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Buddy’s Ghost Was At The Theater And I Almost Said Hello

I once related the story of seeing my long-dead uncle driving past in a car. A learned, and much older gentleman, told others that I had had the common experience of seeing dead people. Up to that point, I didn’t know it was common. I’m not sure it is, as no one else has mentioned it to me.

But, at any rate, I saw Buddy’s ghost at the theater last night. It still takes me by surprise, though it no longer startles me. And I didn’t say “Hello”, because I thought it would startle the person, dead or not.

And a theater was the right place, for Buddy was an actor. A professional actor in his younger days, with a country-wide reputation. When I knew him, he had settled into being a theater/acting/directing teacher, affiliated with a university. He still did some turns on the stage. His advice was sought. His company was enjoyed. His personality was appreciated. Never boring. Never a bore.

And he was a damn good chef.  And a great story-teller over his meals.

And, at the theater, when I saw his ghost, there was his hat. Buddy could be a snazzy dresser. This guy was a snazzy dresser – stood out in the crowd – though I only saw him but the once. Not unusual that. I didn’t expect to see him again. I never saw my uncle again, either.

And – when all is said and done – I didn’t really have anything to say.

“How’s it going?”

“Well – you know.”

“How’s it going?”

“Well – you know. Much as you expect.”

“How’s it going?”

“You’ll know soon enough.”

I didn’t really expect to be told of Elysian Fields or Thrones of Gold or What is in Shakespeare’s tomb.

So, I didn’t approach him, and say “Hello”. And make him turn around.

And – in truth – a day later, I’m not so sure about the hat.

DE

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The Ghost Ship Under Full Sail And Flaming On Halloween

As the Lighthouse Keeper

On Partridge Island

I see a lot,

Whether I want to or not.

And I’ve seen her before,

The Flaming Ghost ship,

On the dread of All Hallows.

But you never really know.

But this time,

Paw, my cat/kitten

Black as Satan

With one white mitten,

Saw her too.

And didn’t like what he saw.

But he’s a brave soul,

And didn’t leave my side.

So we stayed in the Tower,

And watched from the windows,

The light circling behind us.

The flames coming from the dark,

Full sails, all unfurled,

And all ravaged by flames

That never burned out.

And the deck,

And the gunwales

From prow to stern,

And the sailors.

Those poor lads,

Never consumed

As the full-of-flame ship

Passed the mouth of the harbour.

And what could I do,

But touch the life that was Paw,

Feel his fur, and his breath,

With one hand,

While I made a shaky

Sign of the Cross,

On my chest.

With the other.

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2022 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report

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A True, Honest-to-God Ghost Story That Really Happened

I experienced nothing but fright, but the touch is without question

.
  I was visiting the Bay of Fundy island of Grand Manan.

 I had booked a room in a bed and breakfast and arrived mid-evening. I went elsewhere for a meal, but did meet the owners, and noted there were a couple of others staying there. I returned around eleven, chatted to the owners and one guest, then went up to bed.

The room was top of the stairs and across a landing. Comfortably rustic with a radio. The bed was fine and I was not long getting to sleep.

  In the dead of the dark (no street lights here) I was awakened by the touch of hands on me. I was sleeping on my left side. One hand was over my groin and the other on my chest. There was also the weight of a body next to me and the pressure of an arm across my side.

I was initially surprised and confused but not frightened. Time probably stretched but it seems to me I lay like this for ten or fifteen seconds. Then, the very first coherent thought which came to me was that someone laying behind me could not have both arms over my body. There could not be two hands placed on the front of my body.

  I got out of bed very quickly and did indeed experience fear. I turned on the overhead light but saw nothing. I heard nothing. The temperature was not unusual. I was frightened and certainly uncomfortable, but I can’t say that that aura was present.

I went to the bathroom across the landing. The house was silent.

I returned to the bedroom, thinking both of leaving the light on and turning on the radio. But then I thought that that was just giving into fear, and might encourage the fear instead of ease it, so I did neither. I did not seem to take very long to get to sleep.  

The next morning I went downstairs for breakfast. I heard the owner talking to two other guests as I approached the kitchen.

Just as I entered she interrupted her conversation and turned to me. She said: “Let’s ask him. He’s the one sleeping in the haunted room.”  

I don’t know if they had been talking about ghosts or if something else had happened in the night. I relayed my experience and the owner then told the story of the house.

As with many buildings on the island it had been a farm house, with the owners also fishing. It was a century or more old and left to a daughter. When she herself got old and could not look after it, her family forced her to leave, something she fought against.

The present owners then bought the building and started taking in guests. However, whenever they attempted renovations, they were discouraged by having paint cans overturned, new wallpaper peeled from the wall, ladders moved, hammers and such hidden.

  The new owners’ daughter lived next door, and looked after the house when her parents went away (trips to Florida in the winter). She inevitably had to come over to the house and close doors, turn off lights, put furniture back in place.  

The old woman who was forced to leave had the reputation of being a mean and unpleasant person. I don’t know if she was taking a liking to me or not.

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Alison Alexandra Has Novel Expectations That Don’t Have A Ghost Of A Chance In The Pandemic

“I’d like Bridget to meet you,” says Alison Alexandra.

“No.” R/Jane-the-Ghost shakes her head. “That can’t happen.”

“She’s my cousin,” says Alison Alexandra. “Blood relation, and straight as a die.”

“No – that’s not the way it works.” R/Jane-the-Ghost smiles. “Even though I like your little pun. Trust me.”

“She’s been to the Mansion.”

“Not my department,” says R/Jane-the-Ghost. “As you know – I have not.”

“I’ve noticed that,” says Alison Alexandra.

“Different stages of departure,” says R/Jane-the-Ghost. “As for me – I am well and truly dead.”

“Well then.” Alison Alexandra actually tries to see her companion. “Do you have any advice?”

“About what?”

“How to deal with this Pandemic?”

“You’ve got booze stacked away?”

“Yes. And more coming.”

“Then that pretty well covers it,” says R/Jane-the-Ghost. “Creature comforts for the creature. Your spirit will take care of itself.”

“Body and soul,” suggests Alison Alexandra.

“When threatened, your body will be more aware of your soul.” R/Jane-the-Ghost smiles. “The booze will make it easier for you to say ‘hello’.”

“Cousin Bridget would like to know that.”

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Warnings From The Dead Who Do Not Wish Us Well On Halloween

On Partridge Island,


On Halloween,


This Lighthouse keeper


And his cat/kitten,


Black as the night


With one white mitten,


Named

(would you guess it}


Paw,


Will stay put,


Except to check the Light.


For the night is neither


Calm nor inviting.


To humans

And cat/kittens.


But the Dead,


The Souls,


The restless Spirits.


Oh,


You can feel their oppression,


From one end


Of the Island


To the other.


And the revolving Light,


From atop


Its solid Tower,


Gives them no peace.


They want to come back.


They want things as they were.


These are the poor


Spirits


Who left,


Unfulfilled.


I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2021 / (A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

DE BA. UEL

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Ghost Stories Wait For Me To Walk Past

ghost,ghost stories,book,Halloween,portent,spirits,death,dead,library,lend,authors,history,spooks,

Yesterday, on the penultimate day before All Hallows, I was out for my evening walk k, going at dusk to take in the Halloween decorations. And, many there were. The most pleasing (even more than the wedding dress hanging from a tree as if a Ghost)was a pair of skull chandeliers, gracing either side of a Bay window in a brick house. It’s true, I might not have entered.

On my return circuit, I passed one of those small wooden frame libraries which have sprung up in may cities. Looking like a small house, often with a glass pane door, there are usually three shelves which hold books. I’d guess usually 100 – 150 books. The books are donated by anyone who wants to give their books a second chance, and a person can take from them what they want. But last night, there it swung. I went to close and latch it, but thought I’d look in at the books. And there, facing out instead of spine to, was:

The Literary Ghost: Great Contemporary Ghost Stories

edited by Larry Dark, Other Atlantic Monthly Press 1991. The book blurb states:“…28 subtly disturbing, enigmatic modern tales are distinguished by global settings, some memorable ghostly narrators and the depiction of various religious beliefs about the spirit world:” Among the authors are Muriel Spark, Isaac Bashevis Singer, Joyce Carol Oates,Graham Greene, Robertson Davies and Nadine Gordimer

I do like to think I can take a hint.

I closed and latched the door, and brought the book home.

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The Gathering Storm Of Souls Wait For Halloween On Partridge Island

Paw, the Cat/Kitten,


Black as Night itself,


With one white mitten,


Is not leaving my side

And


I am glad of it.


Paw knows far better,


And sees far further,


Than me,


The gathering of spirits,


The quarrelsome ghosts,


Pushing past the boundaries


Of the Other Side


In their desire to

Reunite
With life on This Side,

Quite frankly,

I am going to follow Paw,


On this penultimate night.


Before All Hallow’s Night,


All Souls Night,


Halloween,


And hope that he,


Kitten or not,


Is going to


Stay close


To Home.


I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2021 / (A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

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True Ghost Story – A Close Encounter of the Sixth Kind – For Halloween

A true story for All Hallows’ Eve, although it did not happen on Halloween.


And, I steal my title from the list of types of encounters with UFOs and Aliens from Space, where actual physical encounters result in injury or death. Admittedly, I experienced nothing but fright, but the touch is without question

.
  I was visiting the Bay of Fundy island of Grand Manan.

 I had booked a room in a bed and breakfast and arrived mid-evening. I went elsewhere for a meal, but did meet the owners, and noted there were a couple of others staying there. I returned around eleven, chatted to the owners and one guest, then went up to bed.

The room was top of the stairs and across a landing. Comfortably rustic with a radio. The bed was fine and I was not long getting to sleep.

  In the dead of the dark (no street lights here) I was awakened by the touch of hands on me. I was sleeping on my left side. One hand was over my groin and the other on my chest. There was also the weight of a body next to me and the pressure of an arm across my side.

I was initially surprised and confused but not frightened. Time probably stretched but it seems to me I lay like this for ten or fifteen seconds. Then, the very first coherent thought which came to me was that someone laying behind me could not have both arms over my body. There could not be two hands placed on the front of my body.

  I got out of bed very quickly and did indeed experience fear. I turned on the overhead light but saw nothing. I heard nothing. The temperature was not unusual. I was frightened and certainly uncomfortable, but I can’t say that that aura was present.

I went to the bathroom across the landing. The house was silent.

I returned to the bedroom, thinking both of leaving the light on and turning on the radio. But then I thought that that was just giving into fear, and might encourage the fear instead of ease it, so I did neither. I did not seem to take very long to get to sleep.  

The next morning I went downstairs for breakfast. I heard the owner talking to two other guests as I approached the kitchen.

Just as I entered she interrupted her conversation and turned to me. She said: “Let’s ask him. He’s the one sleeping in the haunted room.”  

I don’t know if they had been talking about ghosts or if something else had happened in the night. I relayed my experience and the owner then told the story of the house.

As with many buildings on the island it had been a farm house, with the owners also fishing. It was a century or more old and left to a daughter. When she herself got old and could not look after it, her family forced her to leave, something she fought against.

The present owners then bought the building and started taking in guests. However, whenever they attempted renovations, they were discouraged by having paint cans overturned, new wallpaper peeled from the wall, ladders moved, hammers and such hidden.

  The new owners’ daughter lived next door, and looked after the house when her parents went away (trips to Florida in the winter). She inevitably had to come over to the house and close doors, turn off lights, put furniture back in place.  

The old woman who was forced to leave had the reputation of being a mean and unpleasant person. I don’t know if she was taking a liking to me or not.

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It Is The Full Moon / That Spooks The Crow / And Makes Me Wonder / What They Know

The crows are agitated


As they pause,

And perch,

On Partridge Island.,


Before they continue


On their way


To


Wherever that might be.


They spook


Paw the kitten,


Black as a crow


With one white mitten,


Who has been looking


At the moon,


Over his shoulder,

These last few nights


Before he comes in.


As it gets more,


And more,


Full.


Lighting the

way


To the Ghost’s night,


When the Dead


Appear


From the

Other Side,


On


All Hallows’ Eve.


I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2021 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}DE BA. UEL

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