Bedtime is supposed to be a happy event

Bedtime is supposed to be a happy event for a tired child; for me it was terrifying. While some children might complain about being put to bed before they have finished watching a film or playing their favourite video game, when I was a child, night time was something to truly fear. Somewhere in the back of my mind it still is.
As someone who is trained in the sciences, I cannot prove that what happened to me was objectively real, but I can swear that what I experienced was genuine horror. A fear which in my life, I'm glad to say, has never been equalled. I will relate it to you all now as best I can, make of it what you will, but I'll be glad to just get it off of my chest.
I can't remember exactly when it started, but my apprehension towards falling asleep seemed to correspond with my being moved into a room of my own. I was 8 years old at the time and until then I had shared a room, quite happily, with my older brother. As is perfectly understandable for a boy 5 years my senior, my brother eventually wished for a room of his own and as a result, I was given the room at the back of the house.
It was a small, narrow, yet oddly elongated room, large enough for a bed and a couple of chest of drawers, but not much else. I couldn't really complain because, even at that age, I understood that we did not have a large house and I had no real cause to be disappointed, as my family was both loving and caring. It was a happy childhood, during the day.
A solitary window looked out onto our back garden, nothing out of the ordinary, but even during the day the light which crept into that room seemed almost hesitant.
As my brother was given a new bed, I was given the bunk beds which we used to share. While I was upset about sleeping on my own, I was excited at the thought of being able to sleep in the top bunk, which seemed far more adventurous to me.
From the very first night I remember a strange feeling of unease creeping slowly from the back of my mind. I lay on the top bunk, staring down at my action figures and cars strewn across the green-blue carpet. As imaginary battles and adventures took place between the toys on the floor, I couldn't help but feel that my eyes were being slowly drawn towards the bottom bunk, as if something was moving in the corner of my eye. Something which did not wish to be seen.
The bunk was empty, impeccably made with a dark blue blanket tucked in neatly, partially covering two rather bland white pillows. I didn't think anything of it at the time, I was a child, and the noise slipping under my door from my parent's television, bathed me in a warm sense of safety and well-being.
I fell asleep.
When you awaken from a deep sleep to something moving, or stirring, it can take a few moments for you to truly understand what is happening. The fog of sleep hangs over your eyes and ears even when lucid.
Something was moving, there was no doubt about that.
At first I wasn't sure what it was. Everything was dark, almost pitch black, but there was enough light creeping in from outside to outline that narrowly suffocating room. Two thoughts appeared in my mind almost simultaneously. The first was that my parents were in bed because the rest of the house lay both in darkness, and silence. The second thought turned to the noise. A noise which had obviously woken me.
As the last cobwebs of sleep withered from my mind, the noise took on a more familiar form. Sometimes the simplest of sounds can be the most unnerving, a cold wind whistling through a tree outside, a neighbour's footsteps uncomfortably close, or, in this case, the simple sound of bed sheets rustling in the dark.
That was it; bed sheets rustling in the dark as if some disturbed sleeper was attempting to get all too comfortable in the bottom bunk. I lay there in disbelief thinking that the noise was either my imagination, or perhaps just my pet cat finding somewhere comfortable to spend the night. It was then that I noticed my door, shut as it had been as I'd fallen asleep.
Perhaps my mum had checked in on me and the cat had sneaked in to my room then.
Yes, that must have been it. I turned to face the wall, closing my eyes in the vain hope that I could fall back to sleep. As I moved, the rustling noise from underneath me ceased. I thought that I must have disturbed my cat, but quickly I realised that the visitor in the bottom bunk was much less mundane than my pet trying to sleep, and much more sinister.
As if alerted to, and disgruntled by, my presence, the disturbed sleeper began to toss and turn violently, like a child having a tantrum in their bed. I could hear the sheets twist and turn with increasing ferocity. Fear then gripped me, not like the subtle sense of unease I had experienced earlier, but now potent and terrifying. My heart raced as my eyes panicked, scanning the almost impenetrable darkness.
I let out a cry.
As most young boys do, I instinctively shouted on my mother. I could hear something stir on the other side of the house, but as I began to breath a sigh of relief that my parents were coming to save me, the bunk beds suddenly started to shake violently as if gripped by an earthquake, scraping against the wall. I could hear the sheets below me thrashing around as if tormented by malice. I did not want to jump down to safety as I feared the thing in the bottom bunk would reach out and grab me, pulling me into the darkness, so I stayed there, white knuckles clenching my own blanket like a shroud of protection. The wait seemed like an eternity.
The door finally, and thankfully, burst open, and I lay bathed in light while the bottom bunk, the resting place of my unwanted visitor, lay empty and peaceful.
I cried and my mother consoled me. Tears of fear, followed by relief, streamed down my face. Yet, through all of the horror and relief, I did not tell her why I was so upset. I cannot explain it, but it was as though whatever had been in that bunk would return if I even so much as spoke of it, or uttered a single syllable of its existence. Whether that was the truth, I do not know, but as a child I felt as if that unseen menace remained close, listening.
My mother lay in the empty bunk, promising to stay there until morning. Eventually my anxiety diminished, tiredness pushed me back towards sleep, but I remained restless, waking several times momentarily to the sound of rustling bed sheets.
I remember the next day wanting to go anywhere, be anywhere, but in that narrow suffocating room. It was a Saturday and I played outside, quite happily with my friends. Although our house was not large we were lucky to have a long sloping garden in the back. We played there often, as much of it was overgrown and we could hide in the bushes, climb in the huge sycamore tree which towered above all else, and easily imagine ourselves in the throws of a grand adventure, in some untamed exotic land.
As fun as it all was, occasionally my eye would turn to that small window; ordinary, slight, and innocuous. But for me, that thin boundary was a looking glass into a strange, cold pocket of dread. Outside, the lush green surroundings of our garden filled with the smiling faces of my friends could not extinguish the creeping feeling clawing its way up my spine; each hair standing on end. The feeling of something in that room, watching me play, waiting for the night when I would be alone; eagerly filled with hate.
It may sound strange to you, but by the time my parents ushered me back into that room for the night, I said nothing. I didn't protest, I didn't even make an excuse as to why I couldn't sleep there. I simply and sullenly walked into that room, climbed the few steps into the top bunk and then waited. As an adult I would be telling everyone about my experience, but even at that age I felt almost silly to be talking about something which I really had no evidence for. I would be lying, however, if I said this was my primary reason; I still felt that this thing would be enraged if I so much as spoke of it.
It's funny how certain words can remain hidden from your mind, no matter how blatant or obvious they are. One word came to me that second night, lying there in the darkness alone, frightened, aware of a rotten change in the atmosphere; a thickening of the air as if something had displaced it. As I heard the first casual twists of the bed sheets below, the first anxious increase of my heartbeat at the realisation that something was once again in the bottom bunk, that word, a word which had been sent into exile, filtered up through my consciousness, breaking free of all repression, gasping for air screaming, etching, and carving itself into my mind.
“Ghost”.
As this thought came to me, I noticed that my unwelcome visitor had ceased moving. The bed sheets lay calm and dormant, but they had been replaced by something far more hideous. A slow, rhythmic, rasping breath heaved and escaped from the thing below. I could imagine its chest rising and falling with each sordid, wheezing, and garbled breath. I shuddered, and hoped beyond all hope that it would leave without occurrence.
The house lay, as it had the previous night, in a thick blanket of darkness. Silence prevailed, all but for the perverted breath of my, as yet, unseen bunkmate. I lay there terrified. I just wanted this thing to go, to leave me alone.
What did it want?
Then something unmistakably chilling transpired; it moved. It moved in a way different from before. When it threw itself around in the bottom bunk it seemed, unrestrained, without purpose, almost animalistic. This movement, however, was driven by awareness, with purpose, with a goal in mind. For that thing lying there in the darkness, that thing which seemed intent on terrorising a young boy, calmly and nonchalantly sat up. Its laboured breathing had become louder as now only a mattress and a few flimsy wooden slats separated my body from the unearthly breath below.
I lay there, my eyes filled with tears. A fear which mere words cannot relate to you or anyone else coursed through my veins. I would not have believed that this fear could have been heightened, but I was so wrong. I imagined what this thing would look like, sitting there listing from below my mattress, hoping to catch the slightest hint that I was awake. Imagination then turned to an unnerving reality. It began to touch the wooden slats which my mattress sat on. It seemed to caress them carefully, running what I imagined to be fingers and hands across the surface of the wood.
Then, with great force, it prodded angrily between two slats, into the mattress. Even through the padding, it felt as though someone had viciously stuck their fingers into my side. I let out an almighty cry and the wheezing, shaking, and moving thing in the bunk below replied in kind by violently vibrating the bunk as it had done the night before. Small flakes of paint powdered onto my blanket from the wall as the frame of the bed scraped along it, backwards and forwards.
Once again I was bathed in light, and there stood my mother, loving, caring as she always was, with a comforting hug and calming words which eventually subdued my hysteria. Of course she asked what was wrong, but I could not say, I dared not say. I simply said one word over and over and over again.
“Nightmare”.
This pattern of events continued for weeks, if not months. Night after night I would awaken to the sound of rustling sheets. Each time I would scream so as to not provide this abomination with time to prod and 'feel' for me. With each cry the bed would shake violently, stopping with the arrival of my mother who would spend the rest of the night in the bottom bunk, seemingly unaware of the sinister force torturing her son nightly.
Along the way I managed to feign illness a few times and come up with other less-than-truthful reasons for sleeping in my parents' bed, but more often than not I would be alone for the first few hours of each night in that place. The room where the light from outside did not sit right. Alone with that thing.
With time you can become desensitised to almost anything, no matter how horrific. I had come to realise that, for whatever reason, this thing could not harm me when my mother was present. I am sure the same would have been said for my father, but as loving as he was, waking him from sleep was almost impossible.
After a few months I had grown accustomed to my nightly visitor. Do not mistake this for some unearthly friendship, I detested the thing. I still feared it greatly as I could almost sense its desires and its personality, if you could call it that; one filled with a perverted and twisted hatred yet longing for me, of perhaps all things.
My greatest fears were realized in the winter. The days grew short, and the longer nights merely provided this wretch with more opportunities. It was a difficult time for my family. My Grandmother, a wonderfully kind and gentle woman, had deteriorated greatly since the death of my Grandfather. My mother was trying her best to keep her in the community as long as possible, however, dementia is a cruel and degenerative illness, robbing a person of their memories one day at a time. Soon she recognised none of us, and it became clear that she would need to be moved from her house to a nursing home.
Before she could be moved, my Grandmother had a particularly difficult few nights and my mother decided that she would stay with her. As much as I loved my Grandmother and felt nothing but anguish at her illness, to this day I feel guilty that my first thoughts were not of her, but of what my nightly visitor may do should it become aware of my mother's absence; her presence being the one thing which I was sure was protecting me from the full horror of this thing's reach.
I rushed home from school that day and immediately wrenched the bed sheets and mattress from the lower bunk, removing all of the slats and placing an old desk, a chest of drawers, and some chairs which we kept in a cupboard where the bottom bunk used to be. I told my father I was 'making an office' which he found adorable, but I would be damned if I'd give that thing a place to sleep for one more night.
As darkness approached, I lay there knowing my mother was not in the house. I did not know what to do. My only impulse was to sneak into her jewellery box and take a small family crucifix which I had seen there before. While my family was not very religious, at that age I still believed in God and hoped that somehow this would protect me. Although fearful and anxious, while gripping the crucifix under my pillow tightly in one hand, sleep eventually came and as I drifted off to dream, I hoped that I would awaken in the morning without incidence. Unfortunately, that night was the most terrifying of all.
I woke gradually. The room was once again dark. As my eyes adjusted I could gradually make out the window and the door, and the walls, some toys on a shelf and... Even to this day I shudder to think of it, for there was no noise. No rustling of sheets. No movement at all. The room felt lifeless. Lifeless, yet not empty.
The nightly visitor, that unwelcome, wheezing, hate-filled thing which had terrorised me night after night, was not in the bottom bunk, it was in my bed! I opened my mouth to scream, but nothing came out. Utter terror had shaken the very sound from my voice. I lay motionless. If I could not scream, I did not want to let it know I was awake.
I had not yet seen it, I could only feel it. It was obscured under my blanket. I could see its outline, and I could feel its presence, but I dared not look. The weight of it pressed down on top of me, a sensation I will never forget. When I say that hours passed, I do not exaggerate. Laying there motionless, in the darkness, I was every bit a scared and frightened young boy.
If it had been during the summer months it would have been light by then, but the grasp of winter is long and unrelenting, and I knew it would be hours before sunrise; a sunrise which I yearned for. I was a timid child by nature, but I reached a breaking point, a moment where I could wait no more, where I could survive under this intimately deviant abomination no longer.
Fear can sometimes wear you out, make you threadbare, a shell of nerves leaving only the slightest trace of you behind. I had to get out of that bed! Then I remembered, the crucifix! My hand still lay underneath the pillow, but it was empty! I slowly moved my wrist around to find it, minimising as best I could the sound and vibrations caused, but it could not be found. I had either knocked it off of the top bunk, or it had...I could not even bear to think of it, been taken from my hand.
Without the crucifix I lost any sense of hope. Even at such a young age, you can be acutely aware of what death is, and intensely frightened of it. I knew I was going to die in that bed if I lay there, dormant, passive, doing nothing. I had to leave that room behind, but how? Should I leap from the bed and hope that I make it to the door? What if it is faster than me? Or should I slowly slip out of that top bunk, hoping to not disturb my uncanny bedfellow?
Realizing that it had not stirred when I moved, trying to find the crucifix, I began to have the strangest of thoughts.
What if it was asleep?
It hadn't so much as breathed since I had woken up. Perhaps it was resting, believing that it had finally got me. That I was finally in its grasp. Or perhaps it was toying with me, after all it had been doing just that for countless nights, and now with me under it, pinned against my mattress with no mother to protect me, maybe it was holding off, savouring its victory until the last possible moment. Like a wild animal savouring its prey.
I tried to breathe as shallowly as possible, and mustering every ounce of courage I could, I reached over slowly with my right hand and began to peel the blanket off of me. What I found under those covers almost stopped my heart. I did not see it, but as my hand moved the blanket, it brushed against something. Something smooth and cold. Something which felt unmistakably like a gaunt hand.
I held my breath in terror as I was sure it must now have known that I was awake.
Nothing.
It did not stir; it felt dead. After a few moments I placed my hand carefully further down the blanket and felt a thin, poorly formed forearm, my confidence and almost twisted sense of curiosity grew as I moved down further to a disproportionately larger bicep muscle. The arm was outstretched lying across my chest, with the hand resting on my left shoulder as if it had grabbed me in my sleep. I realised that I would have to move this cadaverous appendage if I even so much as hoped to escape its grasp.
For some reason, the feeling of torn, ragged clothing on the shoulder of this night time invader stopped me in my tracks. Fear once again swelled in my stomach and in my chest as I recoiled my hand in disgust at the touch of straggled, oily hair.
I could not bring myself to touch its face, although I wonder to this very day what it would have felt like.
Dear God it moved.
It moved. It was subtle, but its grip on my shoulder and across my body strengthened. No tears came, but God how I wanted to cry. As its hand and arm slowly coiled around me, my right leg brushed along the cool wall which the bed lay against. Of all that happened to me in that room, this was the strangest. I realised that this clutching, rancid thing which drew great delight from violating a young boy's bed, was not entirely on top of me. It was sticking out from the wall, like a spider striking from its lair.
Suddenly its grip moved from a slow tightening to a sudden squeeze, it pulled and clawed at my clothes as if frightened that the opportunity would soon pass. I fought against it, but its emaciated arm was too strong for me. Its head rose up writhing and contorting under the blanket. I now realised where it was taking me, into the wall! I fought for my dear life, I cried and suddenly my voice returned to me, yelling, screaming, but no one came.
Then I realised why it was so eager to suddenly strike, why this thing had to have me now. Through my window, that window which seemed to represent so much malice from outside, streaked hope; the first rays of sunshine. I struggled further knowing that if I could just hold on, it would soon be gone. As I fought for my life, the unearthly parasite shifted, slowly pulling itself up my chest, its head now poking out from under the blanket, wheezing, coughing, rasping. I do not remember its features, I simply remember its breath against my face, foul and as cold as ice.
As the sun broke over the horizon, that dark place, that suffocating room of contempt was washed, bathed in sunlight.
I passed out as its scrawny fingers encircled my neck, squeezing the very life from me.
I awoke to my father offering to make me some breakfast, a wonderful sight indeed! I had survived the most horrible experience of my life until then, and now. I moved the bed away from the wall, leaving behind the furniture I had believed would stop that thing from taking a bed. Little did I think that it would try to take mine...and me.
Weeks passed without incident, yet on one cold, frostbitten night I awoke to the sound of the furniture where the bunk beds used to be, vibrating violently. In a moment it passed, I lay there sure I could hear a distant wheezing coming from deep within the wall, finally fading into the distance.
I have never told anyone this story before. To this day I still break out in a cold sweat at the sound of bed sheets rustling in the night, or a wheeze brought on by a common cold, and I certainly never sleep with my bed against a wall. Call it superstition if you will but as I said, I cannot discount conventional explanations such as sleep paralysis, hallucination, or that of an over-active imagination, but what I can say is this: The following year I was given a larger room on the other side of the house and my parents took that strangely suffocating, elongated place as their bedroom. They said they didn't need a large room, just one big enough for a bed and a few things.

Hibiscus Coast

Many a summers holidays of my childhood were spent at the seaside resort towns of the Hibiscus Coast. When my father retired in 1992, my parents bought a cottage at one of these pretty coastal villages to escape the crime and congestion of the city, with us, their 3 teenage children.

Easter, Christmas and New Years would draw many tourists to the sleepy seaside settlements of the South coast and within days hotels, caravan parks and camping grounds would be filled with holiday makers keen to pursuit the outdoor activities on offer.

Unfortunately visiting a place and actually living there all year round can be very different, a lesson that we had to learn the hard way...

When the summer season drew to a close, the tourists would load up their cars and trailers and return to the cities. The town would become vacant overnight. The strong northeasterly wind would blow, leaving stinging blue-bottles and jellyfish on the beaches and the windswept coast with its rugged coastline and harsh vegetation would withdraw back into isolation.

Our house, fittingly named 'Hideaway' by previous owners lay nestled at the bottom of a green valley, which meant for cold winters and mosquito infested summers. Originally intended to be a holiday home, It was a single story dwelling built in the early 70's and had the appearance of being slapped together in a hurry on a shoe-string budget of materials, revealed by its poor plaster work, stable doors and steel wire mesh for burglar guards. Nevertheless, my parents felt it possessed a rustic charm and fell in love with the garden beautifully decorated with an assorted array of fruit trees, bougainvilleas, orchids and strelitzias. What was not so charming was the surrounding wild banana and sugar cane plantation, characteristic of Kwa-Zulu Natal, teeming with cane rats, spiders and deadly snakes.

From the day that we moved in the strange noises began. We were sitting in the lounge having a rest from a long, hard day of unpacking and moving heavy furniture when we first heard the loud thumping in the ceiling. Like someone banging violently on the wood board with their fist it resonated from one side of the lounge to the other. We sat in shocked silence looking up, listening, then exchanging horrified glances. My dad relieved the tension by suggesting it was likely just an iguana (large lizard) living in the ceiling. The thumps, bangs and scratches often accompanied by sweeping sounds would occur randomly throughout our 5 year residence, waking us up in the early hours of the morning.

My room, an obvious later addition to the house was constructed from cinder blocks, not bricks. Sometime between switching off my bedside lamp and falling asleep I would often hear tapping on my bedroom window. It sounded like little pebbles were being tossed up against the glass. Every so often upon pulling back the curtains to investigate I would see nothing but the pitch black of the night outside.

One evening whilst home alone something disturbing happened. I was sitting up late watching TV around 11 pm when I noticed the kitchen door handle turn downwards and the door swung open. Sitting directly oppose the door only about 3 meters away I was faced with nothing but the silhouette of the backyard mulberry tree in the moonlight. The night was still with not a breath of wind. Although the security gate was locked I didn't feel reassured. Had it been a would-be intruder the German Shepard next door surely would have barked his head off. Nothing, just silence. I felt as though a million eyes were on me and I slammed the door, locked it, turned on all the lights and the sound on the TV up. My parents only returned home hours later much to my dismay.

Before this, my older sister had often complained that she got the feeling of being chased when following the garden path down to the kitchen door when coming home late at night. I got this feeling even in the daytime.

Shortly before our house was sold in 1996 the thumping in the ceiling become louder and more aggressive. Around this time the geyser (water heater) in my parents en-suite bathroom stopped working. It also happened to be the only room with a trap door to the ceiling. My sister's husband, an electrician, came to repair the geyser and had to access the roof to fix it. Knowing he was an avid reptile collector we, being so desperate to rid the house of its menace, asked him to catch the iguana at the same time. After fixing the geyser he came down from the ladder and didn't look impressed. He remarked that the ceiling was cleaner than the house and there was no lizard or rats or animal droppings for that matter. The noises still continued the following night.

It was only after we left that we finally admitted to ourselves that something wasn't right about that cottage or its gardens. My mom even confessed to me that she had seen the ghost of a woman dressed as a maid coming hurriedly down the garden pathway one bright and sunny morning. The woman initially appeared solid and then faded the closer she got to the house.

Years later I came to know a little about the area's history. One of my former work colleagues had grown up in a township not far away. Local legend has it that the area was occupied by a tribe of cannibals and that Zulu's walking along the beach in passing would see strange glowing lights from the hills. Not only were the tribe cannibals but reputed to use human body parts for witchcraft. The name of the village directly translates into 'bad village,' a name given by the fearless warrior Shaka himself, King of the Zulus. Through his reign the village saw much bloodshed and he succeeded in almost completely wiping out the tribe 200 years ago.

The small stretch of road that runs through the town is also notorious for horrific road accidents. This has always puzzled us as it is seemingly a flat, straight stretch of road.

Last year I took my dad on a drive down the Hibiscus coast to relive our happy memories there one last time. My dad in ailing health, my mom having already passed on and my siblings living their own lives. We were sad to see how forgotten the village had become, its tourism ruined from the highway that now bypasses it.

Our little house too, seemed neglected and its gardens overgrown, standing empty and up for sale. Hideaway would always hold a special place in my heart as it was the last home we had all lived together as a family. I can never be sure if it really had a restless spirit or whether we shared our home with unseen creatures, but the bittersweet memories still haunt me in many ways.

Helping Hands

To say that we have had a busy few days is stating things lightly.

After mom's surgery last week, Gran has been very active around mom. She does not hang in the passage; she is constantly where mom is. Friday afternoon Tim asked me at one point if mom was sitting in the lounge, so I did not even think about it, I picked up my phone, switched it to camera and took a snap of mom so he could see where she was sitting.

Now, just to clarify, Gran hates cameras, apparently always did, just like Charlie, so she does not want any pictures taken of her. Tim told me she was hovering around mom, trying to comfort her, but I thought she would read my intentions and move out of the way when I took the picture. Only, it seems this time, she had decided it might be OK for her daughter to know she was there.

Tim sent me a message saying Gran was very unimpressed because she could not get out of the way fast enough, and that I had caught her on "film". I told him I had looked at the picture and could not see anything out of the ordinary, and then he answered: "Look at your mom's shadow. Since when do shadows have eyes?" Right then I could clearly see a face looking right at me. When I took my phone and showed it to my mom, she immediately put her finger on the shadow. She could see the face without any help.

Since mom is unable to move around too much right now, I had to do all of the errands last weekend to get ready for our Christmas leave. I was up and down with the boys the entire day on Saturday, and of course, Charlie was with us. On Sunday, my sister and her husband hosted a lovely Supper for us. After finishing the main meal, mom was wiped out. My sister helped her to their bedroom and she went to lie down for an hour. When it was time to wake up, I went to get her, and as I walked into the room it felt so calm there. Gran was doing her best to soothe her daughter. We had dessert, and finally went home around 5:30PM on Sunday.

Getting home, I asked Tim if Charlie and Gran had enjoyed the visit, and he said they had. I said I assumed Charlie was hanging around with the men, and Tim said he had been, even though he was a bit unimpressed because they were hanging out by the bar and Charlie does not like alcohol.

Mom's sister, Aunt S, came by at around 7PM so she could find out what she needed to get for the Mozambique trip (I'm finishing work on Friday, then Saturday morning we head off to Mozambique for 3 weeks! Can't wait!) She had brought two of her grandsons along. One is seven and one is five. Both boys are very naughty and very unruly, so every time she brings those boys to my house, I get worked up. They have a tendency to take all of the toy boxes the twins have (there are 3) and throw every toy onto the floor. When you ask them to pick the toys up, they refuse. As a rule, my kids know right from wrong, and when those kids are in my house, I still enforce my rules. The first thing I did when they arrived on Sunday, was I walked to Kiddo's room and closed the door. There is no way I will let them cause havoc there. Of course, just as they arrived, Tim sent me a message and said, "I'm getting an angry little face from Kiddo. Who is upsetting the two of you?"

I explained that the hooligans were there and he said that Kiddo did not want them in his room. I told him I did not want them there either. He said if they were going to intrude on his space, he was going to show them how much he disliked that idea. I do not want him getting so worked up that he does something to scare kids, even when the kids annoy me as well. Therefore, I told him to stay calm and that they will not be coming into his room. No kids would be, not even the twins. Tim answered by saying that the twins were always welcome, he sees them as his "brothers" and he loves having them in his room. I told Tim that I know they love being in his room, they can feel they are welcome there and they will not stay away under normal circumstances. I also mentioned that I saw him as part of the collective of my kids. I have three boys, not two, and Tim said the little guy started blushing and got a little flustered. He still gets overwhelmed by getting "Mommy" attention; he does not know how to react to it.

Monday evening (yesterday 10 December 2012), when I got home from work, mom met me at the door. She was pale and I could immediately see she was in a lot of pain. After the boys were bathed and fed, I spent time with my mom. I was sitting in the lounge with her, and I distinctly heard static electricity directly in front of my right ear. This is the kind of sound you get when you rub your feet on a woolly carpet and touch something metal, that popping sound that occurs. It happened a few times while I was sitting there and at one point I thought I was going crazy. I was looking around, wondering what on earth could be making that noise. I also picked up that the atmosphere in the house was a little thick. Not like it was when the dark entity was in the house, this was worry. I sent Tim a message and immediately asked him if Charlie was ok. He answered that Charlie was anxious for some reason, I just had to give him a minute so he could attune himself to Charlie better. He told me he was worried about someone in the house. And so was Gran. He mentioned that Kiddo was so happy and content he was absolutely peaceful. Then he asked me if mom was in a lot of pain, and I said yes. That is why Charlie was so worked up. I asked Tim what could have caused the static electricity I had heard, and he said, "The question is who, not what." He told me it was Charlie, pulling energy from the speaker above my head. As I was sitting there, I had the distinct feeling that my right side was being tickled. I asked Tim if this was Charlie, and he said no, Charlie was hovering around mom. Gran was sitting next to me, trying to take my mind off my worries. They had switched places for a minute. I actually should have known it was Gran, as Tim had put it "her touch is a mother's touch, soft and soothing."

Both Tim and Elaine sent me messages telling me that mom had gotten pain medication from the hospital, but she didn't like taking it because it made her feel funny. I said yes, it threw her off balance. Tim urged me to get her to take the pain meds, and something for nausea as he picked both up from her. We had to change the dressing on her wound, and I really did not like doing that. I do not like having to do things that could potentially cause pain to my loved ones. When that was done, Tim sent me a message and told me:

"Your mom does not like not being the "Mommy" in this scenario. She likes being the one you come to for help and support, not the other way around. However, tell her, if she walks alone, she is going to fall. Whatever you do, do not let your mom walk around alone tonight. I see her falling, please don't let her out of your sight."

As I read this message out loud, Tim told me Gran was now very afraid mom would fall as well, and he said Charlie had taken up a stance of blockage in the doorway leading to the passage and the bedrooms. He would block mom from going anywhere alone. I said to mom, if there were any doubts up until this point that the entities in the house can feel love for us, we now have our answer. When we were ready to go to bed, I made a few trips up and down, taking mom's stuff to her room. Every time I got to the passageway I felt Charlie very clearly. And she patiently waited in the lounge until I told her we could go to the room. When we got to the passage, I could feel Charlie walk on mom's left, while I took up her right, keeping her as stable on her feet as we were capable. Now I understood why he needed the extra energy. His energy was so strong I had the feeling if I reached out I would feel more than just tingles.

Tim later told me that Charlie was not only doing this of his own accord, but also because Gran had told him to. I had to smile when he said, "He's a little wary of upsetting her, she can be a difficult lady." Like mother, like daughter.

When mom was safely in bed, I could settle down as well, and I knew we could sleep peacefully. This morning, as I was getting ready to leave for work, I asked Gran to please watch over my babies and especially my mom. I asked Kiddo to do his share and try and keep the boys busy too. I could feel him smile as I left.

Hellhouse

Ever since I can remember I have been prone to feeling psychic energies, the good and the bad. My friends tell me I have the uncanny ability to read people without as much as speaking to them. This ability is especially observed in my mother's family, both an aunt and two cousins have declared to seeing, hearing and feeling some things quite beyond the veil of the living.

I grew up in a town called Worcester, in the Western Cape. Settled between mountains it always reminded me of a witch's cauldron, extremely hot in the summer, and freezing with snow on the mountains in the winter. We lived in a large house on the foot of a mountain in an area called Panorama.

Let me explain the layout of the house: The front door was situated at the end of an enclosed veranda, and led into a long foyer with a large open planned dining/sitting room area. To the right further down the foyer were french doors leading to a large TV-room, entertainment area with a bar, kitchen, study and large master bedroom. I always felt safest in this area of the house, most likely because it was a newer addition. The rest of the bedrooms were situated at the end of the foyer, that turned into a long hallway, with the first large on-suite bedroom at the start of the hallway, and the last bedroom across from it. My bedroom was the first to the left when turning into the hallway, and used to have a window facing outside, but after the additions, it faced the entertainment area. When we moved in (I was about a year old) My mom thought it the best room for a baby/toddler,as it was also the smallest bedroom, but when we moved in it was a ghastly purple colour.

I have no recollection of what happened there until I was about 4 years old. I was told I was always a quiet baby, I had to be woken up to be fed. But as soon as we moved into that house, and my mother left me in that room, I used to scream and cry non-stop. The result was that I slept in a small room connected to the master bedroom. So for years I was quite content. I always avoided the other side of the house, never venturing in the hallway. My sister, who is 12 years my senior, stayed in the large en-suite bedroom, and always complained to my parents that something was off there. She always felt watched. Now, my mother is quite a practical, no-nonsense woman, and told her to stop seeking attention. Naturally, she thought my sister put me up when I said I also felt uncomfortable in that area.

Fast forward a few years. When I was 5 years old it was time to start pre-primary, so my parents said it's time to move into my bedroom. The small bedroom was in about the center of the house, being built around it, yet the light from the entertainment area was enough to make one forget the window wasn't actually facing outside. I remember vividly not wanting to go into that room, the negativity was such that I struggled to breathe. So I avoided it until I had to go to bed. I used to sleep with the bedside light on, and always drew the covers right over my head, come winter or summer, and I used to pray until I fell asleep. Yet the negativity never relented. Now being alone on that side of the house, my sister used to come fetch me during the night and we'd sleep together in her double bed. Her room didn't feel as oppressive, but uncomfortable in the sense that something was always watching you, making the hair in your nape stand up together with goosebumps. And the shadows would move around all night. I used to wonder why there were so many, seeing that I couldn't ascertain where they came from.

My mother's family used to come visit over Christmas, and my two cousins would sleep with my sister in her room. One particular night there was a loud bang, like a window being knocked out, and then the screams. My sister and cousins ran out of the room. After they calmed down they said they were awakened by the bang and then all three of them saw a dark figure standing in the corner near the built-in-cupboards. It stared at them, then suddenly started laughing in deep, malignant voice. They got up and ran out. Of course, with inspection the adults found nothing. But after that night the negativity increased dramatically. So much so that I was too scared to even go into my room alone. My sister used to come in with me just so that I could get clothes, and then shut the door.

One night, when I was seven, my sister slept over at a friend's, and I was forced to sleep in that room. I awoke in the middle of the night with my heart racing, feeling ill and ice cold. Then, a few seconds later there was a crash as a stationary holder fell off my small bookcase to the floor... Then a few toy cars also made it onto the floor, like someone was swiping them off the bookcase with their hands. And then, a low, deep chuckle that literally made my flesh crawl. I was frozen, could hardly breathe, alternatively getting hot and cold. I just drew the covers more tightly and prayed. The next day my mother was quite adamant that I had a nightmare, and that the things fell because they were probably too close to the edge,

About a month later, my sister was yet again away and I had to sleep alone. During the night I awoke again, heart pounding, with a feeling of dread. This time I felt a presence, so malignant and evil I wanted to vomit. Then, I felt the bed covers move on my left (the bed was against the wall, with about 15cm space between.) I was facing the wall, so I slowly forced my eyes open and saw, quite clearly (seeing I slept with the bedside lamp on) a hand, coming up from underneath the bed, feeling up. It was grey-slightly green in colour, with long fingers. I started hitting it, and it felt quite real, hard. I heard a hissing sound and then started screaming bloody murder. My mother burst in a couple of seconds later and I just got up and ran past her. From that night onward, I refused to go into that room, and slept on a blowup mattress next to my parent's bed. After that night my mother simply removed my clothes and locked the room.

Years later I asked her what she saw, and said she didn't see anything, but heard something hiss and snarl and felt a very oppressive presence. Being a woman who always thought ghost stories were hogwash, and never really felt anything tangible before, she was quite terrified. For weeks thereafter our priest would come and even attempted a cleaning and blessing. My sister's room felt safer for quite a while, yet the negativity radiating through that one closed door only got worse. My parents never told me what the priest said about the whole ordeal, but years later I heard my grandmother say (as they discussed that house) that house is a portal to hell.

There has been many more experiences, in that house, and in another one in Worcester. But since this story is getting long, I'll leave it to another time.

He Tried To Get My Daughter

Before I even start my story, I feel there are so many people which leave really sarcastic comments which I feel are very unnecessary as they don't really even know me or what's happening in my home - for each one of us that have a story to share, it is very real to us.

Any way back to my story. So since the last story, we have discovered that my son frequently gets these finger marks on his arms which are black, not even blue, like a bruise should be but black. We have asked everyone we know if someone is hurting him and they say no. These are like a grown man's finger marks. I have many a times walked into my daughter's room and found her lying on the floor but there is no way for her to fall out of bed or climb out.

The other night when my daughter started crying, my husband got up before me to check in on her and after about half an hour he came flying into my room with her as white as a piece of paper. As he gave her to me, he kept looking towards the room as if there were someone there and he kept peeping around the corner as if waiting to catch someone off guard. When I asked him what was wrong or what he saw, all he said was nothing. I found out a few days later after I asked him again, he said that it felt like someone was having a tug of war with him with my daughter and as he looked up he looked into the face of something so evil he could not even describe it.

After we got settled again in bed with my daughter now by us (I sleep closest to the bedroom door). After about an hour of what I kept laying awake trying to figure out what he saw, I felt something try and pull my daughters off the bed. I felt 2 tugs coming from her foot and few seconds passed and another hard one. If I was not holding her tight enough, I swear what ever it was would have pulled her off. I then asked my husband to swap sides with me and as soon as we did I fell asleep with my daughter as if nothing ever happened. I asked my husband the same night if we could please leave becuase I really can't take another minute of being at home, and he tells me no. Even if I argue and prove my point of things being in our house he tells me no.

Last week we were in bed and as usual I am awake anytime from 01:00am. I looked over to my door and I saw something like a gremlin walk into my room. It jumped on to my bed and started climbing on top of me. As soon as I managed to wake my husband up it disappeared and he just looked at me as if I was mad. On odd occassions while in bed I will see someone behind my bedroom door (my door is always open right against the wall so it is not possible for anyone to stand behind it without me seeing them). I will see someone try and squirm their way out from behind the door or I will see a shadow peak at me from behind the door with his bony hands wrapped around the door.

Things have now started disappearing and then reappearing in another place, I see the shadows more frequently, my son refuses to sleep in his room and my daughter tells me there is someone standing in the passage or by my door but when I check obviously there is no one there. Last night I heard someone in the lounge while my husband was out (the TV was off). And something that was standing in the middle of the kitchen counter fell off while we were all watching tv in the lounge. Things fall in the kitchen in the middle of the night but when we check there is nothing there.

What scares me the most is the expression on my husband's face when he came running into the room with my daughter.

Is this thing trying to take my kids and doing something to my hsband that he won't believe anything I tell him.

Even when we have had a priest walk into our house, he walked straight out and won't say why.

There is nothing left to do anymore. I can not find a demonologist anywhere in South Africa that can help us.

This thing is hurting my kids and I can't do anything about it.

He Pulled My Toes!

My nearest and dearest brother passed away August of last year. We had a private joke that we shared where he would mock me constantly about the length of my second toe. It was rather long.

About three months after his passing, round about 2:00 in the morning, I woke up to feel my two toes on my left foot being tugged. I sort of waved it away thinking that it was just my nerves going crazy and promptly fell asleep. I don't know how much longer it was afterwards when I felt a cold rush of air on my foot and my right two toes being pulled so hard that the toe actually clicked. Well, as you can imagine, I was hysterical, but in a good way, and I kept my experience to myself. I pulled my feet under my duvet and forced myself to fall asleep.

A month or two passed and I went to talk to a medium about Shaun and my dad, who passed away three weeks after Shaun. The medium told me that Shaun was laughing and showing her his feet, specifically the toes next to your large toe! That was the confirmation that I needed! My brother had come to visit me and showed himself in the only way that he knew how, with loads and loads of humour!

I have been to see a medium one more time and she has confirmed once again that my brother is always around me.

Haunting at 8 First-Street

This list of encounters which befell my family (mother, father, older sister and myself) dates back to the years 1990 up until early in 1995. At this time it may be relevant to mention that in this town, all houses are leased for free to the town's inhabitants, before our relocation into this house, early in 1990, it had been standing empty since 1983.

It was less than a week later that my 3 year older sister started speaking of a woman she had seen in the living room the night before. The woman as she had described had blonde hair and no face. Her being young of age, the rest of the family had let the incident slip by without taking much ennessial notice. Relevant was her persistance to this story and her fear of a built in back yard BBQ that she wanted 'removed'. What made my mother and myself take notice that perhaps it had not been my sister's imagination after all, was an event that had occurred just over a month later: at this time my mother, my sister and myself had all been in different locations of the house when the front door had opened and we all heard my father step inside and say "hello" as he always did. What made this greeting slightly different than usual was that when we all went to greet him, he was nowhere in sight. What added to the mystery was a telephone call an hour later stating that my father's car had broken down at work and my mother needed to come collect him. This incident had been enough reason for my mother to give in and have the BBQ wrecked.. nothing out of the ordinary was found.

My personal second encounter happened one evening while my sister and I had been lying on her bed. Her having just drifted off to sleep my gaze had fallen onto the floor where I had caught glimpse of a what looked like a sheepdog run across the floor, sure it was somewhat smaller, but genuine nonetheless. The animal had scurried across the floor and had gone into hiding beneath the bed, that was the last I had ever seen of it. That was the night before the crows started to appear..

In the months that followed these events seemed to die down and very few (including my father) would believe my mother, my sister and my own claims that there was something wrong at 8 First-Street. At this time, however, my parents started growing concerned about my growing fascination with the undead and macabre, which made sense since I wasn't even yet 5 years old at the time.

The next event that occurred, I believe it was close to Christmas time, involved a beating of drums in the back yard. My sister and myself had been getting up to the normal childhood mischief when a steady beating of drums had starting ramming on the outside gas bottles. The drumming had been soft and slow at first, then louder.. faster.. until it had been loud enough for any witness to hear. This had been enough to drive both my sister and myself to tears and we had fled the house and sat crying in the street until our parents had returned (from shopping or wherever it was they had gone). This inccident had laid to rest any doubt that my mother may still have attained, although my father had remained unconvinced.

What events had occured in the years 1991 and 1992 had in the years past slipped from my memory, with only 3 personal experiences remaining: the 1st had been while the rest of my family had been in the back yard and I had been alone inside. Until this day I can still recall an unknown presence that had laid its hand down on my shoulder, an icy sensation that now over eleven years later I can still remember as clearly as if it was happening right now. It was also round this time that my parents had discovered the art work I had done with my top room cupboard: three walls. two doors all covered in drawings of the dead. It was also in this cupboard that my favorite childhood book had vanished in an instant. This meaning that I had been sitting in the dark, reading it with a flashlight and the next moment it was gone. A thorough search by both my parents proved useless and what happened to it remains a mystery up until today.

The third incident I recall happened in middle 1992 while my sister was away at camp, this detail I recall particularly well for it just made it all the more strange that on the relevant morning wherever I had gone in the house her voice had still been calling out to me.

Early 1993 and all others are awoken from the silence by the father greeting incident repeating itself. Also my fathers' skepticism takes a knock at this point as my mother told the story of the night before where our newly aquired Labrador Retrievers both looked to the roof and started barking at an unseen force, the loud sigh that had followed not even my dad could deny. It wasn't much later that my mother started speaking of hearing a voice singing in the hallways late at night, a voice that would die down every time she went to check on it.

My sister had at this time also started growing more and more disturbed at what was happening around us and at one point claimed that an icy presence had been chasing her around the house and had been lifting her up whenever she had tried to stop. Although this did sound far fetched to even me, the way she had looked right after she had made this claim, suggested differently. What made matters worst was another incident which had supposably occurred while my mother had been collecting me from a friend. On our home coming we had discovered my sister and a friend sobbing in the street, spewing claims that footsteps had been heard in the hallway, doors had been opening by themselves and light and radios had been switching on and off by themselves. At this time it was now a mutual agreement, there was something seriously wrong. My own sighting of a teenage boy in the hallway (which I later lay eyes on again, that time with a witness) just added wood to the fire.

A summons not much later, that my sister had called together involving her, myself and two of her male friends would be the last time that these forces would ever be felt and after that it was as if nothing had ever happened (even the crows stopped coming), except one last thing:

Two years had passed since the final sighting at 8 First-Street and I (age 9) found myself sitting in the classroom. At this point a young girl who lived only a couple of houses from me (and coincidently had the same name as my sister) with whom I nonetheless had never truly spoken with started telling the class about a ghost of some kind in her house, the stories were exactly the same as mine. It was that same week that the crows again returned, very few at first, later up to 20 at a time.

Haunted Through Out The Years

These experiences are small compared to some of the others that I've posted and still will post.

My parents and I were sitting in the lounge watching TV one night. I started feeling this cold sensation over my left foot like a very gentle breeze or like when you open the freezer door and get that icy drift. I looked down but saw nothing so I attributed it to the cold maybe coming from the tile floor. Then I started feeling tapping against my left knee. This happened for about 3 minutes, but again I told myself it must be a muscle spasm.

Throughout watching TV for the next hour, I kept seeing movement under our dining room table. I saw it out of the corner of my eye, but sometimes I saw it even when I was looking at it dead on. It was see-through and about the size of a basketball moving under the table. When looking at it, it looked like when you look at a rock or stone that is laying under moving water... That blurry kind of vision. I told myself that it's my eyes being messed with, because I was watching TV in a dark room. After a while my parents got up to go to bed and I stayed for a while longer watching TV. That's when I heard the giggling of a little girl or boy coming from under the dining room table. In my mind's eye I saw a little girl with curly brown hair. After that I didn't hear her again.

There was a time last year that I was unemployed. I was bored out of my mind, but knew I had to continue job hunting over the phone. After a few hours I got tired and decided I would make a social call instead. I phoned my mother and joked with her asking what's for supper. Our one dog, Betty, was inside with me (I can't remember why). She was sitting next to me, but looking at me so I started teasing her by pulling her ear in a playful way. The next moment, while still on the phone with my Mom, I hear this very loud BURRRP coming from directly behind me. I stopped talking mid sentence, but my instinctual reaction was to look at the dog. She was looking directly behind me with her head slightly cocked to one side, like looking at someone that's standing behind me! I asked my mother if she heard anything and she said no. I ended up laughing.

There are many times that some of my family members are in a different part of the house than I am. We're the kind that doesn't walk to the person we want to talk to, we just yell our say from where we are like uncivilized hooligans (Ha!). Twice it has happened already that when I holler something back to whoever I'm talking to that in the same room that I'm in I hear a "Shhh".

I'm sure many other people experience the same thing as I do when it comes to sleeping at night and when your feet are open or uncovered. My toes have been grabbed and wiggled. The bottom of my feet slapped. My leg touched etc etc etc.

I woke up one night not so long ago to the sound of heels on our tile floor in the hallway. In my mind's eye popped the image of a woman with red heels and black hair cropped short around her shoulder. She walked up and down the hallway and eventually I got annoyed and called out to hear if anyone else in the house is hearing what I'm hearing. They didn't and I didn't hear the woman in heels since then.

This is another thing that I'm sure I have in common with many people out there: animals looking around the room like they see something we don't... Especially on the ceiling. Now imagine 1 cat and 2 dogs doing it at the same time. Then they settle their eyes - simultaneously - on something directly behind your head. That always creeps me out no matter how many times it happens.

Lastly I would like to ask a question. Does anyone feel around Christmas time that THEY (spirits) are everywhere?! Not just inside your house, but everywhere. On the streets, in the shopping malls etc. I never get a more overwhelming experience of sensory perception like I do around Christmas time.

Thanks for reading.

PS: My house is not haunted. I believe that I get spirits in visitation or one's that just pass through.

Haunted Plot

In the year 2000 my mom, dad and I moved into our newly built house in an area called Parklands in Cape Town South Africa. I was 15 years old going on 16 at the time and an only child. I was very excited to move into our new house as my dad had designed it specifically so that my room was built on the other side of the house away from my parents room, allowing me the freedom that every teenager feels they need at that stage in their lives...

We had only been in the house a few months when strange things started happening. But even stranger was that they seemed to only be affecting me and were centered around my bedroom and bathroom. I also had a Persian cat and a dog and none of them would sleep with me on my bed at night and they always used to before we moved.

The first incident happened when I was laying in bed watching TV and I fell asleep with the TV on. All of a sudden I woke up with a huge fright as the TV was blaring and I have no idea how the volume got turned up as the remote was on my side table and nowhere near me.

I also had a pet rat at that time and he was behaving very strange. He was laying in the corner of his cage scratching erratically on the bottom of his cage.

I decided to just brush it off and go to sleep anyhow. During the night I felt like my cat was laying on my pillow above my head and her tail was laying on my face and when I went to brush her tail away it felt like she had gotten a fright and scrambled off my face but scratched me on the cheek when fleeing. I then got up and turned the light on to check if she was ok but my cat was nowhere to be found. After that I felt uneasy and struggled to get back to sleep but luckily managed to fall asleep eventually.

In the morning my mom asked if my cat had come home during the night and if I had let her in as she hadn't come in before my mom went to bed that night. I was surprised that my mom asked as I thought she was in the house. I'm not entirely sure what scratched my face but I had a prominent scratch mark. After that incident I was very freaked out. I was scared to go to sleep alone in my room and wished I was closer to my parents.

The next strange incident happened when my best friend came to stay with me for the weekend. We were laying in my bed chatting until bout 2am as we always did when we heard shouting and feet stomping on the road outside my window (my bedroom was street facing). The voice was male and it was saying something to the effect of GET OUT! Or GET OFF! I'm not entirely sure...

Immediately Jenine and I jumped out of my bed and stuck our heads out the window to see what was going on.

We looked up and down the road but saw nothing. There was no-one in sight and the street was dead quiet. No movement at all. Needless to say we were totally freaked out. We both jumped into bed and huddled together. We sat up for a while when suddenly we saw and heard my bedroom door go down as if someone tried to open it.

The door was locked as the latch/mechanism was broken so we had to lock it to keep it closed. The handle was tried twice when I called out to my dad thinking it was maybe him trying the door. I got no reply. I called out my dad's name again but still no reply. I didn't get up and look as we were both terrified!

The sensor light by the garage that comes on when there is movement kept going on and off for the rest of the night/early morn. Jenine and I never slept a wink until 6am when the sun started to rise and I could hear movement from my mom and dad in the kitchen. I got up and went to ask my mom and dad if one of them had tried my door during the early hours of the morning and they both said no. I knew I hadn't imagined it as my friend Jenine had seen and heard it too.

A few months later my aunt moved in with us and she moved into the room opposite mine. I told her what I had been experiencing as she is more open to this kind of thing and had a problem with a haunting in her previous flat as well. She told me to do a blessing and she would help me. We never really got round to doing the blessing but things seemed to be a little better after my aunt moved in. I didn't feel as scared anymore. One night I was sleeping and woke suddenly feeling very sad and teary, a heavy sort of feeling. I sat up in my bed and I'm not sure if I imagined it but it felt like a wave of relief and comfort came over me, I even saw like orange waves of light surround me. I felt as though I was levitating above my bed even though I wasn't really. Then everything went away and I could go back to sleep.

It was the strangest yet most comforting feeling. I'm still not sure what happened but it felt like a female presence was with me that night and it felt like this female presence was good and "chased" the bad presence I felt before away. I don't know if it was something I dreamt that just felt so real or what?

I still have many questions... But after that night nothing bothered me again.

We sold the house when I was 17 as my mom and dad had split up and the house had to be sold as part of the divorce settlement. This was a newly built house so I don't understand why these strange things had happened. Was the house perhaps built over something? I had heard that Parts of Parklands were originally rubbish dump areas. Perhaps a body was left over where we built our house?

Why did it only happen to me? - so many questions...

The weird thing is even though it's been many years since I was last at that house but for the last 8 years I have had re-occurring dreams of that I house. I dream I go back to that house and its always night time and raining. In my dreams there is an evil entity which I'm terrified of and it pulls me around and throws me around the house and I can't see it. That's how my dreams go every time I dream about that house, never different.

I just wonder if something is still bothering me or trying to tell/communicate with me about something to do with the house or what?

Anyhow, thanks for reading my story. If you have any ideas you would like to share, your comments would be much appreciated.

In love and light.

Haunted K9 Unit Of Police Station

This story takes place at my Mother's work in the building that houses the K9 Unit and the Radio Control Room where the 10111 emergecy (also known as 911) calls are taken.

First I will tell you my experience in the Radio Control Room so please bear with me as this story is a bit lengthy, but its worth it.

Before this room became the 10111 command centre it was the Logistics Office where my Mother worked as part of the administration staff. The layout is pretty simple: It's right at the end of a very long hallway. As you enter through the large wooden doors with clear glass panelling, you walk directly into this massive room housing the employees.

When I was around 12 years old my Mother fetched me after school and took me back to work with her as she was working late that night and didn't want me home alone until late. I don't remember what time it was, but it was already dark outside. Bored with myself I sat in the middle of the room and spun myself around on one of the office chairs. I had a clear view of the door and all the way down to the other end of the hallway thanks to the glass panelling.

As I spun around and faced the door I saw a man, right at the other end of the hallway, walk from left to right. As he did this he looked directly at me before entering the small passage that lead to the other offices on the other side. I ignored it thinking its just another employee working late like my Mom, besides the lights were on in that side of the building so there must be someone working, right? Wrong! Again, the man walked by, but this time from right to left and again he looked directly at me. I mean this was like 2 minutes after he initially walked from left to right and we didn't hear any doors being unlocked or locked.

I turned to my Mom, who had her back to the door, and asked her who the man was. She asked me to describe him to her: Tall, white man with dark hair and a slight belly. He was wearing a blue and yellow checkered shirt with beige work pants. She told me not to worry about him and come and play Mario Bros on the computer next to her.

Later on, a few years later, I overheard my Mother telling my Aunt that John (not real name) was walking the hallways at work again. As I continued listening I realised she was talking about a paranormal event and I, loving the paranormal, asked her to tell the stories.

This is what she said: There was a man working on that floor who suffered from deep depression. Somehow he got hold of one of the officer's firearm and shot himself in the mens toilets. The suspicions were that the firearm was given to him, but the investigation died off. My Mother told me that she believed I saw him that night roaming the area where the mens toilets are. She didn't want to let on that I scared her that night so she just said not to worry. Now that I think of it I remember there was something odd about the way he was walking. His legs were moving, but his body didn't move with the strides he was taking. It was kind of gliding.

Forward to the beginning of this year (2012).

The old logistics room was now converted to the 10111 command centre. On this particular night there were 3 ladies on duty taking any emergency calls that got diverted to the command centre. The woman sitting closest to the door said that she kept hearing footsteps up and down the hallway, but it's not possible as the entire floor is locked off by a gate on each end of the hallway. This was done to ensure no uneccessary noise during dealing with emergencies. Anyway, the other 2 ladies evetually heard the footsteps too, but none of them were brave enough to go check it out as they know the story of John. After a while the 2 older ladies bullied (in a friendly way) the youngest of the 3 to go see if the Captain in charge over them didn't come upstairs to check on them (he has a key for the gates). She went to go check it out and walked all the way down to the other end of the hallway and came back quickly reporting that no one is there. Now the ladies are starting to get a little freaked out.

Later during their shift, and after the footsteps died down, one of them needed to use the ladies room. She was too scared to go on her own, but knew the other 2 couldn't leave their post in case calls came in. She manned up and went to the ladies room, which is situated opposite the mens room on the other end of the hallway. When she tried to leave the rest room the door wouldn't open. This door can only lock from the inside and the latch was open. She got so scared that she cried and banged on the door. Luckily the other ladies heard and one of them ran down to the toilet and opened the door without any hassle. The lady that got trapped was pretty shaken up, but decided to remain until her shift is over.

Haunted K9 Unit Of Police Station

Eventually their "lunch hour" arrived and the lady that was trapped inside couldn't shake the feeling of being stared at. The others told her it was just due to what happened earlier. While having her coffee she decided she was going to use her BlackBerry to take some pictures of the office they were in to see if she could capture anything. She only took about 3 pictures and when she looked at them, there VERY clearly, you can see an apparition!

At first look, just above the head of the lady wearing the black shirt, you can see the shape of a face. It's a misty apparition, but the features of eyes and mouth is there. If you look closely you will see that the apparition seems to be standing between the 2 women as the woman at the back (with the black shirt) has a misty blurr over her right shoulder.

Haunted House In Witbank

I finished nursing training, got married. Me and my husband at that time moved into a house in Witbank. (I say at that time because we were married for seven years then got divorced) We started a family. My son was born.

That house was creepy from the start. My husband is not sensitive for paranormal stuff. He couldn't feel the company I felt. When I walked down the passage I always turned around to see what was following me. Something was following me everywhere in that house and I was scared because this company I felt was very strong. I prayed a lot and I was very scared. Things attacked me at night by pinning me down and chocking me. A male voice called my name out one night it came loud from the foot end of our bed. I jumped over my husband to reach the light. He started to think I'm crazy because he couldn't hear anything and he was comfortable in the house. He was disturbed by nothing at all. I also started to think I'm crazy. I tried to ignore the situation but I couldn't because it was overwhelming me this presence in the house.

My son was born. He couldn't settle at night. He didn't cry but just couldn't sleep. He was awake almost all the time. I nursed him for stomach cramps and everything but something kept him awake. I moved his crib and I realized he was more relaxed on the other side of the room and we could at least sleep for the first time between feeding hours.

My son was two months old at the time we decided to get a watch dog. There were thugs in our yard one night when I got home from work and my husband was still at work. The next day he bought a beautiful Rottweiler male from the SPCA. We named him Blackjack. Blackjack couldn't settle at night either. He would all of a sudden start to bark at something we couldn't see and he would go wild for something in front of him and there would only be an empty space for whatever he is barking. I knew this dog saw something paranormal the way he was acting. I thought to myself, I'm not crazy after all.

One night I was stood in the kitchen busy making coffee for my husband and his friends that were outside working on a car. It was about seven o'clock at night. From where I was busy in the kitchen I could see the dining room and the passage that leads to the rest of the house. All of a sudden I saw him for the first time! He definitely came in from the front door running into the passage very fast as if he's running away for something. He was a thin one with a red long sleeve shirt on. The buttons were loose on the end of the sleeves. He had black tight fit trousers on with black pointer shoes. His hairstyle was short like army style and black. I could only see the back of his head. When I saw that it was mind over matter. I thought it could be a human but realized it's not. I was too scared to go after it. I called for my husband. He went into the house and said I'm crazy there is nobody.

I knew I was not crazy. I saw this thing it was enough for me to realize what I felt in that house is for real. I phoned my dad and he got someone from church to come and bless and cleanse the house. The man from church came and he said to me that there was a demonic force in the bedroom where we slept. The house settled for a while but started again after a view months. We luckily moved from that house. We stayed there for about a year.

Die grusame verhaal van Jan Prinsloo se Kloof

Jan Prinsloo se Kloof is ‘n weggesteekte stuk aarde in die Gamtoosriviervallei in die Oos-Kaap. Hierdie klein kloof is meer as 10 km van die naaste pad af en kan slegs deur ‘n rowwe, gevaarlike bergpas bereik word. Die kloof is sedert die 1860′s onbewoon, maar die ruïnes van die groot plaashuis en perdestalle staan steeds as herinnering van die ysingwekkende gebeure wat hier plaasgevind het.

Die storie loop as volg … in September 1860 het ‘n jong Engelse setlaar met die naam Stephen Goodrick by die kloof aangekom. Hy het Van der Meulen se plaas aangeskaf teen ‘n spotgoedkoop prys en kon nie sy gelukslag glo nie. Van der Meulen het verduidelik dat hy ‘n plaas in die Transvaal aangebied is, maar binnekort sou die jong Engelsman regtig verstaan waarom dié pragtige plaas en sy vrugbare grond so goedkoop was.

Die plaas het oorspronklik aan ‘n man met die naam Jan Prinsloo behoort, hy het selfs die kloof na homself vernoem. Hy het bekend gestaan as ‘n wrede, gevoellose man. Hy het geen familie gehad nie, en sy enigste vriende was boewe wat van tyd tot tyd kom wegkruip het op die plaas. Prinsloo het sy plaaswerkers soos gemors behandel en dit sou uiteindelik tot sy ondergang lei … Hy het eendag teruggekeer na sy plaas toe, en verneem dat 2 van die vrouens wat by hom werk hul kinders geneem het om besoek af te lê aan ‘n siek familielid in ‘n nabygeleë dorpie. Prinsloo was so ontsteld dat hulle sonder sy toestemming gegaan het, dat hy hulle mans vasgebind het, en met ‘n sambok geslaan het tot hulle nie meer kon loop nie. Daarna het hy die mans se vrouens aan die bome in die binnehof vasgebind en hulle ook met ‘n sambok beetgekry. Toe die kinders begin huil het hy hulle geskiet sonder om te skroom.

Na hierdie wreedhede het Prinsloo, soos gewoonlik, troos in ‘n bottel brandewyn gevind. Deur die loop van die aand besef Jan Prinsloo die werf is heeltemal te stil; elke liewe een van sy slawe het die plaas verlaat en hulle het Prinsloo se perde ook saamgeneem. Prinsloo het toe besluit om ook die pad te vat, voordat die slawe terugkeer om wraak te neem, maar dit was te laat. Sewe slawekrygers het op hom toegesak en hom op só grusame wyse vermoor en onthoof dat ek dit eerder nie hier sal noem nie.

Die absolute gewelddadigheid van daardie aand het die plaas ewig bygebly, en elke aand op die 15de Januarie speel die toneel weer af. Menige boer het sedertdien die plaas probeer bewoon, maar Godrick was die laaste een. Toe hy en sy gesin die herhaling van Prinsloo se gruweldood daardie aand aanskou, het hulle ook so gou as moontlik die plaas verlaat, en tot vandag toe nog is die plaas onbewoon en het die spoke nog nie rus gevind nie.

Die Kasteel

Dis redelik vanselfsprekend dat die oudste gebou in Suid-Afrika wat nog steeds in gebruik is, die tuiste van ‘n paar spoke sal wees. Veral in ‘n fort soos dié waar honderde gevangenes oor die jare aangehou en gemartel is. ‘n Besoek aan die Donker Gat, waar gevangenes in donkerte en koue aangehou is, terwyl die branders woes teen die Kasteelmure breek, is genoeg om jou rillings te gee. Die Donker Gat sowel as ander selle en martelkamers in Die Kasteel kan tot vandag toe nog besoek word.

Die een spook wat al hier gesien is, is ‘n grys dame wat baie hartseer lyk. Sy is ook al in die Tuynhuys gesien, want daar is blykbaar ‘n geheime tonnel wat die twee geboue verbind. Daar is in die 1900′s ‘n vrou se geraamte naby die ou uitvalpoort van die Kasteel opgegrawe, en sedertdien is die dame se spook nog nie weer gesien nie.

Verder is daar ‘n groot, swart hond met bloedrooi oë wat in die gange van die Kasteel spook. Die bekendste spook in die Kasteel is dié van Goewerneur Pieter Gysbert van Noodt, ‘n wrede man wat bekend was vir sy mishandeling van die slawe en soldate. Hy het een aand skielik en onverwags in die Kasteel heengegaan in April 1729. Dalk het sy skuldige gewete gemaak dat hy nooit rus kon vind nie …

De Vliegende Hollander

Die Flying Dutchman spookstorie is veral deur die Pirates of the Caribbean film-trilogie bekend gemaak. Spookskepe van ander dele van die wêreld word dikwels ook die Flying Dutchman genoem, maar dié spookskip van Kaptein Hendrik van der Decken wat steeds die Kaap probeer omseil, is die ware Jakob.

Kaptein Hendrik van der Decken en sy bemanning was in 1641 so haastig om by die huis te kom, dat hulle nie omsigtig genoeg met die sterk wind en onheilspellende wolke omgegaan het nie. Dit was te laat om terug te draai, al het van der Decken se bemanning ook hóé gesmeek. Die Kaptein het geweier en het gesweer dat hy die Kaap van Goeie Hoop sal omseil, al moet hy tot die oordeelsdag toe probeer – en dis presies wat hulle steeds doen. Die Flying Dutchman is gedoem om tot in ewigheid op die see te vaar. Hul probeer nodeloos boodskappe aan ander skepe oorhandig vir hul families by die huis, maar as jy een van die briewe aanvaar, is jy verseker gedoem.

Van der Decken het misluk in sy poging om die Kaap te omseil, maar word tot vandag toe nog gesien deur ander skepe aan die Kaapse kus. Die bekendste besigtiging van die skip is in 1881 op die HMS Bacchante deur die man wat later Koning George V van Brittanje sou wees. In 1939 het ‘n groep mense duidelik gesien hoe die Flying Dutchman langs die kus by Muizenberg seil, en in 1959 het die skip Straat Majelhaen gesien hoe die spookskip vinnig op hulle afkom en toe weer skielik verdwyn.

Suid-Afrika

Min lande het soveel stories om te vertel soos onse Suid-Afrika. En Suid-Afrikaners is mal daaroor om stories te vertel – die bewyse staan om elke kampvuur. Ons land is ‘n smeltkroes van kulture wat elk help weef het aan die unieke tapisserie stories wat ons vandag ken (en tientalle wat ons nog nie ken nie, of al lankal vergeet het). Ek het dit goed gedink om ‘n paar van Suid-Afrika se spookstories na te vors en neer te pen.

Driehoek se spoke

Van mnr. Naude af het ek weer 'n storie ontvang en dié maal was dit 'n storie oor dinge wat hy onthou uit sy kinderdae in 'n plaashuis. Die insident rondom die druppende bloed is nogal grillerig en 'n mens wonder onwillekeurig watter vreeslike daad daartoe kon aanleiding gee. Net die wandeling alleen deur so 'n ou, bouvallige plaashuis laat my al lekker kriewel. Maar kom ons gaan maak nou eers 'n draai saam met Louis op Driehoek...
Tannie Bes onthou dat dit in die ou dae op Driehoek gespook het. Sy sê dit was die mense se sondes wat tot die spokery aanleiding gegee het en dat die skuldiges van weleer snags daar rondgeloop het. Ek onthou dat pa ook by ‘n geleentheid of wat spookstories vertel het en gesê het dat dit beslis op die plaas gegoël het. Oom Boet, pa se blinde broer het ook die mooiste spookstories vertel, maar ongelukkig onthou ek of suster Petra nie veel hiervan nie. Ek wonder of hy ook die spoke gesien het of dalk met hulle gepraat het. Om te dink hy het lank stoksielalleen op die plaas gebly. Meteens het ek baie meer respek vir hom.
Pa het die storie vertel van die eentonige drup-geluid wat hulle soms in die aand in hul slaapkamer gehoor het. Toe hulle met die kers ondersoek instel, sien hulle helderrooi bloeddruppels wat uit die dak op die vloer val, sonder dat daar iets was wat gebloei het. Mens kon ook nie mooi sien presies waar die druppels vandaan kom nie. Sodra die druppels een vir een val, verdwyn hulle weer. Niemand kon ooit die raaisel oplos nie.

Ek onthou as klein seuntjie dat ons almal maar bang was om op Driehoek te slaap. Donker was daar, snags in die kliphuis, donkerder as die donkerste donker wat ek ooit in my lewe gesien het. Ek onthou daar was ‘n beeld van ‘n vrou sonder arms in die huis, beslis nie ‘n replika van die bekende Venus-beeld nie, wat baie onheilspellend gelyk het en ons was altyd baie bang vir dié beeld. Die vrou sonder arms het ‘n wrede uitdrukking in haar oë gehad en selfs in die dag so onheilspellend soos ‘n spook of ‘n bo-aardse wese gelyk. Dit was in elk geval maar altyd bedags ook half donker in die huis aangesien die vensters van die ou kliphuis baie klein was. As ek aan Driehoek terugdink dink ek altyd vaagweg aan die beeld van die vrou sonder arms en die gerugte van spoke. Ek onthou ma het een aand met ‘n kers geloop en waarskynlik ‘n weerkaatsing in ‘n ruit of iets dergliks, of dalk ‘n spook gesien en vreesaanjaend aan die gil gegaan. Haar bloedstollende gille bly my tot vandag toe nog helder by. Gelukkig was my blaas op daardie stadium nie vol nie.

Vroeg in 1995 het ek en my seun JP daardie gedeelte van Driehoek waar my pa grootgeword het vir die eerste keer na 1964 weer besoek. Dit was ‘n vreemde ervaring, en ons het, ofskoon dit nog helder dag was, die spoke se teenwoordigheid aangevoel. Van die eens karaktervolle ou plaashuis het net ‘n vervalle murasie oorgebly, ‘n volwaardige spookmurasie in eie reg. Die kenmerkende helderblou muur in die eetkamer was een van die uitstaande dinge wat ek dadelik herken het. Die kleur het net heelwat verbleik maar die diep blou was nog steeds daar. Dit is eienaardig dat ek blou, en veral potblou, altyd met dié muur assosieer. Met respek gesê, die grensdrade was reeds so verwoes dat dit nagtelike verkeer tussen die huis en die grafte kan vergemaklik. Die grafte was ook reeds baie verwaarloos. Selfs sondige sterflinge verdien nie so ‘n vervalle laaste rusplek nie, of rus hulle werklik? Langs die huis het ‘n ou motorwrak gelê, waarskynlik ‘n model uit die dertigerjare. Moontlik was dit een van die kinders se motors wie die ellendige ding net daar gelos het. Die enorme bloekomboom agter die huis waaronder ouma Sannie in haar kis gelê en wag het vir die begrafnis was nog daar, maar van die vrugteboord het nie veel oorgebly nie.

Tydens ‘n wandeling later middag deur die bouvallige kliphuis sonder dak het ‘n ligte windjie onheilspellend deur die murasie gefluit en my subtiel vermaan dat ons voor skemer daar moes wegkom, want meteens het die spookstories nie meer so vergesog geklink nie. In die wegry het ek nie een keer omgekyk nie. JP het die kar se deure gou gesluit. Ons kon die teenwoordigheid van die spoke letterlik aanvoel.

Die spoke op Driehoek het letterlik my gesin asook suster Petra en haar dogter se verbeelding aangegryp. Hulle wil Driehoek toe en self gaan kyk. Dit moet ook nie sommer net ‘n kort kykie wees nie. Nee, hulle wil in die ou huis gaan oornag. Verbeel jou!! Niks skrik hulle af nie. Mariette het tot die raad van die predikant gevra en hy het haar gerus gestel en gesê as dit by kyk bly en daar is nie ‘n doelbewuste poging om die geeste op te roep nie, die poging opsigself nie sonde is nie. Moontlik sal hierdie ekspedisie uitgestel word tot die Oktober-vakansie. Dit is nou Julie 2000, beslis te koud daar.

Die skraal vrou in die pikswart rok

Na hierdie webwerf ietwat van 'n reses beleef het was ek bly om die volgende storie van Louis Naude te kon ontvang. Hy sê dit kom uit 'n boek wat hy oor die familie Naude geskryf het. Louis, ek plaas dit hier met groot dank, en ek wonder tog wat se eienaardige dinge kon gebeur het as oom Piet wel sou gaan kyk het waar die geld begrawe is. Kom ons hoor wat vertel Louis.
Oom Sarel vertel ‘n ware spookstorie wat sy oom Piet hom vertel het. Oom Piet was oupagrootjie JP se halfbroer uit die huwelik tussen sy pa, groot-oupagrootjie JJ en sy tweede vrou, JPD Smit. Oom Piet was vreeslik gelowig en ‘n fyn kenner van die Bybel.
Tydens die Tweede Wêreldoorlog ontvang oom Piet ‘n berig dat sy oudste seun of vermis was, of gesneuwel het. Hy was baie ontsteld en wou ontsettend graag weet waar sy seun was. Daardie aand bulk die beeste verskriklik en oom Piet is in die helder maanlig uit om te gaan kyk wat aangaan. Naby die kraal voel hy iemand vat hom aan die skouer. Hy draai om en sien die skraal lang vrou met ‘n pikswart lang rok. Sy moes kompleet soos die prentjie van die heks met die besem gelyk het. Sy deel hom mee dat hy binne drie dae ‘n berig oor sy seun sou ontvang, en onmiddellik daarna is die vrou soos die wind die nag in.

Drie dae later ontvang oom Piet ‘n telegram wat sê sy seun leef. Sy blydskap was onkeerbaar en hy wou die geheimsinnige vrou in swart graag bedank. ’n Week of wat later bulk die beeste een aand weer verskriklik. Oom Piet is weer uit, en die lang vrou in die pikswart rok vrou vat hom weer naby die kraal aan die skouer. Sy sê dat daar baie geld op die plaas begrawe is en dat sy hom sal gaan wys waar om te grawe. Sy sal ‘n paar dae later een aand aan sy venster kom klop en hom die presiese plek van die fonds gaan wys. Onmiddellik daarna was die vrou weer weg.

Die betrokke aand hoor oom Piet ‘n sagte dog ferm klop aan die ruit van sy slaapkamer. Hy sien die lang vrou en meteens lyk haar rok swarter, haar oë onheilspellend, en haar wit tande besonder skerp in die aandlig. Oom Piet besef sy is van die bose en hy bedank haar aanbod. Hy sê vir haar dat hy ‘n kind van die Here is en dat hy hom nie met waarsêery en die bose ophou nie. Met ‘n vreesaanjaende klap van die tong en bo-aardse rammelende geluid is die vrou daar weg, en oom Piet kon die res van die nag nie ‘n oog toemaak nie.

Sy storie is oorvertel en het gou deur die hele plaas en die kontrei versprei. Vir etlike maande daarna is feitlik die hele Driehoek omgedolwe, maar geen pennie van die fortuin is gevind nie. Oom Sarel vertel ook die strorie dat ‘n sekere lid van die aangetroude familie om ‘n ander rede sy graaf gebruik het, snags in die kerkhowe, sodat die mense nie kon sien hy soek beendere vir sy onderaardse bedrywighede nie.

Die spooklig op Shuluwe

Van 'n meneer Bert van den Heever het ek die volgende storie ontvang wat handel oor 'n spooklig iewers in die destydse Noord-Rhodesië. Dit wys weer vir ons dat spoke in baie verskillende gedaantes kan voorkom en die leser sal waarskynlik ook herinner word aan spookagtige motorligte wat mens veral in bergpasse raakloop.


Ek het op 'n plaas, Shuluwe, buite Lusaka in Zambië grootgeword. My pa het 'n steenmakery op 'n gedeelte van die plaas ontwikkel en daar was dus 'n groot aantal werkers wat daardie dae op die plaas gebly het. Daar het, soos mens kon verwag, soms goed van ons plaaswerf "verdwyn". Kort voor een van hierdie diefstalle is ons waghond 'n stuk vleis met glastukke in gevoer en kon die diewe, na sy dood, sonder moeite die werf betree.
My pa het toe 'n nuwe jong hond aangeskaf en besluit om hom, van meet af aan, te kondisioneer om slegs kos op bevel te neem. So het dit dan gekom dat my pa een aand teen skemer, kos vir die hond voorgesit het, sonder om die bevel te gee dat hy mag eet. Pa het om die hoek van die plaashuis stelling in geneem om te loer of die hond dit sou waag om aan die kos te raak. Skielik (so vertel Pa) het die hond se hare gerys en het hy begin knor. Pa sien toe die hond knor vir 'n lanternlig wat 'n end daarvandaan oor die plaaswerf beweeg. Min het hy toe geweet hy sien dalk 'n spook!

Alhoewel die vreemde lig wyd en suid oor die plaas geswerf het, het dit tog met groter reëlmaat 'n roete langs die ou spoorlyn gevolg. Ekself het die lig 'n paar keer gesien, maar nooit van naby nie. Daardie "eer" sou net Pa te beurt val. Maar by daardie insident sal ek nog kom. Twee gebeure uit my kleuterdae kan ek nog goed onthou. Die nag met die verkyker en die oukersaand van 55. Dit was met ligte-uit een nag dat Pa weer die lanternlig gewaar het. Die verkyker is uitgehaal en daarmee het ons vir 'n baie lang ruk die doellose swerftog van die lig op die verste punt van die plaas gevolg. Ma en Pa het tot laat bespiegel oor wie dit kon wees. Pa was vas oortuig dat dit een van sy buurmanne was wat skelm op sy plaas jag. Hy het lank wakker gelê en luister vir 'n geweerskoot om sy vermoede te bevestig. Die nag het stil verbygegaan.

'n Paar maande later was dit Kersfees en is daar besluit dat al die familie en bure op ons plaas sou kom kuier om presente uit te deel. Kort na Kersvader se besoek, en terwyl ons kinders nog presente oopmaak, het die lig ook sy verskyning gemaak. Pa het skielik besef dat die lig nie 'n koplamp kan wees nie want al sy bure was dan daar saam met hom! Hy vertel toe vir almal van die vorige kere wat hy die lig gesien het. Die grootmense het ons klomp morrende kinders vinnig in motors gestop en laat waai agter die lig aan! Nodeloos om te sê, ons kon netnie die lig inhaal nie.

Pa het later vantyd een nag gaan jag. Hy was besig om deur ruig bos te stap toe hy die lig 'n end van hom af gewaar. Hy skakel toe sy eie koplamp af en bly staan. Die lig was immers op pad na hom toe! Hy vertel dat hy so staan en wag het om die kwaaijong met die lig vas te trek toe sy nekhare onwillekeurig begin rys. Die lig het kort daarna sowat tien tree van hom af verbygesweef. Daar was geen mensehand naby die lig nie! Net 'n gelerige bol lig soos die van 'n ou stormlantern wat oor die grond sweef. Pa is nie skaam om te vertel dat hy redelik vinnig huiswaarts gekeer het nie!

My oorlede Oom Jurie, wat ook oukersaand op die plaas was, het my jare later vertel dat hy met van die ouvolk op die plaas oor die lig gepraat het. Hulle was die oorblywendes van 'n stam wat donkiejare terug hulle in daardie wêreld gevestig het en hulle het half eenkant op die plaas gebly. Onder hulle was 'n baie ou man, wat ek nog vaagweg onthou, wat vir my oom toe vertel dat die lig aan die ou stasiemeester behoort. Hy was lief om in die aand met sy stormlantern langs die spoor te loop om inspeksie te doen. Hy is egter een nag in 'n rangeerongeluk dood. "Dis hy wat daar loop," het die ou man vertel. Na die stasiemeester se dood is die spoorlyn verlê om 'n styl hoogte te vermy maar die ou meester het bly loop op die roete van vergange se dae. Of daar waarheid in die ou man se storie steek kon nooit vasgestel word nie. Maar die lig is waar en baie mense kan daarvan getuig. Ek sal ook nie weet of die lig nog daar loop nie, ek sal verbaas wees as dit sou.

'n Paar jaar gelede het ons gesin, Ouma en Oupa inkluis, die kombi gepak en loop kyk hoe Shuluwe nou lyk. Buite Lusaka het ons met groot afwagting die afdraai na die plaas gevat. Daar was nie meer 'n boom in sig nie. Die ruie bosse van die vroeë vyftigs het veertig jaar later verdwyn in 'n stofgetrapte plakkerskamp wat tot op die gesigseinder gestrek het. Ek het onwillekeurig aan die lig gedink en met heimwee gewonder of die ou stasiemeester ook maar besluit het om pad te gee. Ons het omgedraai en op pad terug het Oupa die storie van die spooklig op Shuluwe aan my kroos oorvertel.

DIE DOODSKIS BY SYFERBULT

Die tweede storie van mev. S. de Villiers handel oor 'n gesig wat nie net haar oupa nie, maar ook haar oom tegelykertyd gesien het. Dit lyk vir my of voorbodes van 'n persoon se dood gewoonlik gepaard gaan met doodskiste, soos in die geval van Wikkie, van wie ek vroeër geskryf het.



My Oupa-hulle was maar arm en tot en met sy dood het hulle nie elektrisiteit gehad nie. (Daar is werklik mense in die Wes-Transvaal wat tot op hede nie elektrisiteit het nie !). Om televisie te kyk is die toestel aan die kar se battery gekoppel. 'n Kers is agter die televisie geplaas en drie of vier ander kerse en lampe is ook opgesteek sodat dit nie so donker is terwyl daar televisie gekyk word nie.
Ek vermoed dit was 'n tyd lank na my Ouma se dood in 1989 dat hy 'n "voorbode" gehad het. Hulle het die aand televisie gekyk soos hierbo beskryf. Hulle het 'n ruim kombuis gehad met 'n groot tafel in die middel. Die televisie het weg van die stoof teenaan die muur gestaan en die gasyskas was op daardie stadium teen die symuur van die vertrek. Om dus vanaf die televisie of die stoof na die yskas te loop, moes 'n mens noodwendig om die tafel beweeg. My Oupa-hulle het altyd by die tafel gesit en televisie kyk.

Meteens kom daar 'n doodskis uit die yskas geswewe! Die verskynsel het ongeveer ooghoogte stadig bokant die grond gesweef, oor die kombuistafel, deur die venster na die kamer langsaan en by dié se venster uit. My oom het dit ook gesien. Voorheen het my Ouma ook gesien wat my Oupa gesien het as sy naby hom was, en my oom het daardie aand naby my Oupa gesit sodat hy presies dieselfde ding gesien het! Ek kan nie onthou wie daarna dood is nie, maar daar was 'n begrafnis en dit was 'n kennis van my Oupa.

Glo dit of glo dit nie, maar dit is die waarheid. En daar is nog BAIE ander soortgelyke gevalle, nie net van my Oupa nie, maar ook my Ouma wat oorlede is, my ma se ouers, my ma self en my pa, almal nog in die land van die lewendes. Hierby reken ek nie eers die gevalle uit my man se familie nie !