Seaside Ghost
This happened on Christmas Eve, 1961. I had returned from college in London to spend Christmas in my hometown of Scarborough, on the north-east coast of England. In the afternoon, I went into the centre of town to buy Christmas presents. At about 4 p.m., I was ready to return home. Scarborough has two bays divided by a headland on which stands a ruined castle. A road, the Marine Drive, runs round the bottom of the headland from one bay to the other.
As I had not seen the sea for some time, I decided to walk this way home to where I lived in the North Bay. In those days the Marine Drive was unlit and very dark. I had gone about two hundred yards when a car came toward me round the bend of the drive. It was traveling quite slowly and for some time the beam of the headlamps fell on the railings on the seaward side of the road. About 20 yards in front of me was a ghost standing at the railings looking down into the sea. The form was of someone dressed in a monk's cowl, hooded, drooping sleeves, a complete form, but clearly insubstantial – the kind of figure most people accept as a stereotypical ghost. I was very afraid and stood rooted to the spot.
The ghost then turned toward me and, as if it was as frightened of me as I was of it. It began to retreat backward. There were no discernable limbs, but the bottom of the figure appeared to writhe about. It then disappeared out of the beam of the headlamp into the darkness. I decided to go no further round the drive, but turned around to return to the South Bay and catch a bus. My right leg went. I found it very difficult to walk, but managed to hobble to the bus stop where I eventually caught a bus home. My leg was better by the time I got off the bus. This infirmity had never happened to me before, nor has it since.
I later made enquiries and found someone had committed suicide from somewhere near the position of the ghost. They had removed their clothes and left them neatly folded on the drive before leaping into the sea. That said, there can be no incontrovertible connection between this and the ghost I saw. – Mike B.
The Lost Ghost
Around Christmas time, 2001, I had a few weird experiences involving a spirit that must still live in our house. One of the past owners, a lady, died in our house. Around Christmas time, I felt the presence more and a lot stronger than I usually did.
One night, I decided to draw whatever my hand felt like drawing. I drew a bottle with ribbons exploding out of it, then a yacht... then it felt like someone was moving my hand for me. My hand drew a circular shape that at first looked like a peach. My hand lifted and dropped and made a mark inside the circle. My hand lifted again and dropped and it made a weird curve. My hand drew another dot. I regained full control over my hand again and I looked at what I had a drawn: a weird smiley face.
I told my mum about it and she said to try it again the next night, and so I did. I was painting some landscapes in water colours when I felt the presence again. My mum had said that she thought her name was Faye, so that name was stuck in my mind.
I asked, "What is your name?" and I let my hand be controlled. I wrote what looked like the name Faye. I asked what the last name was. I wrote something that looked like "Edith." This was all confusing. I asked why it was here, and the reply looked like "I'm lost." I asked why it was here with me, and the reply looked kind of like "crussby," but was still very hard to read. I asked, "What?" and the answer cleared up a bit, but still not a real word. I asked again, and the final reply came what looked like "crusty." I am still puzzled, but the spirit may have meant the house was crusty since it is falling to bits in some areas.
Later on, my mum confirmed that the lady's name was Edith. This freaked me out big time, and I still felt the presence strongly for a while until a few days after Christmas. – Alle G.
Christmas Phone Call from Heaven
My mother passed away three years ago. We were very close and I miss her daily. Last Christmas evening, I went to bed and woke up to the phone ringing. I answered it and a voice that was very familiar to me said, "Hello there." It was my mother's voice. The line had a static noise and it sounded to cut in and out. I said, "This can't be you, mom. You're dead." She said, "Oh, come on now." She sounded a bit agitated, and then we were cut off. My 16-year-old daughter was sleeping in the next room and also heard the phone ring that night. I know it was my mother's voice: she has a Norwegian accent and it was her! – Bonnie O.
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