exorcising your spirits while exercising your lungs

This is another old blog from my 360 archive. It was written in response to a Halloween themed tour that was facilitated by a blogger called Rural Diva. On 360 we would have regular tours where one blogger would suggest a theme and whoever wanted to would respond by writing a blog in response to that theme. We would all post these blogs on an appointed day. The host would list these bloggers on his or her blog and we would read and comment on each other’s blogs. I remember that this particular blog elicited a couple of truly terrifying stories (remember yours, Jacqui BB?). Anyhow, below is the blog I wrote. Sceptics should look away now.

I do not have an actual story to tell about ghosts. In that I mean that my encounters with the supernatural have been a matter of a brief encounter here and there rather than a full blown and self contained sequence of events. The word ‘story’ suggests to me a narrative along the lines of ‘I was here, I saw this, so my friend suggested we do that, and then THIS happened, and I hid there, and we waved that, and we all said “Ah Ha!” and then we went home.’ My encounters have been a matter of a glimpse, a scream, thinking “I don’t believe I saw that”, and then leaving the lights on for the rest of the night.

Such encounters include once hearing the ghost of my family’s cat Blackjack shortly after he died – hearing his little feet pad softly across the floor just a couple of feet in front of me and hearing him meow (even though there was nothing to see). Another time I was staying at a lovely bed and breakfast in Edinburgh. One day I saw the figure of an elderly man dressed in modern grey jacket and pants standing at the foot of my bed with his head bowed. I shrieked and he faded into nothingness. Yet another time in my life, over a period of several weeks, I would suddenly smell a woman’s perfume around me. The smell would arise in odd circumstances where it could not otherwise be explained, and then just as suddenly disappear.

There is a ghost attached to the theatre run by the organisation I used to work for. I saw him a few times. He is a young Caucasian man, tall with light brown hair cut short and wearing a dark brown top. I saw him backstage and also sitting in the seats out the front – I get the impression that he liked watching us rehearse. And I have corroboration on this one – a set designer for one of our productions a few years ago saw him as well. There is one part of backstage – our loft costumes are stored – that had a definite atmosphere. Our director in residence said that she didn’t like being alone there and neither did I. Yet I didn’t get any malicious vibes from this boy – he just quietly sat and observed.

About 10 years ago I lived in a bed-sitter in North Melbourne. My mother came to visit me and slept over one night. We both heard foot steps walk across the floor several times during the night. Quite often when people think they hear ghosts walking in a house they are actually just hearing wooden floor boards expanding or contracting due to a change in temperature as night falls. This was not the case here – the floor was carpet on concrete.

During the encounters I have so far described my behaviour has been consistent. To my shame I have to admit that it is nothing to be proud of. I am a wimp. A coward. A scaredy cat extraordinaire. A glimpse of anything eerie elicits great yells of alarm, vigorous and colourful blaspheming and inventive streams of profanity. And after I calm down and, eventually, stop trembling I feel like such a booby. You see, none of the aforementioned ghosts did anything threatening. None of them evoked an atmosphere that was menacing or sinister or evil. The worst I can say of them was that their appearances were unexpected. Furthermore, if I got any impression from them at all, it was that of sadness. There was something forlorn about their appearances. And, in retrospect, I feel like such a churl. Imagine being a ghost. Imagine being stuck in the same old place all the time, maybe feeling confused or traumatised about your new disembodied state. Imagine girding your non existent loins, grinding your spectral teeth and finally managing to manifest in front of some helpful looking person… only to have them shriek and swear at you.

A few weeks ago I was in a bar on Lygon Street and I went to the toilet. Here I encountered the shade of a young girl who had died there. I was astonished (as I always am) but fortunately a little more mindful. I suggested to this girl that there were better places for her to be, and that she didn’t have to spend eternity in a toilet. So maybe I am improving.

But not all of my brief encounters have involved entities that deserved or invited sympathy. I awoke one evening to find 3 tall figures, 2 men and a woman, clad in dark cloaks gathering around my bed. They had sallow faces, dark hair, and the expression in their black eyes was intent and cruel. I instinctively sat bolt upright and screamed “Who the hell are you?” at each one in turn. And as I did this each one in turn disappeared. Another time I was walking around my bedroom when an entity that was shaped like a black cloud exploded into the room. I spun around and just instinctively roared “NO!” and that entity then disappeared too.

But you should have heard me the night I found the nasty boy in my bed. I had hopped into bed, turned off the bedside lamp, pulled my nice warm doona up to my chin and, prior to shutting my eyes and going to sleep, turned on my side to find my face inches away from that of a young man. He lay with the side of his face on my pillow. He had wavy brown hair, a pointed chin but round cheeks. He laughed into my face and the impression I got was one of enormous malice. What I yelled during the next few seconds is literally unprintable. His expression froze and then he, too disappeared. Fortunately I never saw him again. Maybe my choice vocabulary scared him off.

I have read that harmful ghosts or demonic entities should be dealt with by saying a prayer or evoking the name of your chosen guardian spirits, angels or Gods. Does “Jesus F*&%#ing H Christ” shrieked at the top of one’s lungs count as prayer or invocation? If it does then I am safe for life. I have also heard that any work against the occult forces should be performed with a clear intent and a strong focus of magical will. Is roaring “F*&%# OFF!!!” at glass shattering intensity sufficient to achieve this, do you think? I certainly hope so, because it seems to be my knee jerk reaction to any visits from the other plane. The funny (but true) thing is that they do seem to have done the trick… Perhaps as a relatively harmless human being, albeit with a terribly offensive vocabulary, I have more grace than the most determined demon. That is a comforting thought.

I will sign off here. I haven’t told you the story about the black demon snakes in my laundry basket or about the time I was visited by the angel. These are true stories but sound a bit way out in the telling, and I am too shy to expose them to the gaze of the sceptics in blogland.