a broadstairs haunting

A Broadstairs Haunting

All homes have energy and vibes. Often, we find ourselves referring to feelings about houses, whether we feel comfort and ease, or a sense of positivity and light, or maybe, you haven't been able to get out of a house fast enough?

Houses have histories, who knows what their walls have witnessed, what remains from the past and what acts have unfolded before their eyes. If walls could speak, what stories would they reveal?

Do spirits reside amongst the living? Do houses have harmful energy?  Questions which invite many a debate; for me, I am not sure, but what I do know is, I have experienced undesirable feelings, which have caused my heart to thump; my mind to race; my skin to feel like a terrain of goose bumps only to be left fumbling for a concrete infallible answer, but to find there isn't one! What then?

Broadstairs, the town of my childhood and teenage years. A place, where ghosts lurk in attics and basements; in crevices and dusty corners, under stairs, and hidden in walls. Tales I can recall, myths or memories, it becomes hard to tell, but what does remain is a striking sense of their realness – so who's to say if it's the truth or not.

Tucked behind the high street, was my father's house. A three-story imposing Victorian villa. I did not stay there often, but there is one occasion which is etched upon my mind. My father always used to tell me his house was haunted, and that he used to see figures at the end of the landing. My mum used to say it was because he was always drunk and probably hallucinating, so I never took a huge amount of notice, until one evening I slept there.

It was late, I was sleeping in the attic room with my dad's lodger. She was an older teenager and was dog sitting for a friend. She invited me to hang out, and being fourteen, this was rather cool. There we were sat in her double bed chatting away, smoking fags, when the well-behaved and usually timid dog leapt onto the bed. He was fixated with a corner of the ceiling, staring unwaveringly, and barking and whimpering in such an alarming fashion, that our giggles soon turned to fear. His hair was all standing to attention, in a rather peculiar fashion, and his legs were as stiff as poles, clenching the bed sheets with his paws. It was not normal!

He was going nuts, barking fixatedly, like he was possessed at this one corner. It took the two of us to drag him from the bed and put him outside the door.

As we climbed back into bed, I recall feeling very strange, what had just passed had given me sensations that were new, but uninvited. I felt somewhat discombobulated and unable to articulate what had just happened.

We lit another cigarette and started to hysterically laugh incredulously. No alcohol had passed our lips, I hasten to add, so my mind was free of haze. We sat quietly in her bed smoking, as we laid down to sleep, close together for comfort, the bed started to move. We froze. Clinging together, paralysed with fear, the bed was moving. Backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards. She stretched her arm out and turned the lamp on. Nothing. Quiet. We stared at each other, palms sweating, not knowing quite what to do. I can't remember what happened next, but I do know I did not imagine what had happened up until that moment.

I am not sure if my dad ever told the new buyers, I wonder if they still share their home with uninvited guests!

Our perspectives and beliefs stem from multiple societal fabrics and influences, some cultures are happy to share their homes with their ancient ancestors and wouldn't bat an eyelid about paranormal presences. Asian countries such as Japan, Korea, Vietnam, and Taiwan have strong beliefs in the spiritual world. It is commonplace, so much so, that they celebrate with a “ghost month”, which includes a “central ghost day”, when “ghosts are believed to freely roam the world of the living”. (Thompson.)

One household I recollect vividly from my past, were experiencing a conflict of opinion. It cost them dearly but is a fine example of unexplained feelings! Mr and Mrs X were an interesting couple. They invited me to value their architecturally designed salubrious home. It was breathtaking, and every inch of the space had been well considered and thoughtfully designed. They had struck a delicate equilibrium with comfort and coolness, and it was a pleasure to see.

“Hundreds of thousands it has cost” lamented Mr X as he sat in the distressed leather chesterfield next to me, his head in his hands, sounding rather unlike an owner of such a grand residence. He looked defeated and worn out. Mrs X sat perched on the opposite sofa – like a stranger in her own home. My mind started to whirl, what have I here, I thought. Believe me when I say, one thing about being an estate agent is the interminable types you come across, so there I was, my thoughts starting to gather momentum – where is this one going?

Mr X started to reel off the costings of the renovation; the months it had taken; the unexpected crises along the way; the hold ups with planning; the stress and the arguments. But finally, they had completed their forever pad, and moved in.

“Why was I there then,” I asked them. It did not sound as if they were going to sell. They had only been there for a few weeks. That was when she spoke, for the first time.

“I am being watched” she muttered. I looked at her. I looked at him. The atmosphere made me catch my breath. Here we go, I thought, I am about to be privy to a domestic.

It was starkly evident that he thought she was being irrational. But I could see her fear. She said it again. This time, louder and firmer. Our eyes connected, and this seemed to allow her to speak more freely, “I don't care about the money; I don't care about what we will lose; I can't live here. My sanity is on the edge. Every moment, in every room, but particularly upstairs, it feels like someone is here, behind me, watching my every move. I don't feel comfortable, I can barely have a shower. I want to sell.”

Mr X on the other hand, was doing his best to remain civil. I could see the pound signs pulsating behind his eyes and the almost embarrassment that we were even having this conversation. It was clear he was not feeling the same vibes and was on the verge of having a breakdown, but for completely different reasons!

Another valuation to add to the box of strange experiences, as I relayed my afternoon to my comrades back in the office, but what was distinct, was how the aura and vibes of that house played out so differently for Mr and Mrs X. You cannot underestimate the power of a feeling.

They sold it, at a financial loss, but their marriage remained intact!

Your house does not need to look like Amityville to have spiritual guests residing in your home! Behind your ordinary and unassuming Victorian terrace there could be lurking a part of its past, which refuses to leave. What do you tell your buyers? Or do you remain quiet? A moral dilemma! Worst case scenario you can call in the Anglican diocese, who have a specialist team of exorcist experts ready to expel evilness.

Reading, prior to writing.

Thompson, Tak. “Why we should believe in ghosts.” BBC, 18 Oct. 2018, www.bbc.com/future/article/20181030-belief-in-ghosts-may-help-you-lead-a-better-life (Thompson)

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