A MANX GHOST This story is true, whether you believe it or not. I was dating a girl, Alice, while I was on holiday in the Isle of Man some 25 years ago. She told me she always avoided a particular church graveyard. Not too long before, she explained, while on her way home from a dance, she happened to be walking past the churchyard when she saw her elderly grandfather standing among the tombstones. Her grandfather was still then very much alive (although frail in health) and she wondered why he should be wandering around in such a place at such an hour. When he saw his granddaughter, he beckoned her using both arms at the same time, and his face had a strangely glazed expression. This spooked her and she ran home in some distress. On arriving home she hung up her coat in the lobby and chanced to look in the mirror. You guessed it - there was her grandfather, in the mirror, beckoning to her just like he did in the churchyard. This really freaked her out and she ran upstairs to her room. A minute or two later the door to her room opened and her mother came in, having heard the commotion in the hallway. "I'm glad you're back, Alice", she said, "your grandfather's suddenly been taken ill. It's bad news I'm afraid, so we're all going round to see him. Get your coat on again!" Reluctantly, she dutifully followed as the whole family walked the couple of blocks to her grandfather's house. On arrival, they were immediately urged to go upstairs to the bedroom where the old man lay ill in bed. He was propped up by many pillows in a half upright position. When he saw Alice he beckoned to her using both arms, just like she'd already seen him do in the churchyard and in the lobby mirror. Terrified, she just froze, and remained in a corner of the room while her mother leaned over to hear the old man's last whispered words before he died. As the family returned home, Alice's mother expressed annoyance that her daughter should have behaved so icily to her grandfather, "And on his death bed too - I'm surprised at you, Alice. But something puzzles me. As he was dying, he whispered in my ear that he wanted you to know something." "What was that?" enquired Alice. "Well, I don't really understand what he was talking about, but what he said was, 'As Alice won't come near me will you tell her I'm sorry for frightening her in the churchyard and in the mirror.'" A GHOST RIDER OF THE MOORLANDS When I was about nine years old in the early 1960s I was in the living room with my younger brother, mother and father. It was early evening in this small Lancashire town and quite dark outside owing to it being winter. The curtains were pulled tightly closed and a cosy fire crackled in the hearth - no central heating for us then! The house was an old Victorian building with huge (cold) rooms and lofty windows. It occupied an elevated position on the corner of a block. When we looked out of the living room windows the street was about ten feet below. In those days there was very little traffic even in the daytime so, with it being dark and cold that night, we were surprised to faintly hear the galloping of a horse, in the distance. Whoever was riding that horse was in a hurry. Its hooves beat a staccato clatter ever more loudly on the cobbled surface of the street below, as it got nearer and nearer our house. In those days we still got the occasional horse and cart down our street, their drivers selling ice-cream or collecting old junk, but those horses were invariably calm, unhurried creatures who probably hadn't broken into a canter for years. This horse, tonight, was different. This was a powerful steed and nothing, it seemed, was going to slow its progress. My mother sensed something unusual and rose out of her chair to take a look out. As she approached the curtains we could hear the horse slowing down just underneath our windows. She parted the curtains and peered out into the dark. The sound of the horse's hooves came to a stop at the road junction at the corner of our front garden, as if the rider was looking left and right. Then, the furious galloping started again, this time the sound getting fainter and fainter as it echoed away towards the moors nearby. To her disappointment, my mother saw nothing. A few days later we read in the local paper that many people had sighted a phantom horseman galloping across the moors. A local reporter had pieced together the various accounts into a reasonably complete story. The phantom had approached the moors from the direction of our house. Those who had seen it agreed that the horse was indeed a most splendid animal, its rider clothed in garb reminiscent of centuries past. Apparently, the phantom horseman had been seen on a regular basis for many years. He was always in a hurry, always took the same route, always stopped at road junctions to check for passing traffic, and always disappeared somewhere on the moors, because he had never been seen riding away from them. Could my mother have seen that ghost if she had looked out of the window a little bit sooner? We'll always wonder. A FAVORITE AUNT'S LAST VISIT Everyone has favourite visitors to their home and Auntie Ruby was ours. All the family loved her and looked forward to her visits, particularly my younger brother and myself. She was always full of fun for us two boys and whenever she arrived it brightened our day. While she was around the usual household rules were relaxed and there was always something special for tea. Sadly, Auntie Ruby got sick and her visits became less frequent. Now, we wanted to visit her, but while allowing my parents, she discouraged my brother and I, owing to not wanting us to see her unwell. She'd get better soon, she reassured us, "so you can visit me later." One night our whole family was upstairs in bed asleep - apart from me, that is. I was reading with my room light on when I heard a creak which sounded like the bottom step of the stairs. After 11 years living in that house I knew every different sounding creak in that staircase and that definitely was the bottom tread. I shrugged and thought no more of it, until a few minutes later I heard another creak, this time from a step about half way up. Now I really took notice. I stopped reading and listened intently. Sure enough, after another delay, the next to the top stair creaked. I was really worried now. I put the book down and looked around the room for something to defend myself, in case it was a burglar climbing those stairs. Needless to say there was nothing in my room that could be used for defence. Hurriedly, I planned that if the burglar did come in my room, I'd throw my book at him and try to get past him, out of the door, pronto, and make my escape. The floorboard just outside my bedroom door creaked. "This is it," I thought, "anytime now he's going to open the door!" I gripped the book tighter and tighter as the door handle moved. I watched the handle gradually and silently lower, more and more, until eventually the door unlatched. To my surprise, no-one came into the room. The handle gradually rose back to its usual position and the door latched again. I wondered if the burglar had changed his mind. Moments later I heard a distinctive 'sigh'; loud and unmistakable. A really heartfelt 'sigh'. I waited a good while then crept to the door to look out. There was nothing there. I switched off the room light and got back into bed. I was a long time getting to sleep because I still kept listening out for any more creaks. To my relief, nothing more happened. The next morning I told my younger brother all about it while he stared at me in amazement. Then, to my astonishment, he told me HIS story of what had happened last night. He was in bed half asleep on his right side when he felt someone sit on the bed on the left side. This 'someone' prodded him in his back through the bed sheets, fully waking him up. He realised something strange was happening but was too scared to look round. He got another prod in the back, which made him curl up in a ball out of sheer terror. Last of all, this 'someone' then 'pinched' his butt, really painfully! At this he just had to uncurl and look around. There was nothing there. However, he felt a rapidly disappearing depression on the side of his bed, like someone had just got up from having been sitting there. We learned later that morning that Auntie Ruby had passed away during the night. We were very upset of course and we wondered if she had come to visit for one last time; to have a final look at us and, perhaps, a bit of fun, before she moved on to a higher sphere of existence. Wherever she is now, she knows we still love her. Submitted From: Michael, Lancashire, UK