Wee Hauntings

This is a re-telling of an experience I had in Great Britain, during one of their famed night "Ghost Walks".  A firm believer in the supernatural, I expected to be entertained but most certainly not in the way it turned out. Of course since this was several years ago, I have had to take artistic license to the actual conversations, but the jist of it remains true.

Our guide was a 30ish fellow named Tony, who shared that his father had been a tour guide, as was his grandfather and great-grandfather before him.  They had lived in the area all of their lives, his entire family line was traceable to the area around York.

Our tour consisted of myself and two other women from Vancouver, two couples from Australia, an older husband and wife from the US, and a family of 4 from Israel: a mom, dad, brother and sister.  The older child was around 12, and the younger was 10 (she was happy to share this information with us!).  It was no surprise that it had been the girl who had begged her family to sign up for the tour!  Several of us had done similar tours, and it often included actors in period costume who reenacted an event or scene of medieval life and I do think that they expected more of the same.

We proceeded in the usual fashion, stopping at homes and street corners to hear a story or two about the former inhabitants or a point in history, asking questions and discussing amiably amongst ourselves.  Since it was night, no one bothered to pull out the digital cameras, vowing instead to return during the following day and grab photos at that time.

We came to a rather new subdivision, pretty townhouse style homes which had an enclosed walkway from one end to the other, forming a square.  It was a very different layout then anything I had seen in Britain thus far, and at the center of this subdivision was an open area with a few planted trees.  The ground was fitted flagstones, very modern, not in the least spooky.  The lights were a soft peach color which added to the ambiance and like most of the city there was no one wandering about even though it was barely nightfall.

Tony gathered us together.

"Right, well at this point in the tour you will think me a tad odd for what Im about to tell you.  Any of you who are wearing any necklaces, watches or earrings you might want to take them off and put them in your pocketbook.  It has happened several times in the past, that the spirits in this part here take a liking to such things and consequently Im left with angry tourists.  So, if you value your shiny bits, I advise you to take them off!"

I saw the two women do so, as well as the Australians, the Israelite mother and myself.  The older American couple simply chuckled and made a few jokes.  Tony pointed past the square into the darkness where we could barely spy the remains of a church.

"Over yonder, that church there was once used as an orphanage.  Men, women, even children were forced to work for a pittance in nearby workhouses to earn perhaps a meal and a corner in which to sleep for the night.  Orphans, who were considered wards of the church were sent to that place, and each and every day under deplorable conditions, day after day they would be sent to the workhouse until they ran away, or succumbed to the brutal treatment or illness.  If an orphan ran away and was caught, it was not unlikely he would be beaten nearly to death and left to die of his injuries.  People didnt adopt unwanted children from these places back then, the slums of the city were not places the well to do travelled and in truth preferred to live in pretense of it even existing.  Becoming an orphan in medieval times meant a terrible life and most surely a tragic and early end."

We stared into the gloom at this place, a church, somewhere most of us had grown up believing was a good and sacred refuge in times of trouble.  For several moments no one spoke, until Tony continued his story.

"The greatest sin of these orphanages was that the church paid the owner or the orphanage a fee for every child under his care.  This money was to go to taking care of the child, clothing and feeding them and giving them a basic education.  The church meant well, but as is often the case with institutions it was grossly understaffed and there was no real way to ensure that this money was given and used appropriately.  Every year a caravan from the church would come, and the owner produced a ledger with each child's name and age under his care.  Money would be doled out accordingly and the caravan went on its way to the next location.  Did they ever stop to count the children, see them or speak with them you might ask?  They did not have the inclination or the time, and seeing as it was daytime the orphans would be out at the workhouse or with the schoolmaster.  Now, the owner of that very orphanage there, was the worst sort of man.  He cared for nothing but drink and fancy women, and every penny of that money he spent on himself.  The orphans were given a nasty diet of gruel and river water, had to fight for the piles of rags that had to serve as clothing, which this awful fellow stole from the bodies of the dead in the neighboring cemetaries!"

Our minds were awhirl with awful images and sounds, and we seemed to move in tighter together as to ward off any evil emanating from that place.  The innocuous little church began to change into a pulsing black heart, and we collectively shivered.

"Many little ones died in that place.  Instead of giving them a christian burial as was their right, this demon buried the bodies beneath the floorboards, one atop the other so as not to get less money from the church caravan when it came round again.  And this he did for several years.  However, his sins were not to continue.  It was reported that the fellow began acting very strangely.  He would tell his neighbors that something was vexing him terribly in that place, that he was being tormented by supernatural forces.  He began to rant that the devil was after him.  His neighbors simply said that he was mad and avoided him.  That year when the caravan came, they were surprised when they were met by a rambling, raving, quivering mess who fell on his knees before them and begged to confess!  He asked them to remove the demons from the church!  Little by little the story came out, how he had lied to them for years, how he had mistreated the orphans and used the money on himself, and worst of all buried the bodies in the floorboards.  He named each and every child in the ledger who was no longer, and men were brought in to tear up the boards and properly interr the little bodies.  The remaining children were removed, and no one knows what became of them.  However, not every body on the lists was found.  They searched the grounds but either the man was mistaken in his count, or he had forgotten where he had dumped the bodies.  They let the matter go, and moved on.  It is said that the man was not free of his torment, and he was found hanging from the rafters not long afterwards."

I saw the Israeli boy and girl standing with their mother, her arms about each of their shoulders.  I was standing near the back of the group and only the father was behind me.  I heard him speaking softly in a reassuring voice that everything was fine.  I turned and smiled at him, thinking he was speaking to me since I was the only one near him, and it was the polite thing to do to thank him for his concern.  He nodded respectfully and said with his soft Hebrew accent  "My apologies ma'am, I was speaking to my daughter."  He turned his head and looked down, then suddenly back at me with puzzlement on his face.

"Batya," he called to his wife, who turned and looked at him.  "Is Dana with you?"  The little girl piped up that she was.  He asked how long the child had been standing with her, and the wife replied that both children had been with her along.  The poor man's tanned skin turned a few shades paler even in the dim light. Everyone was now observing the rather curious line of questioning, wondering why it was so odd to this man that his children were up front with his wife.

"I am sure, Dana was here, holding my hand.  I feel her hand right here, she was leaning on me for the story!"  He held up his hand, looked at it as though it were alien, and looked back down to where he had thought his daughter had stood.  "I even see her head from the corner of my eye!"

Tony shook his head slowly.  "Only you and the young lady in front of you were back there, my friend, your family was up here the whole time.  I think you have just been visited!"

The father made some exclamation in his native tongue and moved up rather quickly beside his family, speaking to them in Hebrew.  The rest of us were wild eyed and silent, feeling in our pockets for the jewellry we had removed, comforted by its presence, assured that we had not been visited ourselves.

We all glanced sidelong at the church as we moved on, Tony changing the sombre mood by discussing the modern architecture of the square, telling of the little gatherings the residents would hold at certain times of the year, how it was a close knit community made up of all ages: elderly folk and families, native Britons and immigrants.  We came to the edge of the town and moved down the road when one of the Australians said that the American couple had fallen behind.  Tony stopped and waited a moment, but when they failed to reappear he moved to go back for them.  Not too keen on being left standing by ourselves we followed suit.

We found them just past the square, standing on the doorstep speaking to the resident.

"We are so awfully sorry to have bothered you, but she seemed to be in trouble and needed help!"

"Tis no bother, really." responded the resident in her attractive scottish brogue.  "We ha' lived here for 8 years now and we see the little wee ghosties every now and then.  Tis part of the charm of it, it bothers us not.  Nice to know that folks such as yerselves are willin' to take up and help a soul in trouble.  Restless spirits these, such a shame what happened, aye?"

On the walk back, the Americans detailed what had happened to them.  They saw a child standing and rapping at the door, crying.  She had long brown hair formed into two messy loose braids, and a dress that was far too large for her.  They swore they heard the rapping and the crying, and when no one came to the door they were moved to intervene.  Of course when the resident opened the door having heard nothing of the sort, the child had vanished, and the residents reported there were no children living in their home.

"Can we get out of here now?" asked the 12 year old boy, echoing all of our sentiments. We moved quickly through the subdivision back onto the well lit street.

I couldn't help but give a backward glance at the old church, and I could have sworn I saw something white flit across the dark facade.<b>