Laura's strange tale.....
Hi! I'm Laura! I live in
Wales and I have a few stories to share with you which are definitely
But the strangest thing of all was this: this woman could SEE me, as would a living person. Had she appeared in my part of time/space...or had I in hers...? This was not the only strange experience I had in this particular place but that's another story!!!
A phantom horseman!
a quick memoire of my late father, a gentleman of extremely prosaic temperament
who you have encountered elsewhere in these pages…..
Kay's house-proud Spirit!
account came via e-mail from an American correspondent, Kay:
A long time friend of mine, recently deceased, used to tell this story: I cannot verify it from personal experience, but it makes interesting reading....
Betty, the friend in question relates that she lived in San Francisco, California during the "hippy 60' s". She and a number of other like-minded free-thinkers inhabited an old house, one of the few that remained after the earthquake and fire of 1906.
Betty came from a long line of people with paranormal abilities and she was no exception. As is often the case, Betty took her occasional contacts with the 'other world' in her stride, and used to tell me about her experiences. Soon after moving in, my friend realised the little commune was sharing the house with the spirit of an elderly woman. This house-proud spirit would fold and neatly stack any laundry left in baskets when her living guests went to bed at night! Betty reported that, once the initial surprise wore off, this was a most welcome 'valet service'!
However the ghost hated cigarettes and if full ashtrays were left standing around, Betty would find them dumped on the carpets the next morning!
is a young friend of the Webmaster who has just begun her teaching career!
This is her fascinating story:
I have never really had any experiences with paranormal phenomenon, but this strange happening suggests that maybe we all see ghosts without realising it!
Late one evening I was driving home to my house in Norwich, after visiting my parents in north-east Norfolk. The journey took me through the sleepy broadland community of Fleggburgh: charming name, eh?
In the centre of the village is an old pub on a steep left-hand bend. As I approached this, I noticed a young boy about eight years of age: he was plainly visible in the puddle of light under the street lamp beneath which he was standing.
The tightness of the curve had forced me to slow down, and I reduced my speed still further in case the child ran across in front of my car: he seemed upset about something. Having negotiated the bend, I looked in my rear-view mirror: I was considering stopping to ask if he needed help. As you may already have guessed, the boy seemed to have vanished. Perhaps, I mused, he had gone into the pub.
I completed my journey and
thought no more about the little boy, until a chance conversation at a
party some years later. I was chatting to an acquaintance of my partner's:
I barely knew him and wasn't taking much notice, until he started talking
about narrowly avoiding an accident at Fleggburgh some nights earlier.
I asked him for the details: