eBook
Available on Compatible NOOK devices, the free NOOK App and in My Digital Library.
Related collections and offers
Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780752487076 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | The History Press |
| Publication date: | 05/30/2012 |
| Series: | Haunted |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 160 |
| File size: | 2 MB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Haunted KilKenny
By Cormac Strain
The History Press
Copyright © 2012 Cormac StrainAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-7524-8707-6
CHAPTER 1
Laura
Just thinking about this story gives me the chills. It is farm fresh. When it was sent to me by email, I just had to visit the man concerned and hear it directly from him. I was freaked out the whole way home.
After a ten- or fifteen-minute car journey out of Kilkenny City, you'll find yourself in the townland of Castlecomer. Follow one of the numerous country back-roads and you will find yourself on a stretch of road that runs past a small cluster of houses. These small bungalows were probably built sometime in the 1950s. They are complete with respectable front gardens and originally had allotments which have been transformed into back gardens.
Tom Murphy had been the proud owner of a bungalow in the area for a number of years. His paremts, grandparents and many of his relatives were all born and bred within ten miles of his own front door, as was he himself. Tom had left Kilkenny for the bright lights of the United States in the dark, dark days of the 1980s but returned in 1997, eager to find a nice home to settle down in.
Tom was more focused on saving a nest egg and building a life for himself than on scouring the nightclubs for a girlfriend. He was a lazy bachelor who knew that he'd find the right woman whenever he actually started looking. It's a strange thing to be introducing at the start of a ghost story, but it's an important fact to remember. This is how he began:
The local pub that I would normally visit isn't too far away from here. It's too long to walk, and I don't have a car so I usually make the trip on my bicycle. It's my main mode of transport and it keeps me fit. My workplace is about six miles away where I do shift work, so the bike is very handy to have.
On the way, you have to pass a small graveyard. It must be of a decent age since it's been a long time since anyone has been buried there and it's wildly overgrown. You have to go right past it to get to the pub. On the way back, I don't know why it used to be in my head, but I used to always say 'God save everyone here', but I'd be half jarred so I'd normally add 'and if God can't, sure I'll try. Just follow me on home!' Obviously I was only messing; I'd never think anything of it for a long time.
One would assume that it's not a wise idea to habitually invite ghosts to your home. They may not have retained their sense of humour in the afterlife and instead take you seriously. Tom found this out the hard way:
I never had any 'experiences' in the graveyard, even though it was a place I'd pass quite often during the day and night. I was on my way home from work one night, after the four 'til midnight shift. I'd usually stay awake until five or six in the morning before turning in. On this particular night a friend of mine, Alan, had arranged to drop over to discuss some local GAA matters. Alan lived over to the other side of here, in the opposite direction of my journey back from work, but he lives within walking distance.
After cycling along the road outside, I pulled up to the house, put the bike in the shed, and let myself in to the house. I was in the kitchen putting on the kettle when I saw the outline of a person just outside the kitchen window. Someone had stolen around the side of the house and seemed to be peering in the back window. I grabbed the nearest thing to me, which happened to be a dishcloth – I've no idea how that was supposed to help – and made a dash for the back door and out to the garden.
'It's just me! It's just me!'
It was kind of a loud harsh whisper. If you can imagine someone shouting, while whispering, it'll give you an idea.
'Alan!' I said. 'What the hell are you doing? Has the front door disappeared or something? What are you doing in the garden?'
'Ah now, Tom', he replied. 'Who is she?'
I had no idea what this man was on about. He obviously thought I had a new girlfriend and she was in the house. I know Alan; he'd want more information before knocking on the door. That's why he was sneaking around the garden, trying to get a look inside to see who was there.
'Who is "she"?' I asked him, still trying to work out where this was all going. 'I am literally just in the door from work and I was just sticking on the kettle and get a brew going before you got here. Really, what are you on about?'
Five minutes of discussion followed during which Alan informed me that he believed that I had a lady with me. It didn't matter what I said. Alan didn't believe me. In fact, he sounded almost insulted that I was daring to keep up this apparent charade.
'OK. So you are telling me you didn't bring anyone home with you tonight? Yes?' I nodded in agreement.
'Obviously', I said. 'I was on my bike'.
'Then in that case, you wouldn't mind if I have a look around?' he asked.
Now, as I said, I know Alan well. He's one of my main buddies and we hang out together a lot. It was obvious that he believed he'd find someone, and I just knew that I'd have to go through this little rigmarole before I could get Alan to just tell me who he thought was there. I let him search. He didn't find anyone, but not from want of trying. He must have watched a lot of cop shows, because he looked everywhere: in the washing machine, under the sink, in the garden.
Finally he seemed to give up. He found me in the kitchen, looked me straight in the eye and said, 'No, seriously. Who was that woman on the back of your bike?'
One great thing about interviewing people in person, rather than through the internet, is, not only do you hear what they say, but you can also see their reactions to their own experiences. Tom, to this day, still finds that it was the most shocking question he has ever been asked. He had to reply with the question, 'When was there a woman on the back of my bike?'
Alan had been making his way along the road to Tom's. He was in no hurry as he knew Tom wouldn't be back quite yet. 'Should be perfect timing', he thought. Outside the small row of cottages were two bright orange lights which transformed complete darkness to a kind of orangey glow. Alan was fast approaching this welcoming light when he spied Tom's tiny little front light making its way from the other end of the street. That was Tom alright. He was just reaching the far streetlight so it was easy to see him. Riding passenger was a woman of about twenty-five years, wearing a pale-coloured dress. She was holding onto Tom's shoulder lightly with one hand, and the other holding on to the back of the seat.
He didn't get a good look, as this was a bit unexpected for a start, but also because Tom was fairly belting it along the road. Within seconds he had gone up along the side of the house. (It was only a couple of days later that Alan realised that the weather was pretty bad that night, yet the woman didn't look like she had suffered from it at all.)
Had Tom forgotten about their meeting? He surely would have texted him if he had decided to go on a last-minute date. Wouldn't any self-respecting citizen who didn't wish to be disturbed on such an occasion? Now this is a bit of a pickle, thought Alan.
Finally, he decided to do a quick bit of scouting before knocking on the door. If there was a lady in the house with him, then Alan would make his way off home. If he couldn't see anyone, then he'd chance knocking on the door. It was shortly after this that Alan saw Tom out to the garden, armed with a dishcloth. Tom continued:
When he told me this, I wasn't too sure what to think. There was no one with me – I know that for a fact – but Alan was quite adamant that there was. We seemed to come to an uneasy truce where if he didn't ask anymore, then I wouldn't deny it. There had not been anyone else with me on the bicycle, so I would have had a hard time pretending there was just to keep Alan happy.
That was the way I left it all and I didn't give it any more thought. A few weeks later, again just after midnight, I arrived home. I had just hung my coat on the bottom of the banister, when, from the corner of my eye, I noticed someone at the top of the stairway. By the time I'd realised this, I was halfway down the hallway to the kitchen. I stopped in my tracks and thought, 'Did I just see someone at the top of the stairs?' I immediately went back, looked up, but there was no one there.
Then I got the fear, you know, thinking, 'Oh God, there's a burglar in the house!' I ran down into the kitchen, grabbed a knife, and ran back to the stairwell. It took me ages to go up the stairs all the same. I had my back to the wall the whole way, honestly believing someone was about to pounce on me, but there was no one there. I searched all of upstairs and the house was just as I had left it. No sign of anyone.
By the time I was downstairs with a mug of coffee watching the television, I had got to thinking about the old farmhouse that had been here and the stories about it. I had completely forgotten all about that until then. When my grandfather was a child, this plot of land was the ruins of an old farmstead. It had been ruins in his father's time, and no one would build on it because of the ghost of a young child that haunted it.
The story goes that in the early nineteenth century the farmstead was a profitable business. The working conditions were not ethical by today's standards and the farmer employed many people, some as young as eight or nine years of age. To the back of the property – which would have probably been in the same area as Tom's house – there was a well. One morning, while water was being drawn, the pulley system collapsed and large pieces of wood fell down the well and blocked it. Normally the farmer wouldn't involve himself in day-to-day farm matters, but considering that someone would have to be sent down to clear it out, the farmer had to be notified. It was decided that one of the children would be slowly lowered down by rope, to clear out the wood. Then they would repair the pulley. The farmer himself would anchor the rope.
Unfortunately, the rope broke and the child fell to his death. Within five years, the farmstead was no longer profitable. Within ten years, it was in ruins. Some very bad business deals had been made by the farmer.
The farmer couldn't handle the guilt and grief he felt after the death in the well. He drank too much and ended it all by jumping into the well himself. It was only a matter of months before people in the area muttered about the ghost of a child haunting the farmer. It is said that it was this relentless reminder that eventually drove him insane. Certainly, by the time Tom's grandfather was growing up, it seemed to be an accepted fact that there was a malevolent spirit roaming the farm ruins.
This is what was going through Tom's mind as he sat watching television, trying to work out whether he had really seen someone at the top of the stairs or not.
I thought I was cracking up. I could have sworn I'd seen a woman in a white dress standing at the top of the stairs. I went to bed and, to be honest, I was a bit afraid. I'm never afraid in this house so the mere fact that I felt uneasy made me feel even more uneasy. As I was lying in bed I slowly started to piece the whole thing together with Alan's vision of the woman on my bike.
I hadn't thought about Alan's vision since the night it happened. It genuinely hadn't crossed my mind. I think it must have been the white dress that made a bell ring somewhere. At that stage though, it was something I easily put to one side. After all, I wasn't sure I'd actually seen anything in the first place and Alan could have simply been mistaken.
Unfortunately, I didn't get the chance to enjoy that luxury for very long. The following week, I started to wake up in the middle of the night for no reason – always between 2 a.m. and 2.30 a.m. At first, I would just wake up. I'd realise I was awake, and start to wonder what had caused me to wake so suddenly. On one occasion I even got up and quickly checked the doors and windows to make sure everything was alright. It was like I felt there was someone else in the house. This happened two or three times in the space of a fortnight.
One morning, I woke up at around 2 a.m. and for some reason looked down to the bottom of the bed. There was this woman standing there. She was wearing a white dress. Just standing there, smiling at me. I must have fainted or something because then it was morning time. The whole thing started to get very common. At least two or three times a month I would wake up at night and see this woman at the bottom of the bed. It was always the same: she would be there, always in a different part of the room, but always a distance from where I was. The funny thing was that it wasn't scary anymore. On the second or third time I had decided I was dreaming, so it didn't matter really. I went with the dreaming idea to such an extent that I got out of bed, went over and switched on the light. There was no one there. Then it dawned on me that I certainly hadn't been dreaming as the woman was there right up until I flicked the light switch. I do remember asking myself what idiot would cycle past a graveyard and invite the spirits home with him. Besides an idiot like me that is. It seemed like someone took me up on the offer.
Maybe it was because of that mindset that I no longer felt afraid when that woman would appear. In fact, I started to get impressions – I suppose that would be the best word. Images, thoughts, words, feelings: all these things would appear in my head, but they didn't originate with me. For example, the word 'Laura' kept flashing in my mind the first few times I saw her. I knew no one called Laura and I've no idea why I would ever think that name at 2 a.m. in the morning. I had to assume this was coming from the lady in the white dress, so I addressed her in my mind – yes I know that sounds a bit mad – as Laura from then on. Another feeling I kept getting was that she was, for some reason, there to protect me, or at least she was there for my benefit.
I had a group of friends I would hang out with, including Alan and a few other mates. They all knew about Laura and Alan took a kind of pride in saying he saw her first. Now, I don't know if they were just humouring me. I can imagine the hushed conversations when I left a room, about me imagining things, but they did seem to genuinely believe me. If it hadn't been for a trip to the cinema I would never have know that they had seen her too.
I had planned to meet up with a gang of about nine friends in Kilkenny City. There were three ladies present: girlfriends of some of the lads. The plan was to watch a movie and then hit the pub. I was late as I had to arrange a taxi, so by the time I arrived, everyone had taken their seats. The movie was just about to begin and I made my way past the three ladies first and then the gang of lads to find my seat. Now, I kind of knew the girlfriends of my mates, but not particularly well, so I was both amused and paranoid as I heard the excited giggle of the girls as I made my way past them. I sat down, the movie started and all was forgotten until the break. Alan, thankfully enough, was sitting next to me and he leaned over and whispered, 'I think the girls saw Laura.'
I didn't know Laura was there. Alan hadn't seen her. It seems the three girls had to physically move themselves out of the way of the woman who had been following me to my seat. A woman in a long white dress. The three of them had seen her, right in front of their own eyes. She had brushed past them like a real live human. The problem was that there were only two seats between me and the wall and they were both empty. This time the question was, 'Where is she?'
We couldn't keep the girls quiet. They were starting to get hysterical so we had to leave and had an early start on the pub. The question was asked: 'Who is this mysterious woman that Tom "I'm-too-young-for-a-wife" Murphy seems to be hiding from everyone?'
There was no simple answer. There was no simple way for me to even approach the answer. Alan, once more, came to the rescue. He retold his initial encounter with the lady in the white dress. I then managed to step in with what I had experienced at home. Before very long Annie, one of the girlfriends, stopped me short saying, 'Look Tom ... cut the c***. We all saw her. She was real. She was there and she was a person.'
'I honestly didn't see her', I said.
'Me neither', said Alan.
A chorus sprung up amongst the rest of the lads saying much the same thing. At least now I had some backup. The girls would have to ask themselves how they saw something the rest of us hadn't.
This talk started a kind of avalanche. People all round the table started telling me of how they had seen me in a pub, and Laura was sitting beside me. Or I had passed by in a taxi and she was with me, or I was going to Mass and she was behind me. It suddenly hit me that my life was not my own anymore. Walking down the street, anyone else would think it was a man and a woman walking along. How many people had seen a ghost without even realising that they were looking at one? Never mind that, but I hadn't even realised this had been happening. I thought Laura only appeared at 2 a.m., but apparently she was shadowing me everywhere.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Haunted KilKenny by Cormac Strain. Copyright © 2012 Cormac Strain. Excerpted by permission of The History Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Contents
Title Page,Foreword,
one Laura,
two Shankill Castle,
three I Think I'll Just Move,
four The Shadow People,
five Foulksrath Castle,
six The Glowing Man,
seven The Back of an Old Man's Head,
Copyright,