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Post by Melissa Foxworthy on Dec 10, 2007 17:43:54 GMT -5
The Golden Boy A long time ago there was man who lived near the Stoneymollan Road which goes from Balloch at the foot of Loch Lomond, across the Carman Hill over to the shores of the Clyde, as of course you will know but for the benefit of the American gentleman there and his charming lady I shall include all details. The old man who related this tale to me was in fact this healthy rambling chap's cousin, and so I ask you to listen with as open a mind as I did when that splendid gentleman of a byegone time told me it.
Every day he could this man would walk the road to visit his good sister near Cardross. The walk was then as now an invigorating one, not too hard, but with splendid views, the sounds of soaring skylarks on a fine morning or the mournful cries of the curlew on driech late afternoons as the sun went down, hurrying our man on his way home again after taking tea with his lady relative.
It was, as in all these stories it rather proves to be, on such a dismal and brooding day that he had been partaking of a particularly fine tea but it was rather spoilt now as he made his return to Balloch by the threatening clouds, which hung so low, it seemed they were settling onto the dark waters of Loch Lomond below him as he came down from the near flat plateau at the top, to contemplate the rickety descent. Quite often he would of course meet others on the road, and on such a day as this, most likely shepherds, or the more stoic travellers like himself who cared not if it were a fine day or no for their travels.
So imagine his surprise, and disquiet, to see standing perfectly still and composed in front of him a little golden haired boy of around 12 years old, simply standing still and staring mutely amidst the gloomy prospect in front of him. It seemed he stood precisely in a spot where a stray beam from the sun broke through a gap in some warring black clouds. The juxtaposition was one that un-nerved our rambler more than he would have imagined possible if in some prior conversation he was told such a vision would be presented to him. The boy was not threatening in any way, quite the reverse, as he had the most angelic features, and was the most pathetic of creatures.
That was it, the man thought, this boy is lost and he dismissed any misgivings immediately. It seemed obvious to him that the young lad ahead of him had strayed, possibly from his parents and was now hopelessly lost. Making up his mind to gently direct the child to Balloch he hailed him as jovially as possible.
Just as he did though, the dark clouds which had been rolling in with almost nauseating motion and determination, suddenly let loose their cargo of pent up rains that almost obliterated the scene and our man's vision. Spluttering and wiping the streaming, stinging water from his eyes he stumbled and fell, rolling off the edge of the road into the moor below. Feeling incredibly stupid, and thinking that if that young fellow had witnessed his predicament as surely he must have done, then it was going to be very hard to regain any dignity in his young eyes and present himself as his saviour. More likely the little fellow would think him the most ridiculous of buffoons.
He struggled back onto the road and peered through the by now almost horizontal sheets of rain that swept down the hillside before him, but no sign of the little boy anywhere. Dear me, he thought, has this violent weather propelled the poor child down the hill? Our man continued his descent and by and by the rains lessened, but of the boy, nothing. Now very apprehensive about the boy's safety our chap called out, urging him to show himself, or call out if he had fallen and was hurt. But the only replies that came back were the dismal meh-ings of some moribund and wet sheep. Now our fellow was very worried and upset by this. He scanned the moors as hard as he could, but no sign of the little chap. 'Best get help' our man decided and proceeded to race down the hill. He reached the tree lined area and saw a shepherd and hailed him. The shepherd, a dour fellow came ambling up.
"Aye?" he simply asked,
"Look," said our man trying to inject as much urgency into his voice as possible, "Please help, there is a little boy further up the hill, I think he may have been swept by the storm and could be hurt. He was there in front of me one minute, then the rains came, and he was gone!"
Well our shepherd leaned on his stick and smiled, "Ah. The Golden Boy." and continued to smile and regard our man with what appeared to be understanding. The shepherd sighed and looked upwards, towards the brow of the hill that overlooked the dark loch. "So, you saw him. Not many do, not many do."
Our anxious man is now more alarmed than ever, "But please, he may be hurt!" he said.
"Hurt?" said the shepherd, "Not him my friend. Just a little lonely. A poor lonely boy who can't return. One day you might see him again, on a black day like this, just when a little bit of sun comes out. I see him sometimes too." The shepherd continued to stare, the clouds were still rolling thick, then he grasped our fellow's hand and said, his voice edged with a mixture of awe, and cold fear, "By Christ sir, look!"
Our man did, and there, on the brow of the hill way up ahead, set against the black, black clouds, as the rumble of distant thunder and the moan of bothering winds came through the roadside trees, the tiny golden figure stood impassive, staring out, as a shaft of struggling sunlight briefly lit him up.
And then the storm broke, the rarefied light was extinguished as the clouds once more did battle, and he was no more.
And to this day, young man, and honoured guests, if you walk the Stoneymollan road on a day of dark clouds and impending storm, look for the sun breaking out, for the lonely Golden Boy is always there, waiting for that brief interlude that will allow us mere mortals a glimpse of his pitiful state.
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Post by Melissa Foxworthy on Dec 10, 2007 17:45:21 GMT -5
The Black Lady Well it was about 1958 or so, I was down that way mendin' a set of harrows for a farm near your home town. I had done a good job and decided, whilst I was there I'd go visiting some boys I know and maybe we'd make a day of it. We went to a pub in Renton and we ended up talkin' to some of the old guys there. Ach it was stories about this and that but then folks were talking about the Africans coming over because one of them had just been to Glasgow and had come back on the train and there sittin' next to him was a black man, and to hear him you would think he'd seen the man frae the moon! Some younger lads there were all laughin' at him and he said "Well, ye don't expect to see a black face in these parts." when one of the old men said it wasn't unheard of.
"Indeed," he says, "at a certain time, on certain nights, you can see a black-skinned lady down by the riverside there."
Well the young guys started their nonsense, and asked the old man what other fantasies he had when the old man's pal silences them with a raise of his hand and a stare.
"Ye'll keep yer tongues in yer heids and yer minds clean." says he. He signals his friend to go on and tells the boys to listen to a tale that will make their hair stand on end.
The old man cleared his throat, "Well it was a long time ago. The house down there at Dalquhurn,1 ye'll know it?" Of course everybody did. "Well now, way back in time the house was owned by the owners of the works who were the Scotts. One of their brothers died over in India and his remains were brought back and put in a tomb there. You can see it for yourselves to this day.
"Well now his body did not come back alone. Along with it was this beautiful black servant girl, who could not bear to be parted from her master.
"The servant girl pined away something dreadful, some will say, that she wept at his tomb day and night, and eventually she died of a broken heart. She was buried elsewheres, they say, but don't say where, except it wasn't with her master. Maybe her body was taken back to her own country, but I say no, for if so, how could her ghost travel across the water?"
With a rising, near angry voice the old man tells his audience "For I say she took her own life violently and her body was hidden because of the shame of it and in that place somewheres if not in her master's tomb... for her ghost is there every night, never resting, for it swings from the tree above it!"
Some of the other old men then nodded at this but one of the young chaps made it known he thought it was a lot of nonsense.
"If you think so," the old man said "Then ye'll take a challenge?"
Being a thingyy sort the young one said he'd face the devil to prove this was all rubbish, so the old man says he's to go down to the river at precisely one o'clock in the morning and he has to stand at the back wall of the house and repeat '"Yer not there, ye never were. There's no black lady here." But he has to be alone, although to shout the words loud enough for everyone else to hear. At first the young man says this was daft and he'd feel like an idiot (or words to that effect!) but as the night goes on and they are gettin mair and mair fu' he says he's up to Challenge The Black Lady. The pub spills oot and it's a while yet till the time, so we all go to a house and someone finds a bottle or two and make a party of it. Just as it's goin on a quarter to the hour of one o'clock, the old man and his friend, who have lasted well with the younger set, remind him of the challenge. The thingyy young lad takes a swig from the bottle and tells them he's ready for it right enough.
So we all troop down to the towpath and as instructed by the old man, they all wait as the challenger walks down the dark, dark riverside on his own. Now ye know yerself how creepy that place can be during the day, well let me tell you boy, I was tremblin' in my shoes, but the drink is fuelling our hero's bravado and off he goes.
We are all getting a wee bit nervous, for he seems to have been gone some time when all of a sudden we hear his voice, bold as brass comin' up at us from the back wall of the house "Yer no there, ye never were, there's nae Black Lady here!". A stillness falls after that, just the sound of the river sweepin' past, and the rustlin' of the trees down yonder and the wind moanin' around the old factories.
Then a sound I'll never get out of my head. Such a scream I never thought could come from a man's throat. My blood ran cold boy, I tell you it ran stock cold. Next thing our hero is running pell-mell towards us, his eyes starin',. his face as white as a sheet.
"Christ almighty," he yells at us, "Get oot o' here. I must have raised the deid!"
Well we ran, all except the old man, who, and we couldnae believe it, started walkin' doon the riverside. "Whit are ye daein' man?" screams the lad who had challenged the Black Lady, his eyes startin' oot like they'd fall ontae the towpath.
"Ah must go and make peace with her, it's my doin." says the old bloke and disappears into the darkness.
We all take off and go back to the house we were in and the young lad, who is no' so thingyy now, tells us what happened. "I'd just shouted the words the old boy tellt me tae say and waited thinking to myself this was the daftest dare I'd ever done, when I just felt myself goin' stone cold. It was like something had come round me, something cold. And then everything went, well, black. There was not a thing I could see, it was like.... like a cloak had fallen on top o' me from the tree above the wall!"
He swallowed a huge tot of whisky before goin' any further, "Ye'll never get me goin' doon there again, no' even in broad daylight." he tells us.
A whiley after this the old man appears and he looks hard at the terrified young yin. "Ye'll never mock me, or her again." he tells him and disappears.
And let me tell ye son, he never did. And he never, ever went down anywhere near Dalqhurn again. And what's more, a while later he went across the Clyde to Greenock to take a job and live, saying he felt better with the water between him, and the Black Lady.
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Post by Melissa Foxworthy on Dec 10, 2007 17:46:55 GMT -5
The Dog That Saw Ghosts? An old man from a Stirlingshire farm was visiting a neighbouring farm in our area to collect an old turnip cutting machine when I bumped into him - almost literally. I was trying to negotiate my tractor past his beat up old Land Rover pick-up parked at the farm road entrance and nearly took his door off! After berating me for my lack of driving skills, he asked me how long I had been working there, asked me after the farmer I worked for (he had a phenomenal memory for remembering everyone it transpired) and generally we got on rather well. There was an old sheepdog sitting in the cab of the vehicle and I asked the old man what it's name was.
"That's Sheila." the old man replied, at once determining the animal's sex for me, "Have ye never heard folks talk of Andy's Sheila?" I shook my head and the old man looked surprised. He gave a shake of his head and then bade me to come down from my cab and help him heave the old turnip cutter onto the back of his Land Rover. Once done and after offering me a cigarette we sat on the tailgate and he began to tell me the story. The day was rather chilly, but I was soon so engrossed I could have sat there in the teeth of a blizzard!
"I got her from a pal of mine some ten years ago. I came over this way on a visit like and when I met him he was fair demented. She was only about a year old then and my friend, who lived way over at Balfron way there said of late he couldnae handle her at all. He'd had her since she was a pup and she was a great dog, but - and my freen got laughed at somethin' terrible for this - he said the dog was bein' haunted."
He gave a whistle and Sheila jumped down from the cab of the Land-Rover and in a bound sat beside him on the tailgate. "Aye, he said she was forever barking at shadows. He'd be all bedded down for the night and next thing old Shiela here would up and howl like nobody's business oot in the yard. He tried lockin' her in the barn, but she howled even louder. He even took her intae the kitchen (Note: In those days farm dogs rarely lived in the farmer's own living quarters, not in the farms I knew anyway) thinking she was just lonely, but she'd howl there tae. It got so bad he said he'd need to get rid of her, she'd been actin' like this for two weeks solid and he was near to wantin' to take his gun to her. So I took her."
He gave Sheila an affectionate ruffling of her ears. "Well, I took her off his hands and drove her all the way to my place, and never had a minute's problem with her. She was a bit of a nuisance the first night mind wi' her barkin, but the day after she settled doon quite the thing, whatever it was that bothered her, never bothered her with me after that, even though I kept her in a kennel ootside.
"Then one night, no longer after I got her, the damdest thing happened. I had been tae a funeral, and had made a day of it as I'm sure ye unnerstand yerself, " and here he winked. Farmers in some parts of Scotland are notorious for turning events such as funerals into holidays! "I had gone myself and left the wife in charge of everythin', includin' old Sheila here. Well, I got home after it with a wee bit of a drink in me and was drivin' up the dark track to the hoose. It was a wild, wild night, with gales blowin and it was close to two in the mornin, when I nearly messed myself. There was Sheila suddenly in my headlamps in the middle of the road, howling like a banshee! It gave me a turn, but nothin' tae the fricht I got when I got out the car and tried to calm her doon. She backed off like a thing possessed, snarlin at me.
"'Sheila!' Ah chided her, 'Whit in the hell's gotten intae ye?' Noo, havin just been at a funeral and now totally sobered up, I began tae feel just a wee bit uneasy. Shiela here would not budge an inch, she cowered doon on her forelegs and growled. But it wasn't she was tryin' tae be ferocious - she herself was terrified aboot somethin', for she was tremblin' all over. As I got closer, I realised it wasn't me at all she was lookin' at, but down the track. I followed the way she was lookin', but all I could see was the trees that line the road swayin' against the night sky."
He drew on his cigarette and flicked the butt onto the road. "Could I get her to calm doon? Could I hang! and by this time the snow was startin' in amongst the howlin gales, it bein dead winter and I was gettin' fairly hacked off wi' her. 'Come on now Sheila!' I roared at her but she jist crouched there,. starin', starin' intae the blackness o' the night.. Just then I saw a light come from the hoose and my wife comes doon the road. 'Andy!' she calls to me, 'Thank God you're here. That d**ned pregnant dog has been a nightmare since ten o'clock the night.'"
Between the two of us we managed to get Sheila back to the hoose, but she widnae settle a bit of it. We put her in a basket in front of the fire, thinkin' the poor beast had maybe gone down with somethin', but she just shivered all the rest of the night and me and the wife hardly slept a wink, as Sheila here would put up a fearfu' set of howls the minute we tried tae go to oor beds.
"When daylight came I was in nae mood for Sheila's tantrums or upsets and I near kicked her I was that mad at her. Nae wunner my freen went mad wi' ye, I shouted at her. I'd got about an hour's sleep at most and was in a foul temper when just then the phone went. The wife went tae answer it and next thing I hear is her burstin' intae tears. Noo, the minute, and I swear on a' my bairns' lives this is true, the minute this dog here heard my wife greetin'. she jumped oot of her basket and ran to her, but all her queer mood had fell aff her like snaw aff a d**e. It was like a complete transformation."
The old man paused to see how this affected me and I nodded, "It seems Shiela was more concerned about your wife being upset than whatever her own troubles were." I hazarded, wondering if this was the point about Sheila the old farmer was trying to impress upon me. Aye well, that was my first thoughts and I felt so bad about wanting to do the kind beast any harm, when the wife comes through and drops the bombshell, 'That was Netta on the phone,' she said, dabbin' at her eyes, 'Her man's died.' I was just aboot tae ask her how, for Jimmy had the farm across the hill from us, and seemed in perfect health, when the wife just stares suddenly at Sheila.
'Oh my good God.' says the wife, 'She kent. Oh Andy, that dug kent that Jimmy had died. He had a heart attack last night.' She nearly collapsed as her legs started to shake, 'Oh Andy, it happened at ten o'clock -and that's when that dog started her howlin!'"
The old man stopped for breath and I found myself shivering. In a bid to temper my own uneasiness I suggested weakly, "Maybe a coincidence?"
He smiled and nodded, "Aye well, that was what I said to herself just. 'Coincidence, Margaret, just coincidence.' and truth to tell I was tryin' to convince myself of it. There was something about the whole thing though that was naggin' me. How come the dog had never behaved like that with us until last night? And I couldnae shake off the maist disturbin' part of it all - for when I thought aboot it, Sheila here had been starin' oot in the direction of poor Jimmy's place when I had found her howlin' on the road.
"Aye well we let it go at that, and Sheila never bothered us again, and not since that night has anything like it happened. Yet."
"So a one-off then?" I remarked, giving her ears a rub.
The old man, obviously knowing when to deliver the most devastating crux of any tale, jumped down onto the road. Sheila followed and I got down too. As he began locking the tailgate into place he said.
"No, it was no one-off at all. And me and the wife now fear for the next time it'll happen. Ye mind I told you the dog had behaved like that at my freen's place?"
I nodded.
"And ye mind I said it started sudden? And that my freen could never calm her doon? And for two weeks solid she had driven him mad with her nonsense before I took her away?"
I nodded again, wondering where this was leading to.
"No long after the incident at my place with Shiela's queerness, I met up with my freen and told him aboot it. Well he nearly fainted. 'Andy,' says he, 'ye all laughed at me when I said that dog was haunted and noo ye'll need tae believe me...and anyway, did ye no hear what happened here?' I shook my head for this was the first time I'd spoke to him since gettin' Shiela and so he told me.
"Apparently a neighbour of his who lived on his own had died the very day Sheila had started her barkin' wi him. But they only found oot aboot it the day after I took Sheila away.
"Nice talkin' tae ye young man." And with that he started the engine, and drove off to leave one shaken young farm labourer to ponder his tale.
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Post by Melissa Foxworthy on Dec 10, 2007 17:48:26 GMT -5
Buchanan Castle's Moaning Ghost This was told to my by my own mother, and there are some other elements I have gleaned along the way, so I have added to it to make a more comprehensive story.
Next to the village of Drymen, Stirlingshire, near Loch Lomond there is an utterly fabulous ruin of a Victorian castle. It is situated amongst trees and is probably one of the grandest modern ruins in the UK.
It is famous for being the place where Rudolf Hess was hospitalised when he made his flight to Scotland, reputedly to broker a secret deal with the Duke of Hamilton and crash landed at Eaglesham, south of Glasgow.. The castle was taken over during the war and used as a hospital for injured men of the fighting forces.
My mother knows the estate well, as she often went horse riding there many years ago when she helped a friend look after his horse and exercise it in the grounds.
The horse was a fine mare and of a wonderful nature and temperament, not known for being difficult or hard to handle in any way, quite the opposite.
One day, my mother leading, her friend mounted on the horse, as they were going through the estate an event happened that was unprecedented for the good animal. She refused to budge.
They had been making their way to the more northerly exit from the grounds, a dirt road that leads through a thick wood. This was the first time they had taken the horse through this part of the estate but she had been many places before that were strange to her with absolutely no problems at all, but on this occasion she simply stopped dead in her tracks, snorted through her nostrils and would not take a step forward.
My mother's friend, who's own temperament could border on the manic at times, lost his head with the horse and urged her onwards, but nothing he said (or rather shouted!) or did would make her move forward at all. After about half an hour of cajolings, threats and name-calling it was decided the animal had made up her mind, so they turned round and she trotted back the way they came perfectly happily.
On the next weekend they thought they should try again and get the horse to overcome her wariness of the road to the north, but as before, as soon as she got to a specific spot, she halted and seemed very agitated.
Being a man of no patience whatsoever with such nonsense, my mother's friend lost his head entirely and, disgusted with the beast's behaviour, said he had had enough for the day. The horse was to be stabled and they would go off for a drink in a local bar.
Once the maligned animal was deposited at the stable they went to one of the local haunts for a relaxing drink or two. The horse's owner lost no time in broadcasting to all who would listen that he must be lumbered with the world's most stubborn horse (he simply loved any excuse to brag he owned a horse!).
An old worthy of the area was listening with great intent as our little squire fulminated and eventually he came over to the table where they were seated. "Tell me now," he said, "exactly where did she stop?"
Between then my mother and friend described, almost to the nearest tree, where their horse had halted.
"And you say she stopped there last week, and today. At the exact same spot?" asked the old gentleman. Both nodded confirmation, wondering what on earth the significance was.
"Well, I don't know if you two believe in ghosts or not, but I reckon your horse either sees one there, or more likely, can hear one." and he went on to tell them that many folks had seen or heard the ghost of a young girl, popularly believed to have died in the wood, just on that very road. "Mostly she's just heard, " he said "A pitiful weeping, or moaning. Those who've heard it most often as not are affected very badly by it. They say it is a very distressin' sound indeed."
Being the practical no-nonsense type my mother's friend dismissed this as 'utter rubbish' saying the horse was just being difficult in not wanting to go along a dark road she had never trodden before.
A few weeks later they were back at the same pub, and this time they simply had not bothered to take the horse anywhere near the road, and were enjoying a light meal. A man and his wife came in, obviously tourists, for they looked up and down the pub in that way only tourists do before deciding it really is a place to get a drink or a meal. My mother inclined her head as they caught sight of her and her friend at the table. Sensing friendly locals they came across.
"Are you staying at one of the hotels?" my mother asked them after polite introductions, to which they replied in the affirmative. The merits and demerits of the establishment were discussed and my mother asked them if they had done any sightseeing so far. The lady tourist laughed, a little nervously. "We got hopelessly lost this morning. We thought we'd go see that ruin of a castle where they say Hess stayed. But we got terribly confused. Ended up in this awful dirt track road in a gloomy horrid wood."
They both fell very silent at that, and for some reason appeared rather uncomfortable. They looked at each other, and my mother had a feeling they both wished they had never opened their mouths in the first place.
"You'll think us mad, but we thought we had nearly run over a little child. She just suddenly stepped out in front of the car. We weren't going fast of course." and she bit her lip.
"We stopped the car," continued her husband, "we got out, but there was nothing there." He faltered and looked distinctly uneasy.
"No," said the wife after a long paused, "no there was nothing there. But..."
Her husband cleared his throat, "Of course, our nerves had been shot a bit, and of course it must have been a trick of the light, you know, sunlight coming through the trees and hitting off the bonnet or something. But when we got back in the car we heard the most terrifying sound."
My mother nodded encouragement. The lady tourist gave a nervous smile mistaking my mother's intentions as indulgence, "Honestly, we are not bonkers, but as my husband said, when we got in the car we heard this awful moaning sound behind us, as if it was in the back seat of the car. A really creepy whimpering moan. John looked round but, well, of course, we were letting our imaginations run away with is. I mean, it really is a creepy road isn't it?"
My mother agreed and gave our little horseman a knowing smile.
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Post by Melissa Foxworthy on Dec 10, 2007 17:50:01 GMT -5
The Captain's Chair There's a haunted house not far from here in fact, it's that wooden cabin thing on the other side of the road over there. The guy who owns it had it all done up inside like a ship's cabin.
He would go over to the shipbreakers at Faslane and bring back all these wood panels from old ships, as well as crockery, chairs, linen. It gives you a funny feeling to sit there with all this old stuff out of rusty old boats about you!
But ever since he started putting this stuff in his house, he seemed to have brought a ghost with him.
One night myself and a few others were in his place for a drink and just a natter. He told us about all the stuff in the room and we were having a fairly good time of it what with the stories of the ships the things came from when all of a sudden there was a 'bang' from the kitchen. Well we all jumped up and ran to the kitchen thinking somebody was either trying to break in or something had happened to his cooker but all we saw was the strangest thing.
A loaf of bread had been thrown to the floor, and all of its slices were fanned out, deliberate like, it was as if the wrapping had been burst and then every slice carefully arranged around the kitchen floor like a circle. Well Bob, the owner, just stares. "That loaf was up there!" he says, pointing to the other side of the kitchen, "how the hell did that happen?"
Well I for one wasn't staying. That was enough for me, so I said goodnight and left. And not because I was scared you understand, but because I thought Bob had somehow engineered it. I wasn't going to sit and play the fool for anybody's daft games.
Well that's how I saw it and I was telling one of the boys in the hotel bar the next day. He just looked at me kinda uncomfortable like so I asked him did he really think the place was haunted or did he not think like I did that Bob was simply a daftie on his own trying to get attention.
"Well," he says to me, "I don't know. See the other night? I was going past that way, taking a short cut across to Duncryne when I saw a light on in Bob's place. There was somebody in, but it didn't look like Bob, a kinda stoutish figure, I could see his shadow against the window, moving about. I just thought Bob had a visitor so I thought no more about it until the next morning and saw Bob and asked him did he have a good night with his visitor and he just looked at me and said he'd been on his own for weeks. I told him what I saw and Bob went white as a sheet. He said he'd had no visitors and had went to his bed about ten. Well when I told him I had passed there about 11 o'clock the poor man started shaking and ran off."
Well I said Bob would be making the whole thing up, that was probably himself moving about and was just after creating a story for folks to talk about. I was never going to be convinced it was anything else I said.
Well, I got convinced myself I have to say. I was by his place some weeks later, it was coming on to being right cold night with a clear moon and I was heading up that way to see my uncle. Well, I just got abreast of Bob's place when I seen what I took to being this great big man, standing in the window, just starin' out at me. A huge fellow. I couldn't see clear mind you, but it was definately a big man in dark clothes, filling up the window frame almost. The moon seemed to light up his eyes, for they glittered like a cats in the dark. Man, I got a fright. And then suddenly he was gone, just the light in the cabin and nothing else.
I gave myself a shake, all this rubbish had gone to my head, I told myself. The moonlight was playing tricks and it was the height of nonsense to think anything else. So I told myself to march right up to the door and rattle it. My legs were shaking mind, but I was determined to prove that all this hocus was caused by people's imaginations going riot - even my own!
I got to the door and rapped on it. A couple of minutes later Bob answers, in his dressing gown, all yawning away. "Sorry, " says he, "I've been in bed with this flu that's going round." but he invites me in to share a hot toddy with him. Well we go into the main room and Bob makes a toddy and pours me a large whisky. I'm sitting there swallowing it down and feeling kinda grand when Bob asks me why I came to see him.
"Oh, I just saw your light on, I presumed you were up." I said. Bob shakes his head, "I keep the light on these days," he tells me, "I can't stand this place in darkness."
We decided anther couple of whiskies wouldn't do us any harm, and that leads to some more, and before you know it poor Bob's forgot his flu and is lookin' his old self gain.
"I'm right glad you came by," he says, "for I've been miserable these last few days. But I'm feelin' on top of the world now."
"That's just what you were needing Bob," says I , "All this nonsense about ghosts and the like. You don't need to make up stories to get folks to visit you. Not with a good stock of malts like this!" and I laughed. But Bob didn't laugh.
"I'm making no stories up," he says quite hurt like, "This place is haunted - it's the captain."
"The captain?" says I tryin' to sound as if it's just a big joke.
"Aye, a big fellow. He wanders about here, moving things. I know he does. I think myself he must have been from one of the ships that chair comes from." and he points to the very chair, a right old fashioned leather thing, that I am sitting on, " Ever since I took that chair in here, the place hasn't been the same, and I hear things, stuff gets moved about. And..." he kinda stops and looks at me embarrassed, "And I've seen him."
I pours him and me another whisky, "Just you get that down you, " I says, "Enough of this nonsense. The flu's making you see hallucinations."
"He sits in that chair," Bob went on, as if I never spoke.
Well I just shot up out of that chair. My nerves now were jangling. I sat on the couch.
Bob then goes to a cupboard and pulls out an old photograph book. "This was in the cabin the chair came from." he says, and he hands me it.
Well I look through it. There's pictures of all the places this chap has been, black and white photos all goin' brown of ports like Malta, Durban and the like. Then I nearly dropped the album. I turned one of the pages, and their was a photo of a great big fellow in a sea captain's uniform grinning out at me.
And you know the scary part son? It was his eyes... they glittered like a cats!
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