HalloweenIstituto Plateja a.s.

2005/06 classe 2°A

The Monk of St. John's Church

The Bus Stop

Child's ghost story...

The Death Waltz

The Call from the Grave

CHOOSE A TALE……

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

"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...

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.

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

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.

"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?

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.