Halloween spooky stories competition

Wow ... Just replied to the email containing the fantastic news. Many, many thanks Cari, Kat and everyone at Gransnet for this - really made my day.
(and sincere thanks GrannyKnot and GeminiJen for your kind words, too - really appreciate it)

Wow ... Just replied to the email containing the fantastic news. Many, many thanks Cari, Kat and everyone at Gransnet for this - really made my day.
(and sincere thanks GrannyKnot and GeminJen for your kind words, too - really appreciate it)

Well done, bumblebee....Very spooky tale!

A well deserved win! Congrats.

All the stories and poems posted are fantastic! I have my favourites, as do you. I am inspired by this competition! Got me writing again after the loss of my husband in 2008. I know it was a long time ago but his loss is still so painful and life altering; he motivated and inspired me. Now, who knows what my future holds.

Like your story!

I love your story. Hope you win!X

In the middle of the night,
In the hostel where I was sleeping,
I heard a deep and gutteral noise,
and afterwards, someone weeping,
I got up and peered out of the window,
certain the noise came from outside,
the grounds were darker than deepest night,
so I thought I would just let it slide.
But again, as I slid back into bed,
the noise seemed to start up again
I wasn't used to ever being scared,
but this noise, on scary scale, was a ten!
I peered through the little peep hole in the door,
and tried to see if anything was there,
there was nothing but the light of the hallway shining
certainly nothing there to make me scared.
But all of a sudden, the light it switched off,
and my heart started thudding even more,
I tried to get back into my warm bed again,
but by now, was still next to the door.
The noise, it was still going on somewhere,
and I needed to know what was going on,
my heart by now was thumping in my throat,
but at least least my heartbeat was still strong!
I decided that to hell with it, I'm opening the door,
I no matter cared how scary it would be,
I couldn't sleep with this noise going on,
so I opened the door as quietly as could be.
I took one step from outside the door,
and listened for the horrible noise,
I couldn't hear anything so I walked further on,
but then suddenly stopped in an awkward poise.
The noise was louder, outside the double doors,
that led to the next corridor,
I opened the doors, again quieter still,
and could hear the weird noise even more.
But now it sounded even more bizarre still,
like a scream but muffled, but terrifying,
I was shaking by now, as I came to the door,
where whatever it was was now crying.
I knocked tentatively upon the door,
and the noise seemed to come to a stop,
the door opened fast, and a young bloke stood there,
and on the floor, was his wife, about to pop!
Yep, in labour, and upon their floor,
crying and screaming in pain,
this was like something from a horror film,
and the blokes face was so white and quite drained!
I asked if there was anything that I could do,
and the bloke pulled me in double quick,
I asked the guy to fetch me hot towels,
(I'd seen it before on some hospital flick!)
I tried to calm the young woman down,
but soon enough, the baby was crowning!
the cord was wrapped around the kids neck though,
"Help me God!" I thought "Cause here, I am drowning!"
I lifted the cord over the babys head,
which was now completely through!
I held onto the poor womans hand,
and guided out the baby which was blue.
I grabbed one of the very warm towels,
and rubbed colour back into the baby,
I made sure the childs mouth was all clean,
and handed the kid to the lady!
by this point, the paramedics had arrived,
and they cut the umbilical cord,
I was then able to slink off back to my room,
and believe me, a stiff drink I poured!!!
I had never had a night that full of scares
and I still think my hands might be shaky!
'Cause that was the spookiest night of my life,
on my own, delivering that baby!
(Ps that baby turned out to be a girl,
and they decided to name her Fran!
They thanked me for helping with a bottle of wine,
and told me a home birth was not in their birth plan!)

Many many years ago.... after I had finished my A-levels, a friend invited me to work with her on a summer holiday job at a small guest house in South Shields; she knew the manager and thought we would have fun working together.
As there were four of us - all female students - working there temporarily, and the accommodation was limited, we slept in a caravan which was under a lean to at the back of the building.
Each morning at 6am, as there were only 3 main bathrooms in the guest house - and it was in the days before en suite - there would be a race to find a bathroom before preparing breakfast.
On my second day there, having searched the building, I was relieved to find a bathroom on a corridor which was known as Fisherman's Creek due to the lovely blue and white tiles depicting a fishing scene on the walls.
I have always loved old, unusual and quirky furnishings and this bathroom with its rolled top, clawed footed bath was a delight! The hand basin was unusual as it was set diagonally in a corner and the loo had a decorative cistern and chain handle.
As soon as I was ready, I rushed back to begin my day's work. I did not get the chance to use that lovely bathroom again.
A few days later .... on Saturday morning..... my friend and I were working on Fisherman's Creek as it was our job to do the change over for new guests. We had a big old trolley laden with new linen and towels as our first task was to change the bedding. My friend picked up a bundle of fresh bedding and went into the room which I had used as a bathroom. I waited outside feeling bemused, expecting her to return any second. She didn't. When I eventually went into the room, I found that it was a bedroom .... not the bathroom I had used. There was a double bed, a large chest of drawers and wardrobe but ..... there was a handbasin which was set diagonally in a corner of the room. The handbasin I had used.
Feeling confused, I explained to my friend that I had used this room earlier in the week and it had indeed been a bathroom. Seeing my concern and anxiety, she suggested that I spoke to the manager who told me that the guest house had originally been two separate houses and that the room in question had been a bathroom. She asked me to describe it and she blanched when my description was accurate.
Later that day I learnt that the housekeeping staff disliked cleaning on the Fisherman's Creek corridor as they had each experienced unusual happenings. One had held a conversation with an elderly man who had then 'disappeared'.
The morning that I had used the 'bathroom', two guests were using that same room as a bedroom.
Where had I been?
I experienced several other unusual happenings in my early life but none as seemingly unexplainable as this one.

A hundred years ago, on a farm in the Chiltern Hills, there lived the Dohertys. They were an unfriendly couple, often curt to other people. They were most unkind to their 15-year-old maid, Wilma. The maid was an orphan who the couple had taken in. Although they gave her a home, they treated her very badly. They would overload her with household chores, and criticise her over the slightest error. She was often physically punished. The girl became really quiet, leading others to name her 'Whispering Wilma'.
Wilma's only real joy was a tiny black cat she had befriended, who always appeared at her side to keep her company as she undertook her outdoor chores. However, Mr and Mrs Doherty detested the creature. On many occasions, they would chase the cat away with a broom, or throw stones at it.

One fateful evening, Wilma was ordered to fetch a bucket of water from the well. She did as she was told, carrying the heavy bucket back into the kitchen. However, due to the sheer weight, Wilma found it difficult to keep the bucket steady and water spilled. She slipped, the bucket toppling and water spreading out across the kitchen floor. The Dohertys screamed in anger. Wilma ran out in terror. Mr Doherty grabbed a large stick, and gave chase, intent on punishing her. Wilma had reached the well when he caught up with her. Mr Doherty raised the stick. But before Wilma could be punished, the black cat suddenly appeared and jumped out in front of them, screeching menacingly. Mr Doherty grew so angry that he struck the cat over and over until it didn't move. He lifted the cat and threw it down the well.
"That will teach you to waste time on this deadbeat animal," he barked, "Now, go and mop up the water you spilled. Any more mistakes, and you'll be next!"

The next day, Wilma was gone. She had run away, never to be seen again.

Mrs Doherty now had to do all of the household chores herself. She scrubbed the floors, washed the clothes. She collected the water, made dinner. Everything. Mrs Doherty advertised for a new maid, but people heard the rumours about what had happened with Wilma, so nobody answered.

About 5 months later, news spread in the village that Mr Doherty had fallen ill. 2 months later, the doctor was summoned again. Now Mrs Doherty had become ill, with Mr Doherty getting worse. Before the end of the year, they both got so poorly that they passed away.

The reason the Dohertys died? Mrs Doherty had continued to fetch water from the well, she was not told that the cat was thrown down it. A decomposing body of an animal would be enough to poison the water.
However, years later, people walking past the old well have often heard a wailing sound, like a creature crying in pain. Thus, everyone wonders: Was it the revenge of Whispering Wilma and her cat?

I read a book about Katherine Swynford (John O'Gaunt's mistress and later wife) quite a few years ago. At the back of the book were some commentary points. It said that she was buried in Lincoln Cathedral. A couple of years later I visited Lincoln with my family and my mum. I was telling her about the book. As we entered the Cathedral Mum said that we would have to see if we could find Katherine's grave. I pointed to the left and said that it was around that side, about half way down. Mum asked if they were that specific in the book. I said no, and we went to look. It was about half way down on the left.

What follows is a true story recounted by my uncle 'Frank'. One evening, he had been driving back from London after having dropped off family at Heathrow Airport. It was a downright miserable night, cold and with torrential rainfall. Having reached the edge of town, he took the road leading off the highway, formally exiting the M1 and entering townspace. It was at this point, just beyond the bend, that he noticed someone on the pavement, pacing to and fro. Despite the heavy rain, the light from the overhead lamp 50 metres ahead illuminated the area enough for Frank to realise it was a young woman. Frank became really concerned. There was no other cars on the street, so he pulled up beside where the woman was, leant over to the passenger side, and opened the window. Up closer, he realised she was just a teenager. The girl did not have a coat on. She wore a thin top, jeans, flat shoes, and what looked like a multi-coloured shawl around her neck. She was completely drenched. Frank introduced himself and asked the girl if she needed any help. The girl replied, "I am lost." Frank stated that he would be happy to take her home, or if she wasn't comfortable with that, he could lend her some money so she could get to a telephone box to call her family (this happened in the 1980s, years before mobile phones became commonplace). But once again, the girl replied, "I am lost." Frank extended his offer once more to give the girl a lift home. The girl nodded in acceptance. Frank waited for her to climb into the rear passenger seat, and, after obtaining her address, drove the girl to her home.
The following day, just as Frank was leaving for work, he noticed something in the back of his car. It was the multi-coloured shawl that belonged to the girl. Frank thought it best he drive straight away to the girl's house and return it.
Frank drove up the same road where he had dropped off the girl the previous night. An elderly man and woman opened the door when Frank knocked at the girl's house. Frank explained what had happened the night before, and that was he had called to return the multi-coloured shawl. At this, the elderly woman seemed to half-faint. Her husband immediately reached out to steady her, but he too looked ashen in appearance, the colour having drained from his face.
The elderly couple had a daughter who had passed away 8 years ago. She had been run over in a car accident ... which took place at the very same spot Frank had first seen the girl pacing to and fro the previous night! The elderly couple stated their daughter had looked and dressed exactly like how Frank described the girl he gave the lift to. And their daughter had gone out that fateful night 8 years ago ... wearing a multi-coloured shawl!!!

More than 30 year ago, when working in the garden both my husband and I on several occasions spotted a grey tabby cat run into our kitchen. When we went into the house to chase it out we could never find it. Even when the interior kitchen door was closed and there was no other way out the cat was nowhere to be found.

One night when my husband was on nightshift I was wakened by what I can only describe as a cat purring and a weight at the foot of my bed. I was convinced it was our ghost cat but I was too scared to look! In the morning I put it down to a dream or my imagination.

A couple of years after our first sighting my friend's 3 year old son was playing in the lounge as we made coffee in the kitchen. We could hear him chatting away and laughing. When we went back into the lounge he asked me what our cat was called. I told him we didn't have one but he insisted that he had been playing with the stripey cat that lived here.

The sightings of our ghost cat continued sporadically for several years until it stopped altogether. We realized that the hauntings stopped around the same time as a neighbour's cat decided that she would leave home and move in with us.

More than 30 year ago, when working in the garden both my husband and I on several occasions spotted a grey tabby cat run into our kitchen. When we went into the house to chase it out we could never find it. Even when the interior kitchen door was closed and there was no other way out the cat was nowhere to be found.

One night when my husband was on nightshift I was wakened by what I can only describe as a cat purring and a weight at the foot of my bed. I was convinced it was our ghost cat but I was too scared to look! In the morning I put it down to a dream or my imagination.

A couple of years after our first sighting my friend's 3 year old son was playing in the lounge as we made coffee in the kitchen. We could hear him chatting away and laughing. When we went back into the lounge he asked me what our cat was called. I told him we didn't have one but he insisted that he had been playing with the stripey cat that lived here.

The sightings of our ghost cat continued sporadically for several years until it stopped altogether. We realized that the hauntings stopped around the same time as a neighbour's cat decided that she would leave home and move in with us.

On the night of All Hallows Eve, the moon and stars were the only glimpses of light surrounding the mysterious woman. The darkness never scared her though, for this is her time.
At 6ft 2 tall Arabella is forbidding and the velvet cloak billowing behind her draws startled attention from the night wanderers and vagrants tucked up in the shadows.
Making her way through the alleys and passageways that meander through the city Arabella doesn’t rush, she has time on her hands.

At the entrance to a park a man impatiently paces up and down pausing to check his watch under the street light . He glances up expectantly as Arabella approaches but soon dismisses the tall figure as a stranger.

Arabella approaches and when only a couple of feet away, stops. The man inhales her beautiful aroma and inexplicably entranced, he has no hesitation taking the manicured hand outspread towards him . She lifts her head and the velvet hood drops back exposing her classic beauty ,soulful eyes lift to his and her lips tremble seductively. . He steps towards her and as he reaches up to touch her face, her mouth opens and with a loud exhalation emits flaming darts of scarlet vapour .
The streams of smoke spiral from the cavernous gap and envelop his head entering his eyes, nose and ears sending him into spasms of agony and dropping him screaming to the floor. Curving her upper body back Arabella inhales the swirling soul extracted from its pathetic shell . Rejuvenated she wraps her cloak about her and walks away.

When I was nineteen I awoke in the night to find a boy around my age halfway down my bed. He had hair to his shoulders, a top with long sleeves baggy to his wrists, and trousers with a very high waistband about 3-4 inches and tied with a rope. He was smiling at me, beautiful teeth and very handsome. Lot's of thoughts rushed through my head, but my first logical one was to see if he was really there? Or was I dreaming?
I nervously put my hand out and moved it left to right through him. He was there alright and still smiling at me!
I had two options as I recall, one was to get out of bed and leave the room, the other to get under the bedclothes. I chose the latter option and remained for a little while until I could bear the heat no more.
I peeked out of the covers and he was gone. I then ran out of the room and jumped into bed with my parents shouting "I have seen a Ghost!"
My Mother the next day said she had never seen any good looking Ghost's in her bedroom!!
Previous to that I experienced other spooky incidents over the years, and was quite often afraid to be in that room in the dark.
Years after I moved out when I married my Mother admitted both her and my Dad had both experienced strange things a couple of times, and my Dad said to her he thought the house was haunted!!

A true story that is still talked about years later.
Maureen and I met when we were young, she came to live next door. Our houses were joined by a shared entry and joint yard. We used to play together a lot and one of the things we looked forward to was Halloween. Trick or treating was different then. If children went knocking on doors the expected treat was a bit of spare change which would be put towards buying fireworks. My parents would not allow me to go trick or treating Maureen was not allowed either.
Nevertheless every year we would make a ‘Blue Peter’ witches hat out of cardboard painted black and around the base of the pointed hat would be long strands of dark wool for hair. We had dark coloured cloth for a cloak. We also had a lighted candle in a glass jar (children were trusted with these things then) and our mischief would begin.
Our dastardly deed was the same every year. Next door to my house lived an older lady and her husband and every year we would climb over the wall into her back garden and place our lighted candles on the window ledge of her living room and tap the window gently so that she opened the curtains. We would then watch from a dark corner as she through her hands up to her face in horror and shut the curtains again quickly. Just in case you are thinking what awful children we were, this was something that was arranged beforehand with the lady and my Mother, although we only found this out a few years later!
The Halloween night I wanted to tell you about started off in the same manner and Maureen and I had a bit more time before we had to go in to get ready for bed. We were not allowed to go further that the pavement at the bottom of our entry so we stood there hoping to scare anyone who maybe walking past. Our road was not very busy so the chances were slim but we stood there nevertheless two witches chatting.
Our chatting stopped abruptly when a large black hearse came slowly up the road towards us. We stood open mouthed as the hearse stopped in front of us, in the back was a coffin and in the front were two men dressed all in black. The passenger window wound down slowly and one of the men asked us for directions to Alexander Road. We both knew we should not be talking to strangers, especially to strangers in the front of a large hearse complete with coffin! So we pointed to the road in question and ran back up the entry. Seconds later we plucked up courage to go back down and to quickly look down the road that was mentioned (it was only a few yards away) there was nothing at all to be seen the hearse had completely vanished.

Many, years ago I lived in a Hall of residence which was a converted Victorian mansion.. The bedrooms were large and shared by 2 or 3 girls. The only exceptions were the single attic rooms. There were only 4 . These attics never seemed to keep a resident for very long. First one girl and then another moved down to share with someone else, Anyway I was desperate for some personal space, I'd never shared a room before. When attic 203 came up I persuaded the bursar that if I didn't get it I was going to have a breakdown.
Talk about be careful what you wish for.
All was great at first. The floorboards creaked, and the door stuck when it was damp, but I had my own space at last. The bathrooms were a bit of a nuisance, all were on the floor below, but when you are young trotting up and down isn't really a problem.
It was little things I noticed to begin with. I would find things in places I was sure they hadn't been left. There were no locks on the doors and I thought some of the other girls were playing tricks on me, but they all denied it.
Then one weekend in November I found out the other 3 girls in the attic rooms were all going home for the weekend. "Want to come and sleep in my room?" my friend Jess asked me. I laughed thinking she was joking. She was serious. "You can't stay up there on your own. You do know it's haunted."
Well of course I stayed up there. Determined to prove there wasn't a ghost I decided to ghostwatch. I settled into my armchair with a flask of coffee and a pile of books and waited. There were noises. At one point I thought I heard footsteps and the door to the next attic opening and closing. I opened my door and looked out but there was no one there. The curtains at my window kept moving “Draughts,” I thought. I must have dozed because I thought I heard a voice singing softly, a lullaby. I woke stiff and cramped and feeling shivery. Nothing I decided that a hot bath wouldn’t cure.
The bathroom cubicles had spaces at the tops and bottoms of the partitions that we girls used to throw things to each other. But it was early and I had all the cubicles to myself. I ran a hot bubbly bath and lay down to soak. Then a book flew over the partition and landed with a splash in the water, it was followed by another, I called out but there was no one around. In my bathrobe I set off to the attic. The way was strewn with books and papers and up in the attics all the rooms had been wrecked.
They decided the pressure of work had been too much for me and I had just flipped. I tried to say I hadn’t done it. I was given a term off and had to talk to a therapist, but blaming a ghost was ridiculous.

In 1938 when I was 15,my parents, sister and I went to stay with an elderly cousin who lived in an old Manor House in Suffolk where he collected antiques and each room was furnished in the appropriate era. There was no electricity only candles and oil lamps. My parents were in the Queen Anne bedroom which had two doors opposite one another. My mother was awakened in the night by one door opening a feeling of someone crossing the room and opening and shutting the other door. In 1940 I had a week's holiday so Mum suggested I go to see Cousin Alfred. I was put in the Queen Anne room and had the same experience. When I told cousin Alfred he said that used to be Cousin Evie's room she had the same experience. she died in that bed. A frightening experience for a 17 year old.

That Christmas Billy and me went carol singing. We’d done all the old people who lived in Larch Ave and I was ready to go home but Billy wanted to try the detached house at the very end of the road.
He trotted ahead of me up the drive and as soon as we got near the front door I could see that this was some house. There were lights on in all the rooms, spilling out into the dark in a comforting sort of way. In the front room there was a Christmas tree in a red pot with what looked like real candles flickering on the branches. A fire burned in the grate and right in the bay window there was this lady with her baby. She was sitting in a rocking chair and holding the baby up so it could see the lights and the baby was laughing and kicking out its feet. Its arms and legs were all plump and round and the lady was so happy and the room was so cozy that part of me just wanted to stand there and gawp. But Bill wasn’t having any of that. He marched up to the front door and started to sing.
“Away in a manger no crib for a bed, the little Lord Jesus laid down his sweet head.” His voice was so sweet and sad and the scene in the window was so loving and warm that it made me think of all those babies out there in war zones and such with nowhere warm and safe to sleep. And then there was Alec who’s so scared of the dark that Mum has to sit by him ‘til he drops off and he still wakes up screaming. And he’ll never learn, not with what’s wrong with him. He’ll never know that it’s all right, that the dark’s nothing to be scared of and in any case you can always switch on the light.
I don’t There’s no point, but all of a sudden I filled up with tears and this time it was me wiping my eyes on my sleeve. Billy sang and sang then knocked on the front door. It wasn’t the loud thump he usually gave but a gentle tap as if the magic of that scene had got to him too.
For a moment I thought the lady hadn’t heard us and was about to tell him to try again. Then the door opened and there she was with the baby in her arms. Behind her the hall was all shadowy and warm and I swear I could smell pine needles and wood smoke.
“That was lovely,” she said. “Thank you. There you are. Happy Christmas.”
“Happy Christmas to you too,” we chorused. Billy’s hand shot out and he palmed the coin she’d given us before I could see it properly, but by the hall light I thought it was a two pounds.
When the door shut behind her, we both felt a bit sad, so I said we’d got to go home and Billy didn’t argue. He didn’t even moan when he had to wait while I raced round Sainsbury’s for mum’s present. Thanks to him we had plenty of money and I bought us some chocolate with what was left over.
It was when we were walking home that I realized, Billy had kept that last coin for himself.
“How much did she give you?” I asked. Billy licked the last of the chocolate off his fingers and rummaged around in his trouser pockets.
“Dunno,” he said puzzled.
“What do you mean? You don’t know? Here give it to me.”
“It’s mine,” he whined.
“It’s ours,” I said. “If it wasn’t for me taking you out you wouldn’t have anything not even that Snicker Bar.”
He handed it over reluctantly and I looked at in the light coming from the 24 7 store. It felt heavy but there was something not right and when I held it up I couldn’t work out what it was meant to be. Part of me thought she’d cheated, given us something foreign, but another part knew that she wouldn’t have done that. Not her, not tonight, not on Christmas Eve.
“We’ll ask Dad when we get in,” I said.
“Well blow me I haven’t seen anything like this in years,” he said when I handed it to him.
“Here’ Jen come and take a look at this, a two and sixpence. Well, well,” he shook his head and grinned. “Where did you two get hold of this?”
“Why?” Is it valuable?” I asked.
“No. I don’t think so. It’s not legal tender any more. They stopped doing these in 1970 something. Before you were born anyway. “
“So she was cheating us then? “ I felt strangely disappointed.
“Who’s that?” Mum asked.
“The lady who gave it to us. The one in the last house on Larch Avenue.” Mum shook her head. “No you’ve got that wrong love. That house isn’t there anymore. It was burnt down one Christmas Eve when me and your Dad were little.” Her voice went a bit strange and then she was hugging us, holding us so close we could hardly breathe. It was like she knew what we’d been doing and why, like she was saying thank you before she’d even be given her present.
But when I looked up into her face I saw it was something else. There was fear in her eyes and in Dad’s voice when he ruffled my hair and muttered something about us being good kids.

It was all so weird, I didn’t have a clue, not ‘til later that year when our Billy was killed in that freak accident by that driver whose lorry went out of control.

Many years ago I worked with a man whose wife had to go into hospital for an operation. He came into work one day looking very puzzled. The nurses had told his wife that as she came round from the anaesthetic, she was speaking in fluent German.

She had never had a German lesson in her life!

I was walking with friends up Snowdon mountain. Summertime but it was getting misty and I got separated from my friends and started walking this path alone. I noticed a man, very strangely dressed with knickerbocker trousers and a deerstalker hat, coming towards me. He said, in no uncertain terms, stop and do not go any further turn back. When I recovered being shouted at I did turn around and retraced my steps but he had completely disappeared. There was nowhere to go but he had vanished. Eventually met up with my friends who said they had seen no such figure. That night we went to a pub and on the walls were various mountaineering picitures and there he was standing in one photograph. He was a famous Victorian mountaineer and he had stopped me from plummeting to my death on this wrong path

My sense of smell has always been good – I put it down to my big nose. That’s how I knew it was her. It was pitch black but a waft of perfume worked better than a spotlight for me.
A few minutes earlier, husband and I had been spending time with our grandchildren.
That is: DH and dog in the lounge watching Match of the Day – full volume.
GD1 in bedroom - doing something that makes the kitchen light flicker.
GD2 on computer in dining room - I keep popping in.
GS - reading something gory within easy reach of the custard creams.
Me - trying to stop the washing machine circling the kitchen floor.
Then a moment of complete silence and total blackness. A power cut.
Footsteps. “Who’s pinched my torch?” “I’ve got a candle, where are the matches?” A few agonised yelps. “Mind the dog.”
Suddenly we’re all in the lounge.
“Whole street’s out,” I said opening the curtains.
“Let’s have a séance.”
“Boring.”
“Does this remind you of the war, Grandma?”
“I’m not quite that ancient,” I said as I groped my way towards a seat. The two sofas were full so it had to be the bean bag by the TV. “But people did sit in the dark during the bombings.”
“In air-raid shelters,” said husband.
“Or if you lived in London you were supposed to go to the nearest underground station. My Mum didn’t though, she said she hated the creepy crawlies,” I said.
“Where did she go, then?”
“Under the bed.”
It was as they laughed that I first smelt my mother’s perfume. A car went past, headlights briefly illuminating shapes on the sofas in front of me.
“Did she get blown up?” asked GS.
And so I told them about my Mum. They’d never heard of the TB that she had managed, against all the odds, to survive. “She had a real zest for life. It lasted until she died, just after a big celebration for her eightieth birthday,” I said.
“Party animal, like me. I knew it was in my genes,” said GD1.
My Mum was there. The scent was unmistakable, Max Factor’s Hypnotique.
The lights came on and the TV roared as Arsenal scored.
Kids and dog disappeared as did the smell of Mum’s perfume. Imagination, they all said.
But later I thought about the sofas and the silhouettes I’d seen in the dark. Six. Husband, three grandchildren, the Great Dane and me – six.
Except I’d been on the bean bag.

I love my Aunt Maureen and here she is, dying, lecturing me. I listen closely to this fine woman's last words to me, weeping silently.

'Linda, take care of your gran; visit her often. She will need you more than ever when I'm gone.'

It was an unnecessary request. I would have her come to live with me, willingly, but she is a feisty lady who enjoys living alone. Gran has been my guardian angel ever since mother walked out on us thirty years ago...

I have often wished that Aunt Maureen was my mum; she has such a vibrant and fun loving nature and always makes me laugh. Often, she would visit us and bring some of her delicious home baking for tea, then take us out on an adventure. Those were happy outings for me and my siblings.

I looked at the beautiful face, kind and caring, made weary with drugs and disease. Her lustrous black hair long gone, stolen by the chemo. Yet her chocolate brown eyes still twinkling mischieviously,

'Kiss me, then go home to your husband and hold him close.'

I realise this is the last time I will see her.

I wake up, my body convulsing with sobs, my pillow sodden with tears.
I am in bed with my husband, cradling me, offering comfort, easing my pain. I tell him...

'You've had a bad dream. It's okay; I'm here. Hush now, its half three in the morning. We don't want the children to waken up, do we? And we've got that appointment in Glasgow at ten o'clock.'

When I awake my dream is still vivid and my body is weary. The telephone rings and I struggle through to the kitchen to answer it.

'Hello, Linda. It's Uncle Bobby,' his voice was broken, 'I'm afraid I have bad news. I've just received a call from Belfast City Hospital. Your Aunt Maureen passed away peacefully in her sleep this morning at 3.30am...'