I’ve interviewed a lot of people about their ghostly experiences, not least because I’m looking for similarities in their accounts. Of course, atmosphere, climate, and environment have always been crucial in setting the tone, but the thing that strikes me is how ordinary many of these encounters are. And yet the more mundane the haunting, the more plausible it seems.

The account I wish to share with you was told to me by a woman called Charlotte. She had seen my advert asking people to contact me about their paranormal experiences and was keen to arrange a meeting. While many prefer to be interviewed at home Charlotte was happy to come to the office. She was a sales rep for a pharmaceutical company and could fit me in between clients. We arranged for the following morning, so she didn’t have time to get cold feet.

Charlotte arrived just after ten. She was a young-looking forty-four-year-old, donning a suit and a ready smile. People are often nervous at the start of an interview, perhaps worried I’ll think them a fantasist, but Charlotte showed no sign of being ill-at-ease.

I took her to the office I allegedly shared with another paranormal investigator. I say allegedly because Peter was shy of sharing, or his absence suggested as much. His name was on the door, and paperwork on his desk came and went, but our paths never crossed in the four years I was there. I didn’t have to suffer his foibles nor he mine.

I allowed six weeks to pass before encroaching on Peter’s half of the room. I needed more space, but that wasn’t the only reason. I was curious to see if he would slip in, and quietly move things back to my side, or leave a note telling me to desist. He did neither. I had recently acquired a fine leather chair, which had resulted in Peter’s drawers being relegated to the narrow gap behind the door. I offered it to Charlotte who was quick to make herself comfortable.

Some people don’t know where to start, while others purge themselves with an air of chaotic relief. Charlotte simply asked me how I would like to proceed. I told her to start from the beginning, and I would ask questions when necessary.

Charlotte’s experience took her back twenty years. She was twenty-three and living in Norwich. Her friend Shirley had moved to London, and Charlotte had surprised her with a visit. She didn’t think it would be a problem - the two had been friends since school, but when Shirley opened the door of her two-bed flat in Islington, she wasn’t pleased to see her.

Charlotte put it down to stress. Shirley had a new job and was working long hours. Charlotte had taken her friend out to dinner and a steady flow of drinks helped them both to relax.

‘It was like old times until we got back to the flat,’ stated Charlotte. ‘Shirley started to make up a bed on the sofa, but her flatmate had recently moved out, so I knew there was a bed going spare. Yet when I asked if I could sleep in the other room, Shirley wasn’t keen. She said her mother had slept in there the week before and was so uncomfortable she moved to the sofa. I said I could sleep through anything, especially after a bottle of wine, but Shirley offered me her bed instead. She said she didn’t mind sleeping on the sofa.’

Thinking that was ridiculous, Charlotte had taken herself off to the spare room. Admittedly it was devoid of any homely touches, but it had what was necessary for sleep. A solitary pink sock peeping from under the bed was the only memento of its former occupant.

The evening had caught up with Charlotte; she crawled into bed and blacked out.

‘I don’t know how long I’d been asleep for when I felt something brushing against my cheek. It took me a moment to register it was breath!’ The realisation had stunned Charlotte back to consciousness. ‘I sat up, but the breathing continued. I’ve never felt more terrified!

I asked if she had seen anything.

‘Not straight away. The room was dark, and it took me a moment to adjust. But then I saw her standing by the dresser. A young woman with long hair, wearing a nightdress. She looked terrible, like she hadn’t slept for days. I could see the wallpaper through her. It was floral. I’ll never forget it. And the room was freezing. My hands felt like ice,’ Charlotte shivered at the memory.

‘I told myself I was dreaming, but then she spoke. She wanted to know who I was, and what I was doing in her room. My terror turned to embarrassment. Shirley must be confused; her flatmate hadn’t properly moved out. I apologised, but the woman said I could stay, and that she would speak to Shirley. She then walked out. I was going to follow, but tiredness got the better of me.’

Charlotte had stirred again at a more civilised hour. She expected to find Shirley’s flatmate on the sofa, but the sitting room was empty.

‘Shirley finally emerged, and when I told her what had happened, she was shocked. She asked me to describe the woman - I did, and she couldn’t stop shaking. I was annoyed that she had let me use the room when her flatmate still assumed it to be hers. Shirley insisted her flatmate had moved out hence why the room was bare.

Charlotte said the former flatmate must still have a key, and that Shirley should get it back. Shirley said that was impossible, and when Charlotte pressed her, she was given a potted history. Shirley explained that her flatmate was already living there when she moved in. The woman was in a relationship, but Shirley disliked her flatmate’s boyfriend. It came as no surprise when she found out he was cheating. Her flatmate ended the relationship, but quickly regretted it and tried to get him back. He refused and started to date someone else. Shirley’s flatmate had bought a cocktail of painkillers and Shirley walked in on her lifeless form. The woman’s parents had cleared her room.

I wanted to know why Shirley hadn’t told Charlotte at the time. Charlotte said her friend couldn’t bring herself to talk about it, especially as she had found her. Shirley’s mother had also seen something in the room when she stayed and now, with Charlotte’s experience Shirley knew it was time to move out. Charlotte never went back to that flat and they never spoke of it again.

The Shambles in York attracts many visitors, but who haunts these ancient cobbles once the tourists have gone? Check out my latest article for Paranormal Daily News!

Chapter House Street - my first ghostly experience in York...

‘The Ghostly Children of Bedern, York’ - my latest article for Paranormal Daily News.

#paranormal #annaandamyinvestigate #ghost #treasurershouse #york

Check out my article ‘Murder at the Treasurer’s House, York,’ for Paranormal Daily News!

#paranormal #annaandamyinvestigate #ghost #treasurershouse #york

York is rumoured to be swarming with ghosts, with many a sinister tale to accompany them. Even the mundane properties, more au fait with bleach than crystals, are allegedly haunted. Perhaps one shouldn’t be surprised though, spooky snickleways are ten a penny, and dank, dark basements are rife. York really is the perfect stomping ground for ghosts.

I recently had the privilege of meeting Anna. She is incredible for many reasons, not least because she’s a talented writer, artist, actor, and more intriguingly, paranormally sensitive. While some have witnessed a ghostly figure or two, few experience them as regularly as Anna does.

We were chatting at a Christmas party when conversation strayed onto my books. I write about Porter Biggleswade, a York-based paranormal investigator who conveniently sees ghosts. The apparitions thought to haunt the ancient cobbles are a source of inspiration for my work. I asked Anna if she had ever seen a ghost, and it was then she admitted to sharing Porter’s ability.

I was immediately hooked!

Being paranormally sensitive is something Anna finds difficult and draining at times. Not all ghosts go quietly about their business, the more sinister spectres seem determined to intimidate and torment. I asked her to share one of her experiences and she relayed one which took place in September 2010.

Anna was on a date with her now fiancé Rich. Having been out for an evening of fun and frolics they were whiling away what was left of the night canoodling by York Minster. They were at the western end, overlooking High Petergate and the former Purey Cust Hospital.

It was around midnight, and still mild for that time of year. The couple were understandably absorbed when Anna caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Looking across the square she saw a woman passing through the door of a townhouse and re-emerge a few minutes later.

Now, one may challenge the integrity of such an account, not least because a woman managed to pass through wood. That, I believe, is a skill very few possess. However, it was her appearance that really struck Anna. The woman wore her waist-length hair wild and loose, while her shapeless white gown shrouded bare feet.

She remained by the door and simply stared at Anna.

To say Anna was terrified is an understatement. Having a kiss and cuddle was one thing, but not with an audience, and a ghostly one at that. The bonhomie of the evening plunged as quickly as the temperature, something both Anna and Rich felt.

‘I felt weird. I knew we needed to get home quickly. I felt an urgency to get home,’ Anna told me.

Rich had been quick to oblige.

They walked down High Petergate towards Bootham Bar. It was still freezing, and the atmosphere was becomingly increasingly strained. Anna sensed they were being followed. Her paranoia was well-placed for they were indeed being stalked by the ghostly form of dishevelment.

The couple walked through Bootham Bar, crossing the road towards Bootham. The woman continued to skulk, but from the other side of the road; she stayed close to St Mary Abbey’s precinct wall. Anna was fearful, she didn’t know if the woman was going to follow them all the way home. And to what end? But, on reaching St Mary’s Tower (at the junction where Marygate meets Bootham), the spectre paused before repeating her trick of melting through a door. The couple stalled long enough for Anna to see her appear at the window above the door before disappearing in plain sight.

A mysterious woman in white, materialising in the dead of night to induce feelings of sorrow and dread, well, it certainly ticks all the boxes of a good ghost story. And, there is an addition to this remarkable tale - one I find particularly curious. Anna saw the woman for weeks after, whenever she was passing St Mary’s Tower. The woman never strayed from the door, apparently content with just being seen.

So, who was this woman, and why was she so intent on capturing Anna’s attention? Anna got the impression of a woman in her mid to late thirties, but she may easily have been younger. Her dress, or lack of gives little clue as to which century she may have belonged.

Anna admitted to assuming it was York’s infamous Alice Smith aka Mad Alice, who is said to haunt Lund’s Court (formerly Mad Alice Lane). Anna was working at York Dungeon’s at the time, and there was talk of putting on a production about Alice. Anna had misgivings about this, the woman was a victim of domestic abuse before being executed at York Castle for murdering her husband. This apparently took place in the 1820s. I did some digging but failed to find any record of an Alice Smith being executed during this time.

My own flight of fancy centred on the former Purey Cust hospital. I held a romantic notion that a patient fled the hospital (again, very Wilkie Collins-like), and sought sanctuary at a neighbouring house. Unfortunately, my whim didn’t stand up to scrutiny either - the hospital was built as a nursing home in the early 20th century, before being taken over by the Nuffield Hospitals in the late 1960’s. It was hardly the setting for a figure of tragedy.

Following our conversation, I suggested to Anna that we make a short film about her experience; she could retrace her steps whilst giving her account. She agreed, and we set out one chilly February morning with the Minster in our sights. We were loitering at the western end, staring at the townhouse where Anna had first seen the ghostly figure when she suddenly felt the urge to approach it. She was drawn to the basement window. She sensed the woman had had some connection with the property’s cellar, although she hadn’t felt it at the time.

We moved on from the Minster to St Mary’s Tower. We were standing next to the building when Anna was suddenly overcome by nausea. I thought she was going to cry; and the temperature, already cold, fell further. We weren’t expecting such a reaction – it forced us to move away for fear of shaming the pavement.

A little distance helped. I suggested we go back to see if it happened again. It did, but not as intensely. Anna felt the urge to touch the door, she indulged it before her hand strayed to the stones. Whatever she was feeling was coming from the fabric of the building.

This striking, two-storey structure was built around 1324 as part of the precinct wall of St. Mary's Abbey. The tower suffered much damage during the siege of 1644 when a mine was exploded underneath it. History has it that two people were pulled alive from the rubble, but many more died a slow and agonising death. The tower was rebuilt after the siege, and any scarring may relate to the demolition of houses built against it rather than the siege itself.

The spectre’s actions imply more than a routine haunting, especially as Anna would pass St Mary’s Tower at different times of the day. Plus, the woman appeared determined to follow her. Maybe she lived at the house by the Minster and had some connection to St Mary’s Tower. That she was a woman who had suffered a sudden or tragic death, thus leaving unfinished business behind. Whatever her story, something drove this restless soul to reach out to Anna.

York is said to be home to hundreds of ghosts; well, that’s hardly surprising considering its great age. But while tales of our ghostly residents maybe ten a penny there is one that I’m particularly fond of. It involves a trainee plumber and a troop of Roman soldiers, and no, it’s not the start of a very bad joke. This incident took place in 1953, at the Treasurer’s house. Very little remains of the original building, and the current property has been altered many times over. A retirement of disrepair appeared to be its fate when industrialist Frank Green took pity. He restored the building to its former glory before relinquishing it to the National Trust. So, it was just another working day for teenager Harry Martindale. He was alone in the Treasurer’s house cellar, up a ladder of all places, when he heard a horn. It was faint; he thought it must be coming from the minster, but then it grew bolder. What happened next was to haunt him for the rest of his life. A Roman soldier sporting a plumed helmet passed through the wall. One may think that remarkable enough, but the Romans always liked to impress. The soldier was followed by a horse and up to 20 armed legionaries. Fear felled Martindale; he pressed himself into a corner for safety. Yet the soldiers showed no interest, and he was able to study them without threat. They were a motley bunch, dressed in dirty green tunics, and bearing round shields and daggers. A modern level cut them off at the knee, but as they moved to the original Roman road Martindale could see open sandals with leather straps to the knees. ‘Open sandals?’ I hear you gasp; York’s chilly clime would surely necessitate socks. These were hardy folk indeed! Marching across the room they left as they had entered, quietly and without fuss. Martindale paused until the last one had disappeared before hotfooting it upstairs. He was signed off for a fortnight with shock. Now, it can be argued that the soldiers were simply an intrigue of the imagination. Rumours of ghostly shenanigans were rife and working alone in a creepy cellar would unsettle even the staunchest sceptic. Plus, Martindale’s description of dishevelment and dejection hardly married with the glossy image of Roman soldiers held at the time. But years later uniform and weaponry of the local reserve soldiers came to light, which backed up his strange tale.

Nestled amidst the North York Moors, Byland Abbey is haunted by rumours of ghostly shenanigans. Byland impresses its visitor, defying the Dissolution and Time to retain many original features, whilst also offering tales of tragedy and woe. Tourists expect to be spooked; and long shadows and strange noises don’t disappoint. Rumours are generally embellished with the telling - this eight hundred-year-old abbey has had plenty of time to perfect the art of scaring its visitors. Some non-believers have had their cynicism tested while wandering the site alone. Pleasure rather than work prompted paranormal investigator Porter Biggleswade’s trip to the abbey. Not that she’s ever ‘off duty’, for paranormal activity isn’t strictly nine-to-five. She had overheard someone say that Byland is the most haunted monastery in England, a statement underpinned by its great age and ruinous state, and was intrigued to see for herself. Porter wasn’t surprised by the claim; many believe the dead have nothing better to do than haunt ancient buildings - the more dilapidated the property, the greater the number of ghosts. Working on that principal, Byland’s exhausted state makes it an obvious candidate for ghostly activity. A popular ghost story connected to the ruin involves a local girl and a monk. The pair fell in love and decided to elope. Unfortunately for them a fellow monk found out. Fearing shame would be brought on Byland, he captured his fleeing brother, and buried him alive in the abbey grounds. A beautiful woman (well, she can hardly be ugly, can she?) is said to roam the abbey in search of her lost love, with her cries of despair polluting quiet nights. Sightings are limited to the early hours - the ghost is apparently shy of company. Porter had also heard it said that a poltergeist plagues the site, amusing itself by ambushing unsuspecting visitors. Flying rocks, upturned benches, and people being shoved, are just some of the grievances performed by invisible hands. There is also a quiet corner of the abbey, which is always impeccably maintained, even though the gardeners show it no special attention. Whoever is responsible is yet to own it. Mysterious balls of light floating over the nave have been noted on occasion, but attempts to photograph this strange anomaly haven’t met with success. Some think them the souls of monks, keeping an eye on their former home. Porter thought she saw a shadowy figure loitering near the altar, but it was probably a trick of the light. She certainly didn’t witness flying rocks, darting orbs, or woeful cries others claim to have experienced. While there may be some truth to Byland’s rumours, for not all activity kowtows to obvious explanation, evidence of it continues to elude. Perhaps it doesn’t matter, for those visiting a site like Byland who want to believe there is more to the place than meets the eye will leave still doing so.