A Haunted House?

The house we lived in whilst my Father was in the Army was married accommodation rented from the Forces. This was a two bedroom semi and it was while living here that I first saw 'the ghost' or whatever it was.

I remember I was seven years old and sharing a bedroom with my brother. Our two beds were on either side of the room with mine facing the door about 3 foot from the bottom end of my bed. The door onto the landing was slightly open as was usual. This allowed some light to shine through from the hallway at night. My Father usually turned the landing light off when he retired to bed.

On this particular night I was awakened suddenly and on looking around, I noticed that the door was wide open and framed in the doorway was a dark human shape. My first thought was that it was my Father standing there, but there was something about the shape that told me it wasn't him. It just didn't have his outline. When I realised this I began to feel afraid, thinking it might be a burglar and not being able to take my eyes off it. I just stood there and although I could see no face, I felt it was looking right at me and barely six foot from my head.

I don't know how long this went on for, but it seemed a long time, when slowly, it started to move into the room. I didn't walk, it just sort of moved and I knew at that point it was supernatural.

I was paralysed with fear and wanted to call to my Brother who I could hear breathing in the next bed, but something stopped me from using my voice. As it drew closer, I thought the best thing to do was pray and I started saying the Lord's Prayer over in my head. All at once, I found the strength to move and hid back down under my sheets, still saying the Lord's Prayer and still terrified that it would grab me. Nothing happened!

After about half an hour or so, I peeped out from underneath and could see nothing at all. On looking further, I could see that the door was still open, but the room was empty so I knew I hadn't been dreaming. I leapt out of bed and pushed the door closed as quickly as I could, lest the 'thing' was still on the landing and meant to grab me.

Eventually my fear subsided and I fell asleep.

When I told my Brother about it the next morning, he didn't laugh but said he too had seen the shape before and suspected it had been our Mother, who died less that 18 months before that incident. I wasn't so sure as the shape didn't resemble her either. Why would she come and give me a fright like that if it was her?

After that, strange things began to happen, usually minor, except that my Father would blame us for them.

Objects would go 'missing' in that they were not where they had been left and could not be located when required. I remember a small china cat that stood on the mantle piece undisturbed for years went missing at one point. No one had been near it as far as I knew but it was special because it had belonged to my Mother. One day it was simply not there anymore.

I asked Luke who denied all knowledge of its whereabouts, but I had to be more careful of enquiring to my Father as I knew he would suspect we had broken it. It took him about 3 days to realise it was gone and sure enough we were interrogated by him. I knew then it was not him as he was a very moral person who would have been angry with himself if he had broken it. We got the usual line “If I find out you two are lying to me........” as a warning. The cat was never found.

We moved out of the married accomodation within a couple of years of the strange figure appearing and my Father rented a bungalow with two bedrooms. Luke and I had a bedroom at the back of the house whilst my Father slept at the front. The bathroom was between these two bedrooms. Down the side of the house was a path that led from the front garden to the back. This side of the house was where the two bedrooms were located.

I don't know if ghosts can move house with a person, but the strange things seemed to follow us there.

Often at night I would hear footsteps walking down the paved path that ran along the side of the bungalow. There was no window on that wall in either room but I had two, one of which was just after the corner of the building and anyone coming into the back garden would have to pass this. I never saw anyone coming round the corner although the footsteps would continue until it seemed they reached the lawn. I remember the step was purposeful and heavy enough to be a man in shoes and I would hear them at least once a month if not more.

Another incident I wrote about in my diary occurred one Saturday evening. My Brother, who was about 14 at the time and I were watching the 'Generation Game' on TV. My Father came in and told Luke to go and do the washing up (my Father made sure we each had our chores to do) and Luke asked if he could see the end of the programme. My Father being who he was told him he had go and do it straight away and started to walk out of the living room.

Suddenly a smooth round stone shot across the room and struck my Father on the shoulder from behind with quite a force!

I don't know where it had come from, but it was the corner of the room where the TV stood. I didn't see it start but Luke could certainly not have thrown it as he was sitting on the other side of the room, near the door and it was travelling towards him. I distinctly saw it whizz past me before hitting my Father, who assumed it had been Luke. He flew back into the room and belted him round the head a few times. Even me telling him it couldn't have been Luke earned me a back hander as well! Luke was carted off to the bedroom and thrashed for something he didn't do that night. I know because I saw it!

On walking into the kitchen one day, I discovered the room was filled with a smoke-like substance. My first thought was that there was a fire, but the oven and cooker were not on. We didn't have the kind of electrical appliances that you do now, so no toaster, nor even an electric kettle. I stupidly opened the window to let the smoke out, which could have been very dangerous allowing air to get to the source of heat. I never discovered what had caused the smoke. Nothing was ever found that was burnt.

Most disturbing of all was after my Brother had left home and I slept alone in the back bedroom. I used to hear a 'shuffling' sound outside my door as if someone in slippers were pacing about. The footsteps were slow and heavy like they had difficulty in walking or were elderly. The house had previously belonged to an elderly man who had died. I was too scared to open my door and look out and I never did. This went on for some years and seemed to increase in intensity at certain times of the month. I would hear it two or even three times a week at its peak.

Even worse was a distinct 'mumbling' that began to accompany the footsteps. I could never make out any words as they were too 'distant' even if I listened at the door. It was like someone had the radio on in another room.

Also surprising was that my Father, who was asleep only at the other end of the corridor, never heard, or never mentioned the noises to me. If I was awoken by them, why wasn't he?

I woke up one night, freezing because my sheets and blanket had all been pulled off the bed and were lying on the floor. This was at the foot of the bed and they had been securely tucked under the matress when I went to sleep, so I don't see how my movements could have caused me to kick them off. Afterwards this began to happen on a regular basis, but never on the same nights as the shuffling man noises.

Once whilst lying in in bed at night, I started to feel horny, getting an erection, I began to rub my pyjamas over my cock. I knew it would be difficult to cum but I was enjoying the sensation anyway. As I played, I gradually became aware of a noise that sounded like breathing from somewhere in the room. At first I thought it was the sound of me moving my hand but when I stopped, the sound continued. It was the distinct sound of someone breathing through their nose from somewhere in the room, but I could see nothing.

I lost my erection pretty quickly after that as I was petrified!

On at least 3 occasions over the later years I lived there, I distinctly heard a man's voice call my name. Twice this occurred in the early hours of the morning and woke me up. It could have been a dream but I also heard the same voice whilst I was in the kitchen one afternoon. It was the sort of voice that was summoning me to come to another room, an inquiry for my attention. I was quite alone in the house that day and it definitely was not my Father's voice calling.

Once I discovered a ball of screwed up paper alight in the middle of the bathroom floor! I had just entered the room to use the toilet and there it was, almost as if someone had just put a match to it that second. One side if it was burning and as I watched in astonishment, the flame spread all over it. Fortunately being in the bathroom I was able to tip water on it and douse the flame. My Father was in his bedroom at the time and as far as I know, he had not been to the bathroom for some time before then.

I had been bought a dark brown nylon shirt one Christmas by my Father (he always gave us clothes, socks or pyjamas). I didn't like this particular shirt as it was quite 'see through' and I was very self conscious and used to wear a vest underneath. I was made to wear this shirt for Church quite a lot.

One day, whilst going through my wardrobe, I discovered that this shirt had a hole about the size of a golf ball burnt into the tail. I knew it was burnt and not just torn as the nylon was melted at the edges. How this could possibly have happened I do not know as the tail would have been tucked into my trousers when I last wore it. We didn't have any radiators that I could have burnt it on and No one was living in the house except me and my Father at the time.

I knew he would kill me if he found out. The shirt was only a few months old at the time. As the tail was always in my trousers, he wouldn't know if I was wearing it, but hanging on the line he would have seen it. He also used to go through my clothes and pockets so I had to keep it well hidden from him. I tried sewing it but of course it never looked the same and eventually he found out. He went mad accusing me of smoking and punished me, again for something I didn't do deliberately!

One more thing I have just remembered whilst writing this blog. One day whilst my Brother was still at home, my Father having just been in his bedroom came flying out in a rage and dragged both of us in there. On the ceiling, up in the corner of the chimney breast was some tiny writing. It looked as if it had been written in a red biro and consisted, I later found out, of language my Brother and I would not have used in front on my Father. It was situated in a place where you would have had to move his dressing table and stand on a chair to get to it and was in a childish hand.

He, of course demanded to know which of us had done it and as usual, denying any involvement did us no good. We were both soundly beaten and made to clean it off.

Imagine my horror then when a week or so later, being in my Father's room when he was out, I noticed more writing behind his dressing table mirror on the chimney breast wall. I was sure that it had not been there previously and I was also sure that Luke had not done it. I cleaned it off before my Father came home and fortunately it didn't happen again to my knowledge.

It was almost as if the ghost was trying to get me into trouble by burning things or leaving things that my Father would find and blame me for it. I don't know how much stuff my Father saw when I wasn't around but he would go mad at us if he thought we had done something like moved his keys when they couldn't be found. Then there was the stone throwing incident.

It was deliberately thrown to hit my Father which it did and of course Luke was punished for it, but neither of us threw it at him, or indeed would have dared because of the consequences.

After I left home, I did see and hear strange things whilst I was living at the hotel and also in my various bedsits and other accommodations. As time went on, they became less frequent until they virtually stopped altogether when I was about 30 years old.  I still see people from time to time.

Spare The Rod

Punishments

I have kept diaries on and off throughout my life. From about the age of eight, I had those small 'Letts' pocket ones with the pencil in the spine. I never threw any of them away, but some of them were torn up by my Father! This was because I used to write my most intimate secrets in them which was innocent enough at the age of eight, but by the time I was in my teens and feeling sexual urges, these things had to be kept hidden from him.

I knew my Father 'searched' my bedroom regularly. He was looking for anything that he thought wrong for me to own or read. By that I mean he was dead against me looking at things like pornography as he thought it would lead me to masturbation and other vices and he considered onanism a sinful thing. He would check my bed sheets for any signs of wrong doing after I had gone to school, but in later years, he didn't even wait until then and would go in whilst I was in the bathroom in the mornings!

I often think of that expression “Hands off cocks and on with socks” which I think is an old Army thing, meaning that the squaddies should stop masturbating and start getting dressed. Maybe my Father saw a lot of masturbation during his time in the Army. I don’t know. I did find this advice quite useful and adapted it for my own benefit, more of which later!

He knew or at least discovered all my hiding places that I used. I only ever owned one Porn magazine, a copy of 'Blue Climax' which was given to me by my Brother who was in the Navy and was more likely to get hold of these things from foreign shores. This I managed to keep from my Father for over two years until it was finally found! I have since found some scans from the very same magazine I had.

It's a really horny story about a guy fucking two sisters and even gets me going today! I love the text of these magazines.

I also used to keep those pages from catalogues from the women’s underwear section and anything I found arousing from other magazines. I would cut out the bit I wanted and keep them between the pages of my ‘Look and Learn’ annual or one of my school books. Blue Climax was harder to hide and that ended up under the carpet in a corner of my bedroom.

If my Father found one of these stimulants, he would confront me with it, shouting about filth and such like. I would be struck about the head with the back of his hand and then be given a thrashing.

My Father spanked us from an early age. One of my first memories was of being slapped by him. I must have been about 3 or 4 years at the time. He was very quick to anger and would go from apparently calm to raging temper in about two seconds.

Things got steadily worse after my Mother had died and we got older and into our teens. After my brother had left, he would use any reason going to punish me if he could. Over the space of about 4-5 weeks, his temper would gradually increase and if he hadn’t found an excuse in the meantime, he would boil over and I would be soundly whipped.

His favourite weapon of choice was a cut down piece of garden cane, about half a meter long. He kept this in the cupboard under the stairs and later by the hall table (we moved to a bungalow). I would be sent to the bedroom, knowing what was coming as he went to get his cane. I would be told to take down my trousers and pants and bend over, either holding our ankles or over the back of a chair. There was little formality to it and he would hit in quick succession, no counting or pausing, just blow after blow until he had got his anger out of his system.

Holding my ankles, I quite often lost balance, despite the fact he would be holding me by the neck in a tight grip! He would pick me up by the arm and throw me onto the bed and continue the punishment.

Twice he beat me in front of my school friend Nathan. Once when I was about 7, we had been playing in the garden and cracked a window with a small rubber ball. I was taken over his knee and thrashed whilst Nathan stood and watched!

Later at about 15, we were both in the kitchen and my Father called me to my room. He had found some 'marks' on my bed sheets and demanded to know what it was, shouting at the top of his voice. I don't know whether I was guilty or not but he whipped me there and then with Nathan still standing in the kitchen!

I can't describe the humiliation I felt and being beaten in front of a friend. Nathan knew what my Father was like. He himself was thrashed at home, his Father was a German man, but with nothing like the frequency, lack of justification, or rage that my Father gave it to me and my Brother. Incidentally, I saw Luke get a thrashing in several occasions in front of me!

On one occasion when I was quite young, I was lying in bed and heard him come home. I think I had played my Mother up or something and she had threatened to tell him when he came home, which she did. I knew as his footsteps came up the stairs that he was coming for me and as the door opened and I saw his silhouette in the light from the hall, I was absolutely terrified! He said nothing but dragged me from the bed, bent me over the side and thrashed me severely. Looking back, I wonder why on earth he paused to take down my pyjama trousers. These were very flimsy nylon and offered absolutely no protection whatsoever to me!

A friend of mine asked “When was the last time he beat you?” and I replied I was actually 17! He expressed surprise that I hadn't fought back at that by that age and I told him that was because my Father would have KILLED me! I was that brow beaten living under his regime, and really scared of making him angry, I would never have dared. I left home not long after that incident.