Halloween

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Halloween

• Istituto Plateja a.s. 2005/06 classe
• 2A

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CHOOSE A TALE
The Monk of St. John's Church
The Bus Stop
Child's ghost story...
The Death Waltz
The Call from the Grave
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A short walk from my parents house is the Queens
Park suspension bridge, a foot bridge across the
river Dee, on the other side are two interesting
buildings. Close to the river is the Anchorite
cell, also known as the Hermitage, a very old
small building now converted into a house it
stands on a rock foundation made entirely from
sandstone blocks. Just up the hill is St John's
Church, founded in the 8th century part of it
lies in ruins, while the rest is still in use. I
have passed these two buildings many times, in
the day and late at night without noticing
anything unusual, but being dark quiet places at
the best of times I don't loiter around these
places at night looking for anything bizarre. The
foot path leading to the bridge passes the ruins
at the north end of the church, lighting enhances
the stark beauty of the Norman arches standing
alone in the moonlight and highlights the many
tombs. In one of the remaining walls is fixed a
plague coffin from the middle ages, a bleak
reminder of mortality as powerful now as it was
when first affixed. Among these ruins many
people have glimpsed the hooded figure of a monk.
Passers by have even greeted him, only to find
that seconds later he has disappeared. He has
also been seen moving about the ruined steeple at
the south end of the church, but fewer people
pass that way. A similar figure, probably the
same can sometimes be seen crossing the bowling
green in front of the Anchorite Cell.
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The ghostly figure makes his rounds when the time
is right, moving around the ruins of the church,
then down towards the river and the Anchorite
Cell. Many have seen him, a few have heard him
faintly muttering in a Germanic language
(possibly Anglo-Saxon?). No-one knows exactly
who the phantom is nor his unfinished purpose or
terrible memory that keeps him on this earth.
However local folklore suggests an explanation
In 1066 King Harold's army was defeated by the
Normans at Hastings. Shortly after the battle
Harold's Queen, Ealdgyth fled to Chester to lead
the life of a reclusive nun in the Anchorite
Cell. It was several years before the advancing
invaders reached Chester. Perhaps they no longer
wished to seek out the disposed queen, perhaps
her identity was hidden from the invaders and
they did not question the pious nun.
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• In any case Queen Ealdgyth lived the rest of her
  days as a recluse in the Hermitage by the river.
• She had few visitors in her solitary life, and
  only one is remembered, that of a monk. A monk
  would come frequently to visit her, they would
  pray together, go to church together, and spend
  enough time together that tongues began to wag.
  Perhaps her friend was just a friendly local monk
  who enjoyed the company of the widow. Another
  version is that King Harold was not killed at the
  battle of Hastings, after being wounded and
  seeing his army defeated, he and his wife were
  hidden and brought to Chester disguised as a nun
  and monk. She led the life of a reclusive nun,
  King Harold hid in the monastery. Their moments
  together were short, but Harold would seek to
  spend as much time as possible with his wife,
  without raising suspicion of their true
  identities from the invaders.
• Whoever he is, he is still there.

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A fellow was driving home from work in a
rainstorm. While he waited for a traffic light to
change, he saw a young woman standing along at a
bus stop. She had no umbrella and was soaking
wet. "Are you going toward Farmington?" he
called. "Yes, I am," she answered. "Would you
like a ride home?" "I would," she said, and she
got in. "My name is Joanna Finney. Thank you for
rescuing me." "I'm Ed Cox," he said, "and you're
welcome." On the way they talked and talked. She
told him about her family and her job and where
she had gone to school, and he told her about
himself. By the time they got to her house, the
rain had stopped. "I'm glad it rained," Ed said.
"Would you like to go out tomorrow after work?"
"I'd love to," Joanna replied. She asked him to
meet her at the bus stop, since it was near her
office. They had such a good time, they went out
many times after that. Always they would meet at
the bus stop, and off they would go. Ed liked her
more each time he saw her.
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But one night when they had a date to go out,
Joanna did not appear. Ed waited at the bus stop
for almost an hour. "Maybe something is wrong,"
he thought, and he drove to her house in
Farmington. An older woman answered the door.
"I'm Ed Cox," he said. "Maybe Joanna told you
about me. I had a date with her tonight. We were
supposed to meet at the bus stop near her office.
But she didn't show up. Is she alright?" The
woman looked at him as if he had said something
strange. "I am Joanna's mother," she said slowly.
"Joanna isn't here now. But why don't you come
in?" Ed pointed to a picture on the mantel.
"That looks just like her," he said. "It did
once," her mother replied. "But that picture was
taken when she was your age - about twenty years
ago. A few days later she was waiting in the rain
at the bus stop. A car hit her, and she was
killed."
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A few years ago, I was involved in the conversion
of some 17th Century buildings in Durham City,
England, from houses into shops and a cafe. For
those who've never been, Durham is an old
Cathedral town, with many old buildings crammed
into quite a small space. These particular
buildings were based around an old courtyard of
Saddler Street, and consisted of a large building
of about three stories and a narrower one of
similar height. These were seriously old and
atmospheric buildings the smaller of the two had
beams which were reckoned to have been old ship's
timbers from about the time of the Spanish
Armada, and the larger one had lots of narrow
passageways upstairs, and a big oak panelled
room. While I helped prepare the smaller
building for use, the larger building was being
converted into a Cafe. Taran, the daughter of
the owners of the Cafe, used to play alone on one
of the upper floors of the building while her
parents worked downstairs. (At this time she was
about three years old, I think, and her parents
swore later that they hadn't mentioned death to
her in any particular way - all her grandparents
were still alive and she'd never had any pets
which might have expired.) On this occasion her
parents could hear her thumping about upstairs,
and called her down.
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"Don't make so much noise, dear!" they said.
"It's not me, it's Davvy making the noise" she
answered promptly. Like many children of that
age, Taran had pretty regular games with
imaginary friends, so her parents weren't too
impressed by this attempt to duck the blame.
"Well, ask her not to be so noisy" they asked.
"I will", said Taran, "but she likes making
noise because she doesn't get to play much. She
says she's been dead for such a long time that
she can only come out to play with me"... In an
interesting development, a few days after this
happened, Taran (who had never been spoken to
about death, remember) started holding funeral
services for her Barbie dolls putting them in
boxes and surrounding them with flowers, saying
prayers "for the dead Barbie" and generally being
quite alarming. She stopped short of burying
them, though! Over a few months, the cafe was
finished and opened, and in time Taran's
fascination with death wore off, and - as far as
I know - nothing more was heard of "Davvy". - -
although it's worth mentioning that the staff at
the cafe often receive warnings from people who
visit the upstairs toilets that they can hear a
child playing in the stockroom...
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Years ago, when all beyond the Missouri was a
waste, the military post at Fort Union, New
Mexico, was the only spot for miles around where
any of the graces of social life could be
discovered. Among the ladies at the post was a
certain gay young woman, the sister-in-law of a
captain, who enjoyed the variety and spice of
adventure to be found there, and enjoyed, too,
the homage that the young officers paid to her,
for women who could be loved or liked were not
many in that wild country. A young lieutenant
proved especially susceptible to her charms, and
devoted himself to her in the hope that he should
ultimately win her hand. His experience with the
world was not large enough to enable him to
distinguish between the womanly woman and the
coquette. One day messengers came dashing into
the fort with news of an Apache outbreak, and a
detachment was ordered out to chase and punish
the marauding Indians. The lieutenant was put in
command of the expedition, but before starting he
confided his love to the young woman, who not
only acknowledged that she returned his
affection, but promised that if the fortune of
war deprived him of life she would never marry
another. As he bade her good-by he was heard to
say, "That is well. Nobody else shall have you. I
will come back and make my claim." In a few days
the detachment came back, but the lieutenant was
missing. It was noticed that the bride-elect
grieved but little for him, and nobody was
surprised when she announced her intention of
marrying a young man from the East.
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The wedding-day arrived. All was gayety at the
post, and in the evening the mess-room was
decorated for a ball. As the dance was in full
swing a door flew open with a bang, letting in a
draught of air that made the candles burn dim,
and a strange cry, unlike that of any human
creature, sounded through the house. All eyes
turned to the door. In it stood the swollen body
of a dead man dressed in the stained uniform of
an officer. The temple was marked by a
hatchet-gash, the scalp was gone, the eyes were
wide open and burned with a terrible light.
Walking to the bride the body drew her from the
arms of her husband who, like the rest of the
company, stood as in a trance, without the power
of motion, and clasping her to its bosom began a
waltz. The musicians, who afterward declared that
they did not know what they were doing, struck up
a demoniac dance, and the couple spun around and
around, the woman growing paler and paler, until
at last the fallen jaw and staring eyes showed
that life was also extinct in her. The dead man
allowed her to sink to the floor, stood over her
for a moment, wrung his hands as he sounded his
fearful cry again, then vanished through the
door. A few days later a troop of soldiers who
had been to the scene of the Apache encounter
returned with the body of the lieutenant
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One time there was a little girl whose
grandfather had just died. She has loved her
grandfather very much and she missed him a great
deal. He was buried in the cemetery just a few
hundred yards from her house, and she could see
his grave every evening at sunset when she looked
from her bedroom window. One night her parents
were going out and the babysitter hadn't arrived
yet. They knew she was a very reliable babysitter
who would probably arrive just a few minutes
later, so they kissed the girl good-bye and drive
off. Hours passed and the babysitter had not yet
come. The girl began to be afraid. A storm was
brewing outside and thunder and lightning moved
closer and closer to the house. Suddenly there
was a bright flash of lightning without any sound
and the power in the house went off. The wind
blew the trees around and branches broke off,
crashing against the house and falling to the
yard. Alone in the dark, the girl became very
scared. Then the phone rang. The girl went to
the phone, hoping it was her parents. She said
hello, and waited. The line seemed dead. Then,
sounding far, far away, a voice came over the
phone. It was her grandfather's voice.
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"Don't be afraid, honey. There's nothing to fear.
You'll be safe in the house. The storm will pass
over." Then the phone was silent and dead. The
girl went to bed, calm and happy. She slept well
in spite of the storm. The parents came home and
found their daughter asleep, and, unwilling to
wake her, they left their questions until the
morning. They were horrified when the babysitter
called the next morning to explain that she had
been in a wreck at the leading edge of the storm.
She was unhurt, but what had their daughter done
alone in the house?
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When they woke her, she told them what had
happened. And when they didn't believe her, she
smiled and pointed out her window to what she had
seen the night before. The phone line from the
house was intact out to the first pole, but then
it was broken by fallen limbs, and the cable
drooped into the cemetery. The end of the broken
line lay across her grandfather's grave.