A Haunting Memoir: Part one

 My story starts when I was a young child. I was born in Scotland but moved down to Somerset as a child. I loved it so much. I loved the flowers and the conkers I’d collect on the way to school. I remember all the frogs in my garden and how I'd name them. I moved twice down in England. The houses were always large and I’d get the rooms mixed up, trying to remember where to turn to find my bedroom. I would visit London where my relatives stayed. I loved the vibe of London. One visit to my Nans, we walked down to Church Street market and seeing so many interesting people. The one man with dreadlocks holding a large ghetto blaster on his shoulder playing Bob Marley passed me. I couldn’t get enough of the place. One stall had toys on it. I bought some wooden blocks and a handheld electronic mini piano. They were perfect mementos to remember my visit.

When we returned to Scotland I unpacked and placed my electronic piano on my bedside table. It had colours on the notes and London Bridge music above on the lid. I placed it on my bedside table and settled into bed, tired from the car journey from the journey to Scotland.

That night I woke up with a start. The keyboard was playing. I turned my lamp on. I looked at the bedside table but my keyboard wasn’t there. I was confused. I got up out of bed and searched the room, wondering if the piano was hidden somewhere and wondered if my sister was playing a trick on me. It was nowhere to be found. How can it vanish? I asked it to play two notes for yes and one for no.

“Did you live in this house?”

One note.

“Do you want to hurt me?”

Two notes.

“How old are you?”

All the notes started playing over and over continuously. I pulled the duvet up over my head. It wanted to hurt me. I fell asleep eventually under the covers with the lamp on. I didn’t dare look.

Next morning I woke up and I saw the piano next to me. How did that get there? I couldn’t understand how it was nowhere to be found the night before. Little did I realise this was the start of my experience with paranormal activity, that would then affect my own children once I got older.

After school my best friend came over and we were in the bathroom whilst I washed my hands after playing out in the garden. She jumped. I asked if she was okay.

“The glass just moved!”

The amber colour glass that we had in the bathroom was still in the same place on the shelf. Weird. I didn’t see anything and shrugged. Another time I walked into the bathroom upstairs and a mans voice very clearly said my name from above me. I ignored it and carried on walking. I told my mum what happened and she said nothing. If my mum ignored such things, so would I. Nothing happened for years until I was about thirteen.

My Nan, who lived in Scotland, sadly passed away. I remember being handed her rosary beads. I didn’t know anything about how to use them. My parents weren’t religious at all. I wasn’t allowed to be at her funeral, so I carried them with me for weeks. It felt like she was close to me and when I got sad I’d slide my hand into my coat and hold them. It helped me mourn her passing. A short time after, my mum moved me to the extension part of the house.

It was above the garage and I was happy as I loved that room. It was larger than the little room on the opposite side of the house.

The first Christmas I spent in that room, I fell asleep holding my Nan’s rosary beads in my hands, excited for Christmas morning. I awoke to find something glowing in front of me. It was the rosary beads. They weren’t green with the glow more a warm glow. It made me smile.

“Cool!” I looked at them moving them in my hands. I eventually fell back to sleep.

On Christmas morning I remember going downstairs and telling my dad as we opened Christmas presents how his mums rosary beads were glow in the dark. I thought it was the coolest thing ever. Only they weren’t. They never glowed again. It only happened on Christmas Eve night.

One day a few months later, I came back from town with a picture I liked. I took my dads hammer and a nail from his tool kit in the garage and hammered it into the wall. There was a very loud crack on the wall. What on Earth?

I walked through to my dads study that was adjacent to my room.

“Dad, I just tried to hang a picture on the wall but it made a loud cracking noise? The picture isn’t cracked though.”

My dad looked up from a box of books he had on his lower shelf. He looked up from his glasses.

“The wall is glass.”

“What? Why? That makes no sense!”

My dad went silent and looked at his bookshelf that was against the same wall.

“It was a weird set up when I viewed the house. The glass wall separated the daughters room and this room. The dad had a desk and was studying something with the curtains on this side. I plastered over it and put the wallpaper on before we moved in.

So the daughter had no privacy? I screwed my face up and walked back through. Put the picture to one side of my desk. I suddenly remembered that I had a strange encounter in town shortly after we moved. My mum took me into a little café a month after we moved. A mum and her two daughters were at a table and my mum recognised them.

“Hello, how are you?” She asked the woman.

“Fine. Are you still in the house?” The woman asked.

“Yes.” My mum replied.

It struck me as strange as we only just moved in. Why would me move out so quickly?

The woman hurriedly got up and left with her children. My mum explained that was the woman whose house we bought.

What happened to one of the daughters that they had to study her and why we would move out so fast? How curious. I pushed it to the back on my mind. Then one night a thump happened above my head. Thinking a large bird may have landed I shut my eyes again.

Loud footsteps were walking from one side of the roof to the other, dragging something heavy.

My heart beat so fast. What was that?

Tap tap tap tap

Little footsteps ran next to the adult footsteps. What was happening?

The little footsteps then skipped and stopped. The large footsteps then walked back up.

The roof was completely flat on the extension. There was no attic above me. This bizarre incident repeated every night for months.

I’m going crazy I thought. This isn’t real. It can’t be. I was sleeping well before this. Sleep deprivation perhaps? No. I was sleeping until the noises woke me up. I couldn’t tell my parents. Anything strange would be met with silence. One time my mum walked into the kitchen to pour wine for her and my dad and she screamed. She came running through where I played cards with my dad on the wooden table.

“I put the bottle of wine on the side and when I went to take the bottle opener over to it - it was open! The cork was on the side.”

“That’s helpful.” My dad said and smirked. His pipe wafting a woodland scent in the ashtray.

Another time, we went to visit the local abbey as they were digging some of the ground up. They found bodies. We passed the people excavating the area when my mum jumped.

“What was that?” my mum asked turning around. “Something hit me on my shoulder.”

“You’ve been touched.” My dad laughed.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

Nobody told me.

We returned home after visiting the abbey and my mum asked me to make her a cup of tea when we got home. I entered the kitchen and turned the kettle on. I opened the fridge to get the milk out and froze. The bread was in the door of the fridge but there was no milk.

“Mum!” I called my mum, who came in to see what had happened.

I put the bread in the cupboard where it was kept and the milk was in the cupboard. My mum looked and said nothing. I knew the response was to say nothing. I continued making my mum a cup of tea. These things were simply not spoken about.

Eventually I ignored the bangs and footsteps at night. Is was so frequent I got used to it.

A selfie in the 90's needed a mirror and a camera  

One night I decided to invite my friend over from school. She was the coolest girl I knew. She was the most intelligent and loved Nirvana and talked about the new group Oasis who she saw playing at a club in Glasgow. Her ripped jeans and check shirts were so cool. My parents always said I had to look smart and presentable. I always wanted to wear ripped jeans and listen to cool music like she did.

On the sleepover we watched the show Blossom on the tv and settled down. She was in a sleeping bag on the floor. I feel asleep.

“Collette! Make it stop!”

I woke up confused.

“What? What’s up?”

The footsteps were walking on top of the roof.

“You can hear that?” I was so relieved - I wasn’t crazy.

“What is it? Make it stop!”

I had never heard her scared before. I turned my lamp on.

“I don’t know what it is. It’s been happening for weeks now! I’m so happy you can hear that, I thought I was going crazy.”

“I can hear it! I don’t want it to hurt me.”

I reassured her it hasn’t hurt me and she would be fine. I kept the light on for the rest of the night.

Needless to say she never came back again. Quite frankly, I didn’t blame her. I wish I could leave the house.

The view from the top bannister overlooking the stairs.

I was working on my art portfolio at my desk one night after school. It was dark outside. A typical winters day.

“Collette!”

My mum shouted from downstairs. I put my paint brush down and walked downstairs. She was stirring a saucepan in the stove.

“What is it mum?”

“Go into the garage. There’s strange noises coming from it for the past five minutes.”

I knew to do what I was told. I reluctantly walked towards the kitchen door.

“Wait - Take this.”

My mum passed me a large kitchen knife.

What was she expecting was in there? Had someone broken in? I could hear something being moved. I walked down the step on to passageway floor. The concrete passageway was cold on my feet. Only wearing socks, I wished I'd put my slippers on.

My mum closed the door leaving me in darkness in the passageway. I felt scared, I knew I had to enter and switch the light on to see.

I put my hand on the cold round handle and turned it. Darkness. I realised in that moment - I was expendable. If I died in here, would my mum tell people she sent me in? Of course not. Stupid thought. I turned the key in the door of the garage and opened it.

I quickly put my hand to the side of the garage wall and switched the light on, praying there were no spiders. I took a step inside the garage. I didn’t want to enter but if I didn’t search it I knew my mum would make me go in again and tell my dad. I tried to swallow but my throat was incredibly dry. My dads two motorbikes were under old sheets in the centre of the garage. I walked around them scanning the shelf of jars of nuts, screws, an oil can, that scent hit my senses. It smelled strong. I walked to the end by the garage door. Nothing strange so far.

I'd better check my dads motorbikes. I hated this. I knew I had to lift the sheets up. I lifted the sheet up in front of me. A white BMW motorbike similar to that the police use stood there. I couldn’t understand why my dad kept this bike. He complained it was so heavy, and he came off of it a couple of times when he turned corners. No damage was done. I put the sheet down and lifted the sheet next to it. The Triumph motorbike looked in good condition. The paintwork gleamed in the light. I put the sheet down and walked towards the door. My heart pounding. I walked towards the door but felt like there was something large behind me. I hoped not to see the dark hooded shadow person. Such a cliché! God please don’t let whatever is behind me, get me. My heart pounding, my dry throat and clammy hand around the knife wouldn’t protect me.

What did my mum give me the knife for? Clearly whatever this is, isn’t a solid being. If I swiped at it to protect myself - it would go through it! I reached the door determined not to look behind me. I stood in the passageway locking it as I stood in darkness.

I walked up the step to the kitchen to see my mum still standing over whatever she was making for my dads dinner.

“There’s nothing there. Dads bikes are fine.” Placing the kitchen knife on the sideboard next to her.

BANG CRASH BANG

“I’m not going back in here! You can!”

I turned around quickly, feeling angry at my mum for sending me in. I climbed the first set of stairs then the second set of stairs, turning left and climbing more stairs. I got into my room. I was so angry I had to do that.

I collapsed on my bed and looked at the ceiling. What was in there? Why had it spared me? It was throwing something in there - yet nothing was out of place.

If this happened again I knew my mum didn’t care to save me. That’s the hardest thing to accept. Mums love and protect their children… don’t they? I guess not. As I lay there I could still feel my heart pounding in my chest. I closed my eyes trying to breathe in slowly and out, to calm myself.

The next morning the sun shone through my curtains, waking me before the alarm went off. I sorted myself out and I went to school like nothing had happened.

Incidents in the home came without warning. It followed no particular pattern, except the thump on my bedroom roof. The two sets of footsteps. One adult, one child. Something large being dragged across the flat roof. The knock on the window was new. What was that high up that could knock? They would need some spectacular flying skills or a ladder. No way was I opening the curtain that night. I’d hear movements in my room and sometimes hear scratching and like something was being torn. Every time I turned the light on expecting me to find mice, the noise stopped.

My mum called me from downstairs after school one day. I ran down and found her in the garage.

“ What have you done to your bedding?!”

She held up my bed valance. She held it up in the light and I saw large torn strips in her hands. The ripping noise at night. Something tore my valance in strips. That noise happened while I was in bed. Something did that whilst I was in it.

My heart pounded.

“Mum, I swear I didn’t do that! I heard scratching and ripping at night and thought it was a mouse.”

My heart pounded. This wasn’t fair - I didn’t do that.

She dismissed me, so I returned to my bedroom.

I was painting a picture on an easel at my bedroom table. Thankfully my school gave me the easel to use at home. It was dark so early, and cold. I closed my curtains and put the light on. I got a small dish of water and some kitchen paper. I placed the water on the left side of the desk as I was left handed and the paper was to the right as it was easy to put in the bin. I was painting a girl by a window with a cat. The sky was painted purple and blue with snow falling. I was enjoying painting for a Christmas card competition in High school. After an hour, I put my paintbrush into the dish to clean it before applying a different colour, and the dish had vanished. The brush hit the desk. Odd. I screwed my face up and looked at the desk. It was nowhere to be found. I got up from my chair and looked under the desk. It had vanished. I knew I would have noticed if it fell off the desk as I would have got water everywhere. However it vanished. I walked downstairs to get another empty jar and fill it with water to finish my painting. Baffled, I took another empty jar out of the cupboard and filled it with water took it upstairs. As I  walked into my room I was annoyed I had to fetch more water, disrupting my painting, I wiped the brush with my paper towel and walked to the bin at the end of the desk. There was the dish with water, sitting upright. There weren't any drops of water anywhere around it. How did that get there? It was on the far side of the desk. I took it out of the bin and walked downstairs to empty it. Being left handed, if it were to fall it would have fallen on the left side of the desk - not at the far right of the desk, and without spilling a drop. 

Study leave was soon upon me. I needed the grades to get into art college. My portfolio was in my room. I sat at my desk for three days with various books scattered around. On the fourth day I took a shower and walked upstairs to get changed. I stood in my room and listened to the birds singing outside when BANG. I hurried downstairs as fast as I could and opened the front door, my heart beat fast and I looked up and down the street. Had the washing machine exploded? All my neighbours were at work. There was nobody in sight. I have no idea how long I stood there for -Just then it suddenly occurred to me I was in nothing but a towel. Feeling silly I shut the door and hurried up the stairs.

I grabbed my jeans and black sweater and cautiously walked down the stairs looking for smoke. Signs of an explosion. The sun shone bright in to the lounge and kitchen. My throat went dry again. Was I equipped to deal with an exploding washing machine? I know we didn’t own a fire extinguisher. I unlocked the kitchen door. I froze. All the contents of the shelves and cupboards in the passageway were lying all over the ground.

How the hell… taking in the mess strewn down on the ground. The cupboard doors were all open. What would cause that? It struck me - was the back door locked that leads out the back? Did someone come in and do this? I turned around and checked the locks on the door. The top and bottom were locked. I tried the handle of the garage door. Locked. Whatever did this was inside the house. Inside this passageway.

I tried to remember what went where. I hoped my parents wouldn’t get angry with me if they went into a cupboard and it had been put in the wrong place, or they couldn’t find something. I picked a box up from the ground. It made a tinkling noise. Whatever was in there was broken. I will plead ignorance. I wasn’t going to tell them what happened. It’s not logical. Things don’t fly off shelves and fly out cupboards of their own accord, making the loudest explosion I’ve ever heard. I picked up some Tupperware boxes, silver dessert dishes, a case of silver cutlery that had fallen open. I hadn’t seen them before. I haven’t seen a lot of items from one of our many moves. I placed everything back. It took me over an hour to tidy it.

This home was haunted. I found an old book on witchcraft in my dads study. The pages were typed. The covering of the book was wrapped in green material. One spell read to take the key of your chamber and tie it to a page in a bible. Tie ribbon around it and twist it so it’s wrapped tightly. Let it go and whichever letter is on the eye of the key is the letter of your future husband. Chamber? Who has a key to their chamber? Did that mean bedroom? I took that book with me when I left home. I moved to live in Edinburgh as soon as I could. I didn’t go to art college.

I left home with that spell book and left it with my old flatmate in Edinburgh. Little did I know that this was just the start of things.

This story will continue in my next blog post and my contact with Lorraine Warren.