainly one of the most atmospheric places I've ever stayed, and there is that strange detail of the moving stone adze ...





Monday, June 04, 2012

Classic Ghost Story Writers: Walter de la Mare



William Rothenstein: Walter de la Mare (1929)

The Green Room


"The Green Room" is a story about a young man named Alan, who is one day let in on the old bookseller Mr. Elliott's "little secret - namely, that at the far end of his shop - beyond, that is, the little table on which he kept his account books, his penny bottle of ink and his rusty pen, there was an annexe."

Beyond the annexe itself (whose paint "must once have been of a bright apple green. It had faded now"), though, there's yet another room, up through "the narrow panelled door above the three stairs on the other side of the room." Alan is lured into going through that door by the image of a young woman's face, which appears in his mind as if out of nowhere. And there he finds - well, I suspect it would spoil the story if I told you too abruptly.


The author of the story, Walter de la Mare (1873-1956), was once quite famous. Even now his poems still turn up in anthologies from time to time: "The Listeners" ("Is there anybody there?" said the Traveller, / Knocking on the moonlit door") is probably the best-known, but there's also "Tartary," "The Children of Stare" ("Winter is fallen early / On the house of Stare") and quite a number of others which have ended up in the children's section of the library.

In his time, though, children were only one part of the audience he wrote for. He was thought of as a poet for grown-ups as well, and in fact the 1940s edition of his collected poems was divided into two separate volumes: Poems (for adults) and Rhymes and Verses (for kids). Here's a list of some of the books by him I have in my collection:

    Poems & Plays
    (for Adults & Children):

  1. Peacock Pie: A Book of Rhymes. 1913. Illustrated by Edward Ardizzone. London: Faber, 1946.

  2. Crossings: A Fairy Play. Music by C. Armstrong Gibbs. London: W. Collins Sons & Co. Ltd., 1923.

  3. Collected Poems. Decorations by Berthold Wolpe. 1942. London: Faber, 1944.

  4. Collected Rhymes and Verses. Decorations by Berthold Wolpe. London: Faber, 1944.

  5. A Choice of de la Mare’s Verse. Ed. W. H. Auden. London: Faber, 1963.

  6. The Complete Poems of Walter de la Mare. Ed. Richard de la Mare. 1969. Rev. ed. London: Faber, 1975.

The Auden selection is particularly good, and has a most insightful introduction (as one might expect). De la Mare was quite an important poet for him, and he was quick to reject any simplistic distinctions between "verse" and "poetry" in discussing his work (the rather questionable dichotomy T. S. Eliot tried to introduce in his own 1941 Faber selection of Kipling's Verse).


I guess largely as a result of "The Green Room," which I first encountered in an anthology called A Century of Ghost Stories when I was a kid, it's always been de la Mare's fiction which has fascinated me most. "The Green Room" is not a particularly easy story to read. De la Mare is a self-indulgent and over-elaborate prose-writer (or he certainly seemed so to me as a child), and there were few sentences in the story which did not have to be read over twice.

Its subject matter - old books, and the strange and even disturbing discoveries that can sometimes be made in them - was enthralling to me, though, so I persevered. As you can see from the list below, I've been collecting him assiduously ever since:

    Fiction
    (for Adults & Children):

  1. Henry Brocken: His Travels and Adventures in the Rich, Strange, Scarce-Imaginable Regions of Romance. 1904. Illustrated by Marian Ellis. London: W. Collins Sons & Co. Ltd., [1924].

  2. The Three Royal Monkeys, or The Three Mulla-Mulgars. 1910. Illustrated by J. A. Shepherd. London: Faber, 1928.

  3. The Return. 1910. London: Penguin Books, 1935.

  4. Memoirs of a Midget. 1921. Illustrated by Mabel Lapthorn. London: Collins, n.d.

  5. The Riddle and Other Stories. London: Selwyn & Blount Limited, 1923.

  6. The Connoisseur and Other Stories. 1926. London: W. Collins Sons & Co. Ltd., 1926.

  7. On the Edge: Short Stories. 1932. London: Faber, 1947.

  8. The Walter de la Mare Omnibus: Henry Brocken; The Return; Memoirs of a Midget. 1904, 1910, 1921. London: W. Collins Sons & Co. Ltd., [1933].

  9. The Wind Blows Over. London: Faber, 1936.

  10. The Nap and Other Stories. The Nelson Classics. 1936. London: Thomas Nelson and Sons Ltd., n.d.

  11. Best Stories of Walter de la Mare. London: Faber, 1942.

  12. Collected Stories for Children. 1947. Illustrated by Robin Jacques. A Puffin Book. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1984.

  13. A Beginning and Other Stories. 1955. London: Faber, 1955.

  14. Ghost Stories. Lithographs by Barnett Freedman. 1956. London: The Folio Society, 1960.

  15. Short Stories 1895-1926. Ed. Giles de la Mare. 1923, 1924/36 & 1926. London: Giles de la Mare Publishers, 1996.

  16. Short Stories 1927-1956. Ed. Giles de la Mare. 1930, 1936 & 1955. London: Giles de la Mare Publishers, 2001.

  17. Short Stories for Children. Ed. Giles de la Mare. Illustrated by ‘Bold’ & Rex Whistler. 1925 & 1933. London: Giles de la Mare Publishers, 2006.

De la Mare was fortunate in leaving behind a family of literary enthusiasts. His son Richard de la Mare edited the definitive edition of his poems in 1969, and his short stories have now been published in a sumptuous three-volume edition by his grandson Giles, who runs a firm called Giles de la Mare publishers. The ghost stories, such as "Seaton's Aunt" and "All Hallows," are probably the ones most frequently read today, but there are some strange and disconcerting pieces among the stories for children, also ("The Lord Fish" and "The Riddle," in particular).


Walter de la Mare: Short Stories 1895-1926 (1995)


Walter de la Mare: Short Stories 1927-1956 (2001)


Walter de la Mare: Short Stories for Children (2006)

The introduction to Auden's selection of de la Mare's best poems concentrates largely on his famous anthology Come Hither (1923), or rather on the allegorical introduction to the book. The narrator, Simon (Somni? Sleep, or Dream?), comes to a house called Thrae (Earth? Heart?), owned by a Miss Taroon (Nature?), whose brother Nahum (Human?) left behind a collection of writings and curiosities in his room when he left to search for East Dean (the East of Eden?). It is the study of these which led the compilation of the book, which is a strange amalgam of poems, long footnotes, and evocative pieces of prose.

None of his subsequent anthologies and collections of essays could quite repeat the magic of the first, but all of them are interesting, more to dip into than to read from cover to cover: Behold, this Dreamer! (1939) is probably the best; Love (1943) perhaps the most disappointing (one contemporary critic said that one could virtually define the subject by what did not come up - passion, eroticism, obsession - in this immense but patchy book).

    Anthologies & Essays:

  1. Come Hither: A Collection of Rhymes and Poems for the Young of All Ages. Ed. Walter de la Mare. 1923. New edition. 1928. London: Constable and Co. Ltd., 1943.

  2. Tales Told Again. 1927. Illustrated by Alan Howard. Faber Fanfares. London: Faber, 1980.

  3. Stories from the Bible. 1929. Illustrated by Edward Ardizzone. London: Faber, 1977.

  4. Desert Islands and Robinson Crusoe. Decorations by Rex Whistler. 1930. London: Faber, 1988.

  5. Tom Tiddler’s Ground: A Book of Poetry for Children. Ed. Walter de la Mare. 1931. Foreword by Leonard Clark. Illustrated by Margery Gill. 1961. London: The Bodley Head, 1975.

  6. Early One Morning in the Spring: Chapters on Children and on Childhood as it is revealed in particular in Early Memories and in Early Writings. London: Faber, 1935.

  7. Animal Stories Chosen, Arranged and in Some Part Rewritten by Walter de la Mare. London: Faber, 1939.

  8. Pleasures and Speculations. London: Faber, 1940.

  9. Behold, this Dreamer!: Of Reverie, Night, Sleep, Dream, Love-Dreams, Nightmare, Death, the Unconscious, the Imagination, Divination, the Artist, and Kindred Subjects. 1939. London: Readers’ Union, 1942.

  10. Love. London: Faber, 1943.

  11. Private View. Introduction by Lord David Cecil. London: Faber, 1953.

There are still a few anthologies - Old Rhymes and New (1932), principally, as well as various books of essays - which I don't have, but most of the rest are listed above.


The secondary literature on de la Mare is pretty sketchy: fortunately there's quite a full biography, but besides that it consists mainly of a book of table talk compiled by neurologist Russell Brain, a volume in the Twayne critical series, and a few essays and bibliographies.

Besides that, he comes up in most discussions of the twentieth century ghost story. His work falls more in the penumbra between supernatural and fantasy fiction, though.


    Secondary:

  1. Brain, Russell. Tea with Walter de la Mare. Drawing by Andrew Freeth. London: Faber, 1957.

  2. Clark, Leonard. Walter de la Mare: A Checklist prepared on the occasion of an exhibition of his books and MSS at the National Book League, 7 Albemarle Street, London W1 (20th April to 19th May 1956). Introduction by Lord David Cecil. Cambridge: The University Press, 1956.

  3. Whistler, Theresa. Imagination of the Heart: The Life of Walter de la Mare. London: Gerald Duckworth & Co. Ltd., 1993.


Barnett Freedman: Walter de la Mare: Ghost Stories (1956)

If one set out to psychoanalyse Walter de la Mare, I guess one of the first things that would stand out would be the threatening nature of the feminine in most of his work. "Seaton's Aunt" is the classic case: a sensitive small boy is psychically consumed by his predatory aunt for undisclosed reasons. The narrator of the story abandons him to his fate with the reflection, "he had never been much better than 'buried' in my mind".

There's a particularly strange story ("At First Sight") about a man who is unable to lift his eyes from the ground, and who tries (unsuccessfully) to court a young girl without being able to look at her. Then there's "The Riddle," with its mysterious chest that swallows the children one by one, and its strange last line:
And gossiping fitfully, inarticulately, with herself, the old lady went down again to her window-seat.
Old ladies tend to be survivors in Walter de la Mare - but often (as in this case) they seem to survive the loss of their own faculties as well.


"The Green Room" is, to my mind, one of the most fully realised of all these stories. The backroom of Mr. Elliott's shop seems to be haunted by its former occupant, a young lady who was left on her own there by her lover, and who confided her doubts and fears to a notebook of poems and thoughts, before (eventually) committing suicide there.

Alan finds the notebook (fully and lovingly described, with transcriptions of many Emily Brontë-ish verses in de la Mare's very best manner), and determines to publish it. He decides that this is what she wants, on the evidence of her appearance to him, but it seems he is wrong. The story ends with the ceiling of the room falling in on his privately-printed edition of her verses, destroying all of the copies, and utterly confounding his desire to make it all up to her, somehow, even after her death:
It was too late now - and in any case it hadn't occurred to him - to add to the title page that well-worn legend, 'The heart knoweth his own bitterness, and a stranger doth not intermeddle with his joy.' But it might at least have served for his own brief apologia. He had meant well - it would have suggested. You never can tell.
The citation is from Proverbs 14: 10. More to the point, though, it's also the title of a poem by Christina Rossetti:
When all the over-work of life
Is finished once, and fast asleep
We swerve no more beneath the knife
But taste that silence cool and deep;
Forgetful of the highways rough,
Forgetful of the thorny scourge,
Forgetful of the tossing surge,
Then shall we find it is enough?
Alan has fallen in love with the ghostly face that appears to him; but he hasn't really earned that love. It isn't enough to make up for the betrayal she suffered while she was alive - all she can share with him is bitterness. Her scorn for his presumption outlasts her own death.

I suspect that this - and possibly others of de la Mare's stories - are anchored in events from his own life. Any suggestion that his work is "tame" or "childish" is belied by the dark and hope-denying imagery of the poetry in the story, though. Above all the one that begins:
Last evening, as I sat alone -
Thimble on finger, needle and thread -
Light dimming as the dusk drew on,
I dreamed that I was dead.
It ends:
And you I loved, who once loved me,
And shook with pangs this mortal frame,
Were sunk to such an infamy
That when I called your name,

Its knell so racked that sentient clay
That my lost spirit lurking near
Wailed, like the damned, and fled away -
and awoke me, stark with Fear.
I've never been quite able to decide what exactly "The Green Room" means, but it's a story whose influence I've been unable to escape since I first read it. It's taken on new shades and complexities in every rereading since. Its final effect is the reverse of comforting, but perhaps that's of a piece with de la Mare's stoic view of life as something to be endured rather than enjoyed - evaded rather than embraced. Brrrr ...


Christina Rossetti (1830-1894)