Did anyone see Most Haunted the other day, (Living TV).
It was awesome. One of the best I've seen.
No Derek Acorah and all the better for it, (I'm sad to say.).
The new(ish) medium is David Wells and he is very convincing. No dramatics as such. Just good info coupled with, what I consider to be, genuine emotion.
And to cap it all, the series producer and Director, Karl Beattie, captured a large floating ethereal image on film!
Proof positive of the existance of spirits/ghosts?
Possibly.
Anyway, I was kinda going off Most Haunted because it was becoming somewhat predictable. But on the evidence of this showing, I reckon I'll stick with it for now!
Famous Ghost Hunting
Hey, has anyone caught ‘Dead Famous’ on Living TV?
I am mightily impressed with this ghost hunting show. The title virtually tells you what this show is all about.
A highly skeptical Scottish lass, Gail Porter, and American ‘sensitive’ Chris Fleming set out each week to attempt communication with the spirits of the famous folk who have passed over e.g.; John Wayne; Houdini; Lucille Ball; Charlie Chaplin; John Lennon; Buddy Holly, Marilyn Monroe, James Dean etc.
What I like about this programme is that not only are Gail & Chris a great double act, they appear to take their task very seriously.
And when someone guests on the show who they suspect is faking their psychic powers - as was the case of a guy who was seemingly possessed by the spirit of John Lennon and attempted to speak, (badly), in Lennon’s distinctive Liverpudlian voice - they are quite happy to expose them as fakes.
There are some seriously spooky moments too, but not on every show, which is as it should be. Chris is pretty impressive, (at least to me he is), with his ‘sensitive psychic’ powers and Gail, though at times scared witless, really comes across as a true sceptic, difficult to convince and offering logical and thoughtful explanations regarding ghostly occurrences.
They also use cool gadgets including a digital audio recorder to capture EVP’s (electronic voice phenomena), supposedly the voices of the dead. Also, at times, pretty impressive.
Check it out. If you’re into ‘Most Haunted’ or ghost hunting type shows, I think you’ll really enjoy the quite unusual....
Life After Life?
Is there a life after life?
When we expire and shuffle off this mortal coil do we enter an 'other world' and, like a caterpillar transmuting into a butterfly, become a different form of being?
An ethereal spirit perhaps?
Nobody knows for sure... or do they?
Some people who have experienced near death are pretty darned sure. After all, they've allegedly taken a trip to the other side... and returned to tell the tale.
Most who have been subjected to a near death experience (NDE) report floating along a tunnel heading toward a brilliant white light. Some see human shapes and hear voices. Many sense an overwhelming love, a feeling of calm and of well being.
Others may actually see and communicate with loved ones who have already passed over.
So, what is a NDE?
Some argue that it is when the human soul/Ka leaves the physical body and enters the world of spirit while others will say it is simply a form of delirium.
Probably the most vehement critics of NDE is the scientific/medical community.
Their stock theory on this subject is that, as a person reaches the point of death, the body releases endorphins which causes the brain to hallucinate hence; tunnel, light, voices, well being etc.
Now, although I personally believe that we probably do continue to exist in some form or other after death, I like to think I am very open minded and so still try to be objective and weigh up the pro's and con's, look at it from the point of view of believers and non believers.
In this instance however, (for reasons that will become clear), I have to admit that I am a tad biased where this subject is concerned and so find myself leaning more toward the explanations of the NDE folk and further away from the scientific/medical community.
So, I’m going to kinda challenge the scientific/medical theory by relating the true tale of my good friend Dan, (not his real name for obvious reasons).
I first met Dan 15 years ago when I was working as a sound engineer/script and jingle writer in a recording studio.
Dan was a client who had booked the studio to record voice-overs and FX for his latest project, a pilot for a children’s animated TV series.
The moment I met him and shook his hand, I liked him. It was one of those rare but happy ‘instant likes’ .
Constantly smiling and joking around, Dan had, (and has), a gob-smacking zest for life I had never before encountered. Nothing fazed him, nothing was too much trouble. He was always polite and he genuinely - and I do mean genuinely - liked everyone he met.
I am delighted to say that from our first encounter, we got on like a house on fire. Similar tastes in most things and the same odd sense of humour I suppose.
He had, and has, so many friends, I counted myself lucky to be one of them. And still do to this day.
He was pleased with my sound, FX and script work and eventually asked me if I would like to get more involved with scripting his project and I gladly agreed.
The time I spent working with Dan was a joy and as time passed we became close friends. His attitude toward others was amazing. Folk felt instantly at ease in his presence. He would speak to complete strangers like he'd known them all his life. Always praising, never criticising, forever thankful for whatever anyone did for him or on his behalf.
He certainly opened my eyes and, I can safely and thankfully say, changed my outlook on life and altered, for the better, the way I treat and perceive others. (That said, I still get irritated by people who are downright rude though! It’s so unnecessary).
One evening, we were having a few drinks at his home and I asked him why he was the way he was.
He looked at me oddly and for a moment I thought I may have asked a question he was uncomfortable with. But then he grinned, sipped his drink and began to tell me.
For many years, Dan was not a nice man.
He was what is known hereabouts as a ‘hard’ man. Muscular and with a quick temper, he was prone to be argumentative which sometimes led to physical brawls, with Dan invariably emerging as the victor.
A hard working man who provided well for his family, he was nonetheless completely intolerant - though never violent - to his wife and children, cocky and extremely self centred.
Dan did what Dan wanted to do when Dan wanted to do it!
And when Dan wanted to go fishing... He did!
A keen sea fisherman, Dan and three of his friends decided to take his boat out on a fishing trip one wet and windy Sunday morning.
Ignoring the rain, the increasing wind and fairly heavy sea swell, they clambered into the boat and set off.
Several miles out, they cut engines, dropped anchor, cast their lines, opened a few cans of lager and settled down to fish and have a few laughs.
After an hour or so with no luck, the wind at virtually gale force and the rain now lashing down dampening even their fun loving spirits, the four men decided that enough was enough and they would up anchor, start the engine and head for shore.
As they headed in, the weather took a sudden change for the worse and before they knew it, a fierce storm had developed causing the waves to become mountainous, tossing their boat around like a mere toy.
Now seriously afraid and essentially fighting for their lives, they radioed a mayday to the coastguard who promptly raised the alarm and ordered the launching of the lifeboat.
Soon after sending their mayday, the boat was hit side on by a giant wave, tipping the boat over and throwing the four men into the now torturous sea.
As the storm raged about them, Dan and his three friends desperately battled to stay afloat and keep together. But the sea was too strong and as exhaustion took hold, they slowly but surely drifted apart.
By the time the lifeboat located them, they had all drowned, and were floating lifelessly.
The lifeboat men quickly hauled them out and immediately began resuscitation.
Despite the valiant efforts of the truly heroic lifeboat men, Dan was the only survivor. His three friends could not be saved.
And it was this tragic near death experience that changed his life and made him into the caring, honest and loving man he is today.
Now here’s the thing.
Some months later, I asked Dan if, in his drowned state, he had, (as most NDE folk have), seen ‘a light at the end of a tunnel’, so to speak.
And he said that he had not. Nothing. Zilch. Not even the tiniest little spark.
Now, what must be remembered here is that Dan had drowned. He was not breathing, his heart had stopped and he had no pulse. In other words, he was, to all intents and purposes, dead.
So, here’s my argument.
If, as the medical/scientific fraternity believe, endorphins are released at the point of death causing hallucinations which make the NDE person believe they have visited the other side, why didn’t Dan hallucinate!
Surely, he should have done! He was certainly at, or even past, the point of death, of that there is no doubt.
After all, if endorphins are the cause of the NDE then logically every person who experiences near death must, by scientific laws, have such hallucinations!
Does it not follow therefore that as Dan and - it appears - others who have had a NDE did not actually experience anything i.e., ‘visit the other side’, then it must also follow that endorphins can’t possibly be the cause of the Near Death Experience.
That being the case, then maybe – just maybe – NDE is a reality whereby the soul/Ka, depending perhaps on the circumstances surrounding the NDE, sometimes does and then sometimes does not leave the physical body and enter the world of spirit.
One final thought. Although Dan did not experience ‘the light at the end of the tunnel’, he still believes in...
life after life!
Horror movies that frighten(ed) me!
When I was a young 'Jack the Lad' in the mid 1960's, I was an avid cinemagoer. I loved films. Couldn't get enough of 'em. In fact, on average, I would go at least twice, sometimes three times a week!
My wife, (then my girlfriend), was - thankfully - also a lover of films and so would quite happily accompany me.
Unlike others of our tender teen age, we went to the cinema, (or 'The Flicks', as we used to call them), to actually watch the film. Not for us the snog in the back row, oh no. Our interest was what was being shown on the screen!
In those far off, halcien days, cinemas (unlike the uniform impersonal boxes they are today), had great character and were more like grand theatres.
With names like; 'The Essoldo'; 'The Gaumont'; 'The Odeon'; 'The Empire'; 'The Shaftesbury' 
and 'The Palace', these popular places of entertainment were beautifully decorated. They had crystal chandeliers hanging from wonderfully ornate ceilings. Cherubs holding lighted, (electric), torches looked down from the decorated walls and there were balconies, plush carpeting and huge blood red curtains covering the screen. Going to the cinema was a proper night out! And quite a cheap one too!
Entrance fee was usually in the region of one shilling and ninepence, (approx: 9 pence).
A hot dog was about one shilling and sixpence, (7 1/2 pence), and you could get tubs of ice cream and ice lollies for between threepence, (less than2 pence), and ninepence, (less than 4 pence).
So, as you can see, pretty cheap.
Although our taste in films was pretty diverse, it goes without saying that - much like my character, Quentin Greely, (see 'The Short Cut' near the end of this blog) - our main passion was horror films. We just loved being frightened by spooky suspenseful movies.
Back in the 60's, the masters of the genre, in my humble opinion, were Hammer Films. Although low budget films, they had a very special quality about them.
Mainly starring, (the late, great), Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee, (recently in Lord of the Rings), these films could have you on the edge of your seat with some fabulous heart stopping moments.
'The Mummy'; 'Dracula'; 'Curse of the Werewolf'; 'Frankenstein'; 'Jekyll and Hyde'; Hammer covered them all... superbly.
Of course there were other makers of excellent horror films including United Artists and MGM but Hammer, I think, topped them all!
And compared with todays horror bloodfests, I have to say, on reflection, that the old, creaky horror films of my youth were far scarier. As I recall, they had far less blood and much more suspenseful scenes.
Okay, I admit I may be suffering from an acute case of nostalgia-itus here but there are honestly very few of todays horror films that scare me as much. (Maybe 'cos I'm older and wiser?)
So, are horror movies scary anymore? With a very few odd exceptions, I really don't think so.
Most are pretty formulaic these days, variations on a single theme. Again, in my humble opinion, I think they rely too much on blood and gore and special effects and usually offer a very weak plot rather than a cracking storyline.
And in most cases you virtually know whats coming and so very rarely enjoy the heart stopping 'jump' factor, which is what all good scary films are about.
Now, I'm not saying there aren't any really good modern movies. There are some over the years that gave me a bit of a scare. 'Saw' was pretty good as was 'Wrong Turn'; 'Texas Chainsaw Massacre'; 'Constantine'; 'Godsend'; 'The Mummy I & II'; 'Alien'; 'Hide and Seek'; 'Silence of the Lambs'; 'Se7en'; 'The Ring'; 'The Sixth Sense' and a few others of that ilk.
All I'm saying is that, apart from the odd few, most of todays horror movies don't have that 'toe curling, stomach tingling aaarrrgggghhh!' factor that all horror fans love. Whereas the older movies, like 'The War of the Worlds', (original version much better than Spielbergs effort), 'The Thing from Another World', (again much better than the Carpenter remake), Hitchcock's 'Psycho' and 'The Birds', usually did.
To give you an idea of what I mean, let me cite an example:
'Nosferatu'
Back in 1985, my then 16 year old son, a film fanatic like me, decided to watch a 1923 black and white silent horror film about the vampire Nosferatu.
Now my son, having been brought up watching colour TV didn't particularly like watching black and white films, and certainly not silent ones. Refused point blank to watch them.
But in this instance, he thought he would watch this one, just for a laugh.
I can tell you that by the end of the movie, my son was not laughing. This grainy 72 year old silent film had scared him witless and had given him his first 'toe curling, stomach tingling aaarrrgggghhh!' factor.
He's loved that movie ever since!
It was the dark shadows and suspense that got to him. No blood, no gore, just a movie that allowed him to use his own imagination to scare him.
Naturally, the older films don't scare me now, and they do look very dated and somewhat creaky, but I still think they are special and love watching them.
Well that's my opinion, (which probably doesn't count for much), but, what do you think? Is there too much emphasis on the use of blood and gore and not enough on a suspenseful plot? Or do you think todays films are better and scarier than the early horror films?
P.S. One of the greatest cult horror films of all time...
... is over 30 years old. Still so fresh, it's hard to believe, isn't it!
Zombies!
Zombies!
One wintry night as I alone sat drinking at an inn.
A strange old man approached me and he grinned a toothless grin.
He doffed his weathered cap and he scratched his balding head.
Then sat right down beside me and in whispered tones he said,
“I’m the keeper of the graveyard, son, and I’ve a cautionary tale.
And all I ask to tell it is one single pint of ale.
It’s a tale of unspeakable ‘orror that’ll make yer blood run cold”.
So I bought the old man his pint of ale and this is 
the tale he told.
the tale he told.
“When the church clock strikes twelve midnight
‘neath a chill and moonless sky,
‘neath a chill and moonless sky,
don’t tarry near the graveyard, son, but quickly ‘urry by.
For deep inside that boneyard, as the wind remorseless moans,
an eerie mist entwines itself around the old gravestones.
Its long grey wispy fingers caress the earthy mound
as rotting maggoty dead things stir some six foot under ground.
Zombies crawlin’ from their coffins seekin’ wretched birth.
Their bony clawin’ fingers breakin’ through the damp dark earth.
All around the graveyard the livin’ dead begin a-gatherin’,
‘ungry for choice human meat, their lipless mouths a-slaverin’.
Clothin’ torn and tattered hangin’ from their fleshless bones,
their shrivelled mouths wide open as they cry their hellish moans.
Squirmin’ worms and maggots plop from ear and sightless eye,
The scent of human drives ‘em mad and guides them on their way,
toward the graveyard gates and to the town where lives their prey.
Through the silvery eerie mist that swirls and undulates,
mindlessly they walk the path toward the graveyard gates.
So don’t tarry near the graveyard, son, that’s my advice to you,
‘cos if a zombie starts to eat you, you’ll become a zombie too!”
“Oh yeah”, I scoffed, with a grin, “if what you say is right,
how come you don't see zombies walking through the town at night?
Surely there’d be loads of them marauding through the town.
Some eating townsfolk in the street, some shuffling up and down?”
A grunt escaped his toothless mouth as the old man raised his drink.
He slowly quaffed the ale I’d bought then gave a knowing wink.
With gnarled finger on workman’s hand he rubbed a rheumy eye,
then scratched the stubble on his chin and gave this smart reply.
“As the keeper of the graveyard, son, I’ll answer well and true.
You’ll not see zombies eatin’ folk, that I promise you!
Nor see no zombies in the town a-shufflin’ about,
‘cos I lock the graveyard gates each night so the zombies can’t get out!
Out Of Body Experience - A True Story
A few years ago, somewhere around 1998/9 I had, what I can only describe as, an ‘out of body experience’. At least, I believe it was an ‘out of body experience’. You can judge for yourselves after reading this account.
It happened one rather nippy Saturday morning in the month of December.
My wife works part time for a large hypermarket grocery chain and, as she can’t drive, I (still) take her to work every morning at 06.25. Including of course, Saturdays.
On this particular Saturday I dropped her off at the hypermarket then returned home, arriving at approximately 06.50, to be greeted enthusiastically by my 13 year old Jack Russell dog, Pixie, (a.k.a., Picky or Wicky Woo, (don’t ask!), who is sadly no longer with us)
As visitors to this blog have no doubt gathered by now, I am an ardent dog lover.
As usual, I made a total fuss of Picky, (who had me wrapped around her little claw), then kicked off my shoes, pulled on my carpet slippers, made myself a cup of coffee in the kitchen, strolled into the living room and flopped down on the settee, (couch), in front of the television. Picky took my lead and flopped herself down on the rug in front of the gas fire.
Back then, I was working from home on a personal project, (The Legend of Dyllbert the Pirate ©), a comic strip for a local newspaper which told the tale of Captain Ignatious Josiah Dyllbert, a constantly seasick 19th century Royal Naval Officer who, through no fault of his own, eventually turns to piracy. (Hey, but that’s another story!)
I was always several weeks ahead with the storyline so was under no pressure to work on a Saturday. (I have to admit that I have always enjoyed having the weekends off).
My usual Saturday morning routine was to simply loaf on the settee, usually watching a documentary on the Discovery Channel – most times history - and slowly doze off for an hour or three. Upon waking, I would make myself a tea or coffee then potter about doing odd jobs or a bit of tidying before going to pick up my wife at the end of her shift.
It was about a quarter to eight when my eyelids slammed shut and I happily slipped into oblivion. I don’t remember dreaming, I probably did, (in fact I always do), but on this occasion, I really don’t recall doing so.
Eventually, I regained consciousness, opened my eyes and sat up, yawning and stretching. As normal, I glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece and noted that it was 09.54. I’d been asleep for over 2 hours!
Still a little groggy, I rested my elbows on my knees and then placed my head in my hands and turned my attention to what was currently showing on the TV.
It was a programme called, ‘Local Heroes’ featuring the brilliant presenter; Adam Hart Davies, (who I admire a great deal).
Although there was only a few minutes of the programme remaining, and despite having seen this particular episode before, I decided to sit and watch it to the end then go upstairs to my ‘study’, (a converted spare bedroom), and ‘potter about’ maybe undertaking some clean-up up work on ‘Dyllbert’©.
As the programme ended, I stole a look at Picky. She was stretched contentedly out on the rug, fast asleep.
I hauled myself to my feet and, deciding not to disturb Picky, wandered quietly out of the living room into the hallway and began ascending the stairs with my left hand on the banister.
I’d taken about three steps up when I sensed that something was not quite right. Didn’t feel right. I couldn’t quite grasp it but the feeling stopped me dead in my tracks.
A little perplexed, I peered up the stairs. Couldn’t see anything wrong. Everything appeared to be perfectly normal. All was in its place and precisely where it should be.
I looked behind me, back down into the hallway. Again, everything seemed normal, nothing untoward or out of place.
Yet I knew... felt, something was definitely... weird!
I endeavoured to shrug off the feeling, telling myself that I was being foolish. After all, here I was stood on the stairs in my own house in broad daylight. What could possibly be wrong.
And then, like a thunderbolt, it hit me!
I couldn’t feel the stairs under my slipper covered feet! It was as if I’d lost all feeling in my appendages .
I looked down and to my horror I could plainly see why I couldn’t feel the stair. My feet were actually hovering a few inches above the step I thought I was standing on!
For a moment or two, I was staggered! But only for a moment or two. It didn’t take a genius to realise what might be going on here! I was either undergoing an out of body experience or.... I was dead!
I prayed it wasn’t the latter!
To say I was panic stricken would be an understated understatement. I was honestly and truly terrified! I really didn’t like this! Not one little bit!
Worst of all, I was at a complete loss as to what I should do about the situation. And so I remained rooted to the spot, so to speak, (still hovering), as I attempted to calm myself and try to think things through rationally.
I noted I was still holding on to the banister with my left hand.
Now, this struck me as being rather peculiar, particularly as I could feel the texture and solidness of the wood. If I really was ‘out of body’, I reasoned, how could I possibly feel anything! Shouldn’t my hand pass through the solid banister? Wasn’t I a kind of spirit person?
I also noted that my hands, in fact everything about me, including the clothes I was wearing, were all the right colours and looked precisely as they should.
I didn’t dwell on all this for long since I had far more pressing matters. My main priority was to get back to the living room.
The problem was – and I know this sounds really silly now – I didn’t know just how I was supposed to do that!
After all, I pondered, how did I get from the living room to the stairs in the first place? Did I walk, glide, float, transport, think myself there, or... what?
Essentially, I felt a little like a baby attempting to walk for the first time.
I had clearly managed to move from the living room to the stairs so, logically, I should be able to move back to the living room. My quandary was, how?
“One foot in front of the other, you idiot”, I thought. “Just try putting one foot in front of the other!”
To my surprise and delight, it worked. In a kind of abnormal hovering walk I descended the stairs and retraced my steps back to the living room.
As I entered, Picky opened a bleary eye, raised her head and looked straight at me. It was all just so normal. It’s precisely what she did whenever I (physically) came into the room.
With a completely disinterested yawn, she laid her head back down on the rug, closed her eye and went back to sleep.
Now came the really unnerving bit!
I looked toward the settee and saw me, lying on it! I could see me quite plainly. Eyes closed, breathing slowly but regularly.
It was like looking at my twin. And boy, it was really bizarre.
Thankful that I - that is my body - was quite obviously still in the land of the living, I moved over to the settee and looked down on myself wondering how the hell I was supposed to re-enter my, quite peaceful looking, body. After all, this was all unexplored territory to me!
And then, while I was still anxiously deliberating, it just... happened.
I felt a peculiar kind of tugging sensation around my chest area, and the next thing I knew I was opening my eyes and waking up! Happily back inside my body!
Well, can you just imagine the relief!
I quickly sat up, (then checked to make sure I wasn’t still lying there. Well, you never know!), and looked at the clock.
The time was 10.11. So, by my reckoning, I had been out of my body for at least 17 minutes!
I cannot deny that I was thoroughly shaken by this experience. As far as I was aware, this had never happened to me before.
With my mind still reeling, and my hands shaking somewhat, I made my way to the kitchen and prepared myself a mug of hot sweet tea.
Sat back down on the settee, my hands wrapped round the hot mug, I began to think about this strange happening.
After some deliberation I concluded, (and there was no doubt in my mind), that it had indeed been an ‘out of body experience’ (O.O.B.E.). No doubt at all.
Now I’m sure many people, especially the sceptics, would explain my O.O.B.E. away as nothing more than a lucid dream. Well okay, I’m open minded enough to admit that may possibly be the case.
But, then again, maybe not!
The way I look at it is this:
All the dreams, lucid or otherwise, that I have experienced had one particular thing in common. They all had some form of distorted view of the location of my dream.
For example, you might be lucidly dreaming that you are in, say... your kitchen.
Everything in the kitchen would appear perfectly normal and familiar except that the cooker or fridge might be in a completely different place to where it should be. In other words, by placing the cooker or fridge in the wrong location your dream gives a distorted view of your kitchen.
In the case of my O.O.B.E., as I indicated earlier, everything appeared to be perfectly normal. All was in its place and precisely where it should be. Nothing was distorted!
Further evidence in undistorted normality was that when my ‘out of body self’ first ‘woke up’, I actually watched the last few minutes of the TV programme, ‘Local Heroes’. I certainly didn’t dream it!
And when I looked at the clock the time it showed was in real time.
So, did I have an O.O.B.E?
I think I did. I really do.
Of course, I can’t possibly prove it. In fact, I don’t think anyone who has experienced an O.O.B.E. can offer real proof since there is no way to produce actual physical evidence.
But then, when you get right down to it, why should I, or anyone else, have to prove it. I know it happened and I’m content with my interpretation of the experience and that, I feel, is all that really matters, don’t you think?
So I simply ask those to whom I relate this tale to take what I say at face value. Whether they believe it or not is their rightful choice. I would certainly never argue the point.
Some folk ask me if, given the opportunity, I would care to repeat the experience, particularly as I was – understandably I think - scared witless during my O.O.B.E.
And my reply?
Oh yes. I would dearly love to repeat the experience. But so far, from that day to this, I never have.
I’ve had a few lucid, but always slightly distorted, dreams that sometimes made me think that I had. But of course, on reflection, I knew that I hadn’t.
And, I have to say in all honesty, this has been cause for a certain amount of regret.
Shortly after my O.O.B.E. I realised the extraordinary chance I had missed. That whilst I was ‘out of body’ I had a unique option to explore, to see what I could do or achieve and where I might travel, free of my physical body. Instead, I got scared and panicked and thus missed a truly golden opportunity. (Ever wanted to kick yourself?).
Ah well...
Finally:
There is one thing that still puzzles me though. How is it, given I was out of body and so purportedly not in a physical state, I could feel and hold on to the wooden banister? As I said before, surely my ‘spirit’ hand would have passed through it!
If you have a suggestion or answer to this, I would honestly appreciate, and be very grateful for, your comment.
It happened one rather nippy Saturday morning in the month of December.
My wife works part time for a large hypermarket grocery chain and, as she can’t drive, I (still) take her to work every morning at 06.25. Including of course, Saturdays.
On this particular Saturday I dropped her off at the hypermarket then returned home, arriving at approximately 06.50, to be greeted enthusiastically by my 13 year old Jack Russell dog, Pixie, (a.k.a., Picky or Wicky Woo, (don’t ask!), who is sadly no longer with us)
As visitors to this blog have no doubt gathered by now, I am an ardent dog lover.
As usual, I made a total fuss of Picky, (who had me wrapped around her little claw), then kicked off my shoes, pulled on my carpet slippers, made myself a cup of coffee in the kitchen, strolled into the living room and flopped down on the settee, (couch), in front of the television. Picky took my lead and flopped herself down on the rug in front of the gas fire.
Back then, I was working from home on a personal project, (The Legend of Dyllbert the Pirate ©), a comic strip for a local newspaper which told the tale of Captain Ignatious Josiah Dyllbert, a constantly seasick 19th century Royal Naval Officer who, through no fault of his own, eventually turns to piracy. (Hey, but that’s another story!)
I was always several weeks ahead with the storyline so was under no pressure to work on a Saturday. (I have to admit that I have always enjoyed having the weekends off).
My usual Saturday morning routine was to simply loaf on the settee, usually watching a documentary on the Discovery Channel – most times history - and slowly doze off for an hour or three. Upon waking, I would make myself a tea or coffee then potter about doing odd jobs or a bit of tidying before going to pick up my wife at the end of her shift.
It was about a quarter to eight when my eyelids slammed shut and I happily slipped into oblivion. I don’t remember dreaming, I probably did, (in fact I always do), but on this occasion, I really don’t recall doing so.
Eventually, I regained consciousness, opened my eyes and sat up, yawning and stretching. As normal, I glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece and noted that it was 09.54. I’d been asleep for over 2 hours!
Still a little groggy, I rested my elbows on my knees and then placed my head in my hands and turned my attention to what was currently showing on the TV.
It was a programme called, ‘Local Heroes’ featuring the brilliant presenter; Adam Hart Davies, (who I admire a great deal).
Although there was only a few minutes of the programme remaining, and despite having seen this particular episode before, I decided to sit and watch it to the end then go upstairs to my ‘study’, (a converted spare bedroom), and ‘potter about’ maybe undertaking some clean-up up work on ‘Dyllbert’©.
As the programme ended, I stole a look at Picky. She was stretched contentedly out on the rug, fast asleep.
I hauled myself to my feet and, deciding not to disturb Picky, wandered quietly out of the living room into the hallway and began ascending the stairs with my left hand on the banister.
I’d taken about three steps up when I sensed that something was not quite right. Didn’t feel right. I couldn’t quite grasp it but the feeling stopped me dead in my tracks.
A little perplexed, I peered up the stairs. Couldn’t see anything wrong. Everything appeared to be perfectly normal. All was in its place and precisely where it should be.
I looked behind me, back down into the hallway. Again, everything seemed normal, nothing untoward or out of place.
Yet I knew... felt, something was definitely... weird!
I endeavoured to shrug off the feeling, telling myself that I was being foolish. After all, here I was stood on the stairs in my own house in broad daylight. What could possibly be wrong.
And then, like a thunderbolt, it hit me!
I couldn’t feel the stairs under my slipper covered feet! It was as if I’d lost all feeling in my appendages .
I looked down and to my horror I could plainly see why I couldn’t feel the stair. My feet were actually hovering a few inches above the step I thought I was standing on!
For a moment or two, I was staggered! But only for a moment or two. It didn’t take a genius to realise what might be going on here! I was either undergoing an out of body experience or.... I was dead!
I prayed it wasn’t the latter!
To say I was panic stricken would be an understated understatement. I was honestly and truly terrified! I really didn’t like this! Not one little bit!
Worst of all, I was at a complete loss as to what I should do about the situation. And so I remained rooted to the spot, so to speak, (still hovering), as I attempted to calm myself and try to think things through rationally.
I noted I was still holding on to the banister with my left hand.
Now, this struck me as being rather peculiar, particularly as I could feel the texture and solidness of the wood. If I really was ‘out of body’, I reasoned, how could I possibly feel anything! Shouldn’t my hand pass through the solid banister? Wasn’t I a kind of spirit person?
I also noted that my hands, in fact everything about me, including the clothes I was wearing, were all the right colours and looked precisely as they should.
I didn’t dwell on all this for long since I had far more pressing matters. My main priority was to get back to the living room.
The problem was – and I know this sounds really silly now – I didn’t know just how I was supposed to do that!
After all, I pondered, how did I get from the living room to the stairs in the first place? Did I walk, glide, float, transport, think myself there, or... what?
Essentially, I felt a little like a baby attempting to walk for the first time.
I had clearly managed to move from the living room to the stairs so, logically, I should be able to move back to the living room. My quandary was, how?
“One foot in front of the other, you idiot”, I thought. “Just try putting one foot in front of the other!”
To my surprise and delight, it worked. In a kind of abnormal hovering walk I descended the stairs and retraced my steps back to the living room.
As I entered, Picky opened a bleary eye, raised her head and looked straight at me. It was all just so normal. It’s precisely what she did whenever I (physically) came into the room.
With a completely disinterested yawn, she laid her head back down on the rug, closed her eye and went back to sleep.
Now came the really unnerving bit!
I looked toward the settee and saw me, lying on it! I could see me quite plainly. Eyes closed, breathing slowly but regularly.
It was like looking at my twin. And boy, it was really bizarre.
Thankful that I - that is my body - was quite obviously still in the land of the living, I moved over to the settee and looked down on myself wondering how the hell I was supposed to re-enter my, quite peaceful looking, body. After all, this was all unexplored territory to me!
And then, while I was still anxiously deliberating, it just... happened.
I felt a peculiar kind of tugging sensation around my chest area, and the next thing I knew I was opening my eyes and waking up! Happily back inside my body!
Well, can you just imagine the relief!
I quickly sat up, (then checked to make sure I wasn’t still lying there. Well, you never know!), and looked at the clock.
The time was 10.11. So, by my reckoning, I had been out of my body for at least 17 minutes!
I cannot deny that I was thoroughly shaken by this experience. As far as I was aware, this had never happened to me before.
With my mind still reeling, and my hands shaking somewhat, I made my way to the kitchen and prepared myself a mug of hot sweet tea.
Sat back down on the settee, my hands wrapped round the hot mug, I began to think about this strange happening.
After some deliberation I concluded, (and there was no doubt in my mind), that it had indeed been an ‘out of body experience’ (O.O.B.E.). No doubt at all.
Now I’m sure many people, especially the sceptics, would explain my O.O.B.E. away as nothing more than a lucid dream. Well okay, I’m open minded enough to admit that may possibly be the case.
But, then again, maybe not!
The way I look at it is this:
All the dreams, lucid or otherwise, that I have experienced had one particular thing in common. They all had some form of distorted view of the location of my dream.
For example, you might be lucidly dreaming that you are in, say... your kitchen.
Everything in the kitchen would appear perfectly normal and familiar except that the cooker or fridge might be in a completely different place to where it should be. In other words, by placing the cooker or fridge in the wrong location your dream gives a distorted view of your kitchen.
In the case of my O.O.B.E., as I indicated earlier, everything appeared to be perfectly normal. All was in its place and precisely where it should be. Nothing was distorted!
Further evidence in undistorted normality was that when my ‘out of body self’ first ‘woke up’, I actually watched the last few minutes of the TV programme, ‘Local Heroes’. I certainly didn’t dream it!
And when I looked at the clock the time it showed was in real time.
So, did I have an O.O.B.E?
I think I did. I really do.
Of course, I can’t possibly prove it. In fact, I don’t think anyone who has experienced an O.O.B.E. can offer real proof since there is no way to produce actual physical evidence.
But then, when you get right down to it, why should I, or anyone else, have to prove it. I know it happened and I’m content with my interpretation of the experience and that, I feel, is all that really matters, don’t you think?
So I simply ask those to whom I relate this tale to take what I say at face value. Whether they believe it or not is their rightful choice. I would certainly never argue the point.
Some folk ask me if, given the opportunity, I would care to repeat the experience, particularly as I was – understandably I think - scared witless during my O.O.B.E.
And my reply?
Oh yes. I would dearly love to repeat the experience. But so far, from that day to this, I never have.
I’ve had a few lucid, but always slightly distorted, dreams that sometimes made me think that I had. But of course, on reflection, I knew that I hadn’t.
And, I have to say in all honesty, this has been cause for a certain amount of regret.
Shortly after my O.O.B.E. I realised the extraordinary chance I had missed. That whilst I was ‘out of body’ I had a unique option to explore, to see what I could do or achieve and where I might travel, free of my physical body. Instead, I got scared and panicked and thus missed a truly golden opportunity. (Ever wanted to kick yourself?).
Ah well...
Finally:
There is one thing that still puzzles me though. How is it, given I was out of body and so purportedly not in a physical state, I could feel and hold on to the wooden banister? As I said before, surely my ‘spirit’ hand would have passed through it!
If you have a suggestion or answer to this, I would honestly appreciate, and be very grateful for, your comment.
Derek Acorah - Is He For Real?
May I say from the outset, I really like Derek Acorah.
I believe he is a truly genuine and kindly person at heart who wouldn't hurt a fly. But is he really the medium he professes to be or a play acting phony?
Much has been written in the popular press this week about Derek. One columnist boldly declared him to be an outright fake.
Harsh words? Well, as much as I like Derek and enjoy the excellent 'Most Haunted' on Living TV, I have to admit that I am not wholly convinced by his performances.
Particularly when he is apparently 'possessed' by supposed spirits who 'talk' to 'Most Haunted' presenter, Yvette Fielding, through Derek.
What we must remember is that although 'Most Haunted' does perform valid ghost hunts and experiments, the programme is, essentially, for entertainment. I do feel, therefore, that Derek is often times under a fair amount of pressure to produce the goods, so to speak.
And him being allegedly possessed by a spirit will certainly do that!
In my humble opinion, it's all too pat, too contrived. You can virtually predict now when Derek is about to 'go into one'.
In the early days of 'Most Haunted', Derek being possessed was an extremely rare occurrence, and was all the better for it.
Nowadays, it is such a regular feature of the show, it has become... dare I say it?... Boring and somewhat daft!
Particularly when a 'possessed' Derek is asked simple questions - regarding the person possessing him - that he then fails miserably to answer and instead prowls around shouting and being aggressive!
As for the spirits, I would love to hear an explanation from Derek or indeed 'Most Haunted' as to why, whenever they visit a haunted inn, house, hotel, night club etc., there appear to be no 20th century spirits visiting!
That said, I am not accusing Derek of faking his powers. Although we are all entitled to an opinion, no-one truly has the right to accuse him without factual evidence that he is.
I have watched Derek on 'The Antiques Ghost Show' where ordinairy folk bring in historic items/objects for Derek to touch and then use his powers of psychometry to tell the owners details of their ancestors etc. And I have to say that I was pretty impressed.
At first, however, I was quite sceptical since the lady presenter of 'The Antiques Ghost Show' would meet with the guests prior to Derek's arrival and gently question them about the history/origin of the items/objects the guest had brought with them.
Sceptical that is, until one particular guest point blank refused to give any information to the presenter relating to the object he had brought in. Even though the presenter pressed him.
I then watched as Derek astounded and confounded the guest, (and me), with accurate details about the object, it's original owner, what it was used for and even the name of the ship the object had once been transported on!
So, is Derek Acorah for real?
I don't really know and nor, I suspect, does anyone else.
What I do know is that real or fake, Derek is hurting absolutely no-one!
If anything he, Colin Fry and Tony Stockwell, (a.k.a. The Three Mediums), are undoubtedly a source of immense comfort to many who have been bereaved.
And that can't be a bad thing, can it!
A Quirky Quicky Vampire Poem
Being a vampire, for me, ain’t much funFun I c’n tell ya, it ain’t
And this livin’ forever’s a pain in the neck,
'cos the mere sight of blood makes me faint!
(And the taste! Oh boy!)
Ghosts!
Ghosts!
“Do you believe in ghosts, young man?”
Said the old man stroking his beard.
“Oh no”, I said.
“Oh no!” He said.
And promptly disappeared!
Horror Movies!
Horror Movies!
So, picture this!
You're looking down into a deep dark cellar
where there might be a murderous dweller,
a quite infernal and diabolical kinda feller!
Who'll gobble you up and leave not a trace,
not anywhere in the entire place!
So, would you go down the cellar steps into that inky abyss?
I think not! You'd likely give that particular pleasure a miss!
In fact, wild horses wouldn't drag you!
Unless, that is, you're a horror movie actor, who
is stupid beyond belief and never has the faintest clue,
who'll never wait, nor hesitate,
and like a bull at a gate ,
he'll enter the cellar even though there's a dweller
A quite fiendish diabolical kinda feller
Who'll gobble him up and leave not a trace,
Not anywhere in the entire place!
How feeble-minded is that, eh!
Well just as feeble-minded as say...
Entering a dark creepy house at night
and not turning on one single light
when you know there just might
be an axe wielding host,
a ghoul or a ghost
who'll chop you up
or fill you with dread,
so you'll doubtless end up completely...
dead!
So, what do you think you would do?
Well, you wouldn't enter the house, would you?
In fact, no amount of money would make you
Unless of course you're a movie actor who,
is crazy beyond belief and seems never to really have a clue
and who'll enter the dark creepy house at night
and not turn on one single light
even though she knows there just might
be an axe wielding host, a ghoul or a ghost
who'll chop her up or fill her with dread,
so she'll doubtless end up completely...
dead!
So, how lucky for these actors, that the tales us writers weave
for nasty horror movies, are only make believe...
Isn't it?
Wolfen!
Wolfen!
I dread the rising of the full moon.
It drives me mad.
No, not mad... Not mad...
Insane!
The shiny floating ball of light that delivers so much misery.
Misery, and indescribable, excruciating pain. Torturous burning pain.
I loathe the full moon. I despise its power over me, the way its cold hoary light strikes the change in me. The way it makes my flesh crawl and blaze white hot with hellish fire.
I curse the full moon as I try to hide in cool shadows, shivering, weeping... hoping.
It won't happen this time...
Not this time...
Not this time...
Please God...
No use.
The bitter insufferable searing pain surges through my body.
In unimaginable agony I twist and turn and tear at my clothes and scream at the full moon as bones twist and crack, muscles rip, fingers curl, nails claw, spine curves, ears extend, gums bleed, teeth sharpen, nose and jaw and tongue draw out.
None should have to endure such a terrible hurt, such a torment.
None!
And when the pain subsides, I lay weak and panting, waiting for strength to slowly return.
And when it does... Oh, when it does.
I howl at the full moon and lope silently through a forest of tall trees bathed in silver moonlight.
The smell, ah, the sweet, sweet smell of pine wood and fresh green dewy grass.
The cool night wind gently strokes my face.
I am intoxicated. I am happy. Truly happy.
The full moon holds no terror for me now.
Suddenly, quite suddenly, I feel a hunger, a ravenous hunger.
I must eat. I must eat fresh meat and drink warm blood. For I am wolfen.
There is no choice.
I must survive!
Cunningly I stalk my prey. I catch my prey. I kill my prey.
The kill is mercifully swift.
After the kill I eat my fill and then… Sleep.
A deep, deep dreamless sleep.
‘Til the early morning sun rises, warming the damp earth and draping my naked and bloodied female form in a fine dewy mist.
I detest the sun!
I despise its power over me, the way its golden radiant light awakens me, and forces me to suffer a pain infinitely worse than the cruel, cursed pain of wolfen transformation.
A pain that cuts deep into my immortal human soul.
The insufferable pain of lucid memory.
Savage, unforgiving memory.
The relentless heart rending pain of unceasing remorse and tear filled pity for my luckless human prey.
The agony of knowing the full moon will rise once again.
I will change once again.
I cannot stop it!
I cannot stop it!
I cannot even take my own life.
Such is the curse of the wolfen.
Only one who truly loves me has the power to end my miserable, wretched existence.
With a single silver bullet!
And I swear, by all that is holy, if I could find someone;
if I could find just one who could love me enough.
I would take the silver bullet…
Gladly.
I dread the rising of the full moon.
It drives me mad.
No, not mad... Not mad...
Insane!
The shiny floating ball of light that delivers so much misery.
Misery, and indescribable, excruciating pain. Torturous burning pain.
I loathe the full moon. I despise its power over me, the way its cold hoary light strikes the change in me. The way it makes my flesh crawl and blaze white hot with hellish fire.
I curse the full moon as I try to hide in cool shadows, shivering, weeping... hoping.
It won't happen this time...
Not this time...
Not this time...
Please God...
No use.
The bitter insufferable searing pain surges through my body.
In unimaginable agony I twist and turn and tear at my clothes and scream at the full moon as bones twist and crack, muscles rip, fingers curl, nails claw, spine curves, ears extend, gums bleed, teeth sharpen, nose and jaw and tongue draw out.
None should have to endure such a terrible hurt, such a torment.
None!
And when the pain subsides, I lay weak and panting, waiting for strength to slowly return.
And when it does... Oh, when it does.
I howl at the full moon and lope silently through a forest of tall trees bathed in silver moonlight.The smell, ah, the sweet, sweet smell of pine wood and fresh green dewy grass.
The cool night wind gently strokes my face.
I am intoxicated. I am happy. Truly happy.
The full moon holds no terror for me now.
Suddenly, quite suddenly, I feel a hunger, a ravenous hunger.
I must eat. I must eat fresh meat and drink warm blood. For I am wolfen.
There is no choice.
I must survive!
Cunningly I stalk my prey. I catch my prey. I kill my prey.
The kill is mercifully swift.
After the kill I eat my fill and then… Sleep.
A deep, deep dreamless sleep.
‘Til the early morning sun rises, warming the damp earth and draping my naked and bloodied female form in a fine dewy mist.
I detest the sun!
I despise its power over me, the way its golden radiant light awakens me, and forces me to suffer a pain infinitely worse than the cruel, cursed pain of wolfen transformation.
A pain that cuts deep into my immortal human soul.
The insufferable pain of lucid memory.
Savage, unforgiving memory.
The relentless heart rending pain of unceasing remorse and tear filled pity for my luckless human prey.
The agony of knowing the full moon will rise once again.
I will change once again.
I cannot stop it!
I cannot stop it!
I cannot even take my own life.
Such is the curse of the wolfen.
Only one who truly loves me has the power to end my miserable, wretched existence.
With a single silver bullet!
And I swear, by all that is holy, if I could find someone;
if I could find just one who could love me enough.
I would take the silver bullet…
Gladly.
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