Slipping Into The Past

 Ever had the feeling time was playing tricks on you? 

Perhaps you have visited somewhere for the first time - only to find you knew your way around because somehow, somewhere in the deepest recesses of your brain you had the distinct impression you had been there before. Or maybe, even stranger, you have suddenly had a sense of being out of time in some way. As if everything had taken a step backwards...maybe more than a step. Perhaps, in common with a surprising number of people, you have seemed to pass through a portal in time, back ten, twenty, a hundred years, or more. Maybe it was only fleeting and, even though you were aware of it happening, your mind still cannot process it and you have the hardest time believing you didn't somehow have a bizarre waking dream.

Then you discover you were not alone in experiencing that timeslip. They have gone through the same thing. Exactly the same thing. It is as if, in that particular place, forces come together to create a door to the past and, when conditions are right, it slides open.

So what causes these apparent timeslips? 

It seems a lot depends on how you view that whole dimension. In history, we talk about timelines, assuming time is linear. What is past, stays in the past. The present is where we are now and the future is an unknown country. Yet many eminent scientists, from Einstein to Professor Brian Cox, challenge the finite nature of time and suggest it may be a lot more flexible than we were led to believe at school.

Certainly, an extraordinary number of accounts from seemingly perfectly sane people attest to some very strange experiences that defy conventional explanation.  Some may have involved a trigger factor – such as being keenly interested in historical aspects of a particular place. 

Here's an example:

 In Leeds Castle, Kent, Alice Pollock was exploring Henry VIII’s rooms, touching objects and trying, mentally, to project herself back in time to experience events in that room from an earlier age. For a while nothing happened. Then, suddenly, the room changed. Instead of a modern comfortable space, it became cold and bare. Logs burned on the fire, the carpet had vanished. She saw a tall woman, dressed in an old-fashioned long white dress, walking up and down the length of the room. The woman appeared to be unaware of her visitor and seemed to be concentrating hard on something.

Then, as quickly as it had happened, the room changed back to its original state.

Alice conducted research and discovered that the room had been part of a suite used to imprison Queen Joan of Navarre, Henry V’s stepmother, whose husband had accused her of witchcraft.

Did Alice touch some object that resonated with this era? Did she just will herself into some kind of hallucination? Or did her enthusiasm set of a trigger of some kind, allowing her to glimpse a snapshot of a time long past.

Joan Forman, author of a number of books on ghosts, mysteries and the supernatural, wrote of a Warder at the Tower of London who had an extraordinary experience when he was on duty in the Byward Tower. One night he saw five or six Beefeaters seated around a log fire, smoking pipes. They appeared to be from a much earlier era and the whole room had transformed. Unnerved, the warder left the room, but returned moments later whereupon it had reverted to its original state. There was no sign of the Beefeaters.

Forman wrote of many other experiences, and then had one of her own. At Haddon Hall in Derbyshire, she paused to admire the surroundings. Suddenly she saw four children playing outside. She watched them, especially captivated by the oldest girl, who had blonde hair, wore a high Dutch hat and a long green-grey silk dress with a white collar. Clearly not of this era. She was certain she was watching them with some kind of inner vision, rather than with her physical sight. Believing that the little girl might actually have existed, she searched the ancestral portraits until she found her. She succeeded and found herself looking at a portrait of Lady Grace Manners who died in the 1640s.

Through her own experience and those she documented, Joan Forman became convinced that the theory of a trigger factor, instigating the ‘timeslip’ was true. She had been caught up with the atmosphere of the place, had let her mind drift for a second or two and allowed the past to slip into the present.

Whatever the truth of the many well-documented occurrences of apparent timeslips, they simply won’t go away and accounts are found from all over the world. With scientists telling us that bending time is indeed possible, who knows?

In my latest novel - The After-Death of Caroline Rand - Alli Sinclair is staying in an ancient historic house for the weekend when she experiences a timeslip. Hers takes her back to 1968 - to Laurel Canyon and the start of a whole chain of events that bind her inextricably to the house and the fate of a woman she has never met...

At a weekend house party at ancient Canonbury Manor, Alli is caught between fantasy and reality, past and present, in the life of Caroline Rand, a famous singer from the late Sixties, who reportedly killed herself in that house. Alli soon learns that evil infests the once-holy building. A sinister cabal controls it, as it has for centuries. Before long, her fate will be sealed, and she will learn about her role in the after-death of Caroline Rand.

It begins with a chilling greeting: "Welcome to The Columbine, Miss Sinclair. You are expected."

 The After-Death of Caroline Rand is available here:

Amazon

Flame Tree Press

Barnes and Noble

Bookshop.org

Simon and Schuster

Waterstones

and all good bookshops - in the high street or online

And - while you're reading (or contemplating reading) why not listen to this playlist to put you in the mood:

Spotify - The After-Death of Caroline Rand

and - with the year drawing rapidly to a close - read about my three favourite books I have enjoyed this year, over at Shepherd.com

Images:

Shutterstock

Flame Tree Press

The Green Lady of Crathes up/date with new phots see shutterstock 'crathes'

Lario Tus/Shutterstock.com

One thing you could never accuse this ghost of is being shy. She has been seen by a whole host of people, including Queen Victoria when she came to stay at Crathes Castle. She may even have been captured on camera as recently as two years ago.

The building itself is a picturesque Jacobean edifice standing in glorious countryside on the banks of Loch Leys in Aberdeenshire. Building was started here by Alexander Burnett of Leys in 1550, and not completed until 1590 but its most famous inhabitant – known simply as the Green Lady of Crathes – seems to have been haunting the area long before the castle was constructed. According to some traditions, she may have lived in an earlier castle which stood on the same spot and whose stones were incorporated into the present structure. 

Another – and more widely held – legend states that she was either a servant girl or a ward of the Laird of the present castle, during the late 1500s. Sadly, we have no name for her and she is alleged to have disappeared shortly after giving birth. Givent he cited circumstances, we can hazard a guess as to the identity of the baby's father.

 Whatever the truth of her identity may be, this ghost manifests herself in a particular room which, for obvious reasons is known as the Green Lady’s Room, where – dressed in the green robe that gives her its name - she glides serenely across the floor until she stops by the fireplace and lifts up a baby, apparently out of thin air. She then cradles the infant in her arms. In a sinister turn of events, when renovations were carried out on the room during the 1800s, skeletal remains of a young woman and a baby were discovered under the hearthstone. 

The Green Lady never threatens or harms anyone although her sudden appearance is signalled by temperature fluctuations and some visitors have reported feeling a palpable sense of dread on entering her room. However, she has been known to appear to members of the Burnett family, and to them she represents a warning of impending death or other disaster.

In November of 2016 a photograph, taken by Bill Andrew of his family outside the castle, shows a ghostly figure in the doorway behind. Apparently, there has been something of an upsurge in paranormal activity at the castle of late.

The castle does seem to be something of a hive of supernatural activity and the Green Lady isn’t the only spectral presence. Archives record the frightening appearance of a luminous block of ice, moving as if it were a human walking. Not surprisingly these appearances go hand in hand with a sharp and dramatic drop in temperature.

A further ghost – known as the White Lady – turns up from time to time. She is thought to be Alexander Burnett’s young lover, Bertha. Burnett’s mother – Lady Agnes - deemed her unworthy of becoming her son’s wife and poisoned her.

Lady Agnes also haunts the castle and returns on the anniversary of her death.

The castle is now owned by the National Trust for Scotland, having been given to them by the Burnett family in 1951, and is a popular tourist destination. It is famed for its incredible, ornate painted ceilings and magnificent furniture, as well as possessing extensive, beautiful grounds and gardens. Certainly one to put on your list of places to visit this summer.

May all your ghostly encounters be friendly ones...

Plas Teg - Home to 15 Ghosts and More...

Image: Rondell Melling/Pixabay

Between the Welsh towns of Mold and Wrexham, you will find a grand Jacobean country house called Plas Teg. It imposes its grandeur, and announces its stature, as one of the most important historic houses in Wales – and, if reports are to be believed, it’s home to around 15 ghosts.

Plas Teg was built in 1610 by Sir John Trevor – a Welsh politician - as a family home and served as that until the death of Sir Trevor’s wife, Lady Margaret, at the beginning of the English Civil War. The remaining members of the family moved to one of their many other properties and rented out Plas Teg for the duration of the war.

The Trevors eventually returned and generations of the family continued to live there until 1930 when it was sold to the War Office and provided housing for soldiers during the Second World War. Sadly, the house declined over the ensuing years – so much so, that it was put up for demolition in the 1950s. The prospect of losing this fine mansion caused a public outcry and, fortunately, a descendant of the Trevors – Patrick Trevor-Roper – saved the day. He rescued the property, with help from the Historic Buildings Council, and partially restored it. Once again the house was habitable and was occupied by tenants until it was sold in 1977. Sadly, the new owners only lived on the ground floor, meaning the rest of the house once again fell into decay. Better times lay ahead for this fine building though. 

 Cornelia Bayley bought it in 1986 and sank a great deal of her own money, plus financial aid from CADW (the historic environment arm of the Welsh Government).  Ten months and £400,000 later, Cornelia Bayley opened her home to the public, who are welcome to visit to this day. Thirty years after she started this mammoth venture, she is still hard at work, restoring, repairing and living in the home she loves so much.

For ghosthunters, there is a wealth of material and a number of characters to choose from. Plas Teg is well aware of its reputation and hosts regular ghostly events. With such a rich and varied history, it comes as little surprise that there should be so many spirits around the place. Not only has it been used as a family home, but also as a court, where people were tried, convicted and even hanged, under the infamous 'Hanging' Judge - Jeffries.

Image: ArtTower/Pixabay

 Of the many ghosts of Plas Teg, one of the most notable is that of Sir John Trevor’s daughter – Dorothy. Her story is all too familiar. She fell in love with a local farmer’s son called Iorwerth. Naturally this was deemed a most unsuitable match by her wealthy father. The lovers were forbidden to see each other, but Dorothy was determined. The couple planned to elope. She buried her jewellery near the well and when the appointed night arrived, Dorothy slipped out of the house and ran to the hiding place to retrieve her treasure. There was no moon that night and she lost her footing. Tragically, she fell down the well to her death. For many years, people have reported sightings of a mysterious woman in white on the main road (the A541) at the spot where she might well have been running to meet her lover.

 It took two months for her body to be found and when it was, her jewellery box and all its precious contents were missing. Poor Iorwerth was distraught. He had good reason to fear her father’s wrath and thirst for vengeance, and was scared he would be accused - not only of stealing her jewels, but - of murdering her in order to obtain them. Rather than wait for, what he saw as, the inevitable, he took matters into his own hands and hanged himself. Now he too haunts the grounds, searching endlessly for his beloved Dorothy.

At the turn of the nineteenth/twentieth centuries, a gardener was frightened half out of his wits by unseen hands grabbing him and trying to pull him down the well. From somewhere he summoned up the strength to tear himself free. He looked down into the dark water, but saw nothing.

In the mid-eighteenth century, a later Sir John Trevor (the fifth of that name) discovered his wife was having an affair. Consumed by jealousy (and probably no small quantity of wine) he allegedly killed her, but, riddled with guilt, he drove his carriage at manic speed through the ground of Plas Teg and hit a tree. He sustained terrible injuries and died a slow and tortuous death.

Image: Samuele Schirò/Pixabay

 More fatal jealousy occurred in 1815 when the 16 year old Elizabeth Trevor-Roper was hotly pursued by two male suitors. Alas, she loved just one of them and when she admitted as much, the spurned lover murdered her chosen one and chased Elizabeth back to the house. The poor girl feared for her life and a struggle ensued, with tragic consequences. Elizabeth either fell – or was pushed – down the well and died. There have been many reports of a ghost of a man and a woman running down one of the corridors. The man has a bloody wound to his shoulder while she, in white, clutches jewels. An echo of her ancestor perhaps?

If you do decide to visit and are disappointed by not seeing any physical manifestations, don’t despair, you may hear or feel them instead. All over the house, it seems the spirits are a playful bunch who like to touch, stroke, prod or push. They also have the ability to affect the atmosphere in a room to such a degree that people experience sudden feelings of despair, happiness, anger or extreme sadness. A woman wailing, sounds of giggling, whispering, knocking, tapping and footsteps are also frequent.

You certainly get your money’s worth at Plas Teg! I can attest to the unique atmosphere of this house and my one visit so far is unlikely to be my last.

You can find out more about Plas Teg on their website

UPDATE (Dec 2023)

Sadly, Plas Teg is no longer open to the public

A Case of Prophetic Fiction...

... or How My Words Will Bring About the End of the World

by

  

 Ronald Malfi

 

My wife is terrified. She’s got a theory and it may be right. I’ve been ignoring it for some time, but now...well, now it’s getting harder and harder to look the other way. And the children...they’re watching us.

            Let me back up...

            Even before I’d met my wife, it had been going on. My high school friends—those who read my stories, my manuscripts—commented on the peculiarity of them, the serendipitous and eerily prophetic nature of some of my stories. At around thirteen years old, I wrote a story about a thunderstorm that brought dead things back to life. I printed it out and handed it off to one of my best friends who took it home that night and read it...until the power went out in his house due to a raging thunderstorm. The next morning, a dead squirrel had been washed up on his front porch. It wasn’t the zombified version that appeared in my story, but it was close enough to cause him some consternation.

            Sometime later, I wrote a story about a group of friends who fight a monster, and at the end of the story, one of the characters, who was based on one of my best friends, moves to California. About a year later, that friend’s family indeed picked up and moved. To California. The remaining friends, who thought I had conspired with my typewriter to make this happen, blamed me for a while. 

            Soon afterward, I wrote what, at the time (I was still a high-schooler), I considered my epic story. At 500 pages, I had written a manuscript called The House in the Woods, and had used all my friends as characters in it. (Many, many years later, a very different version of this original manuscript would be published as what I currently consider my epic novel, December Park.) There is a scene in the original manuscript where the boys tromp through the woods surrounding their town and come across the burnt-out hull of a 1957 Chevy. A very random scene. The woods were a real place in the town where I grew up, and we frequently ventured into them, but of course we never found the cannibalized corpse of an old car...until after I’d written that scene. But then there it was, written into existence, an old Chevy in the woods, just as I had written it. (It was too decayed to tell if it was exactly a 1957, but it was close enough for government work.)

            Things only got worse from there.

            Once I got married, settled into real life, and began publishing on a regular basis, the prophetic nature of my fiction only seemed to increase. I wrote a novel called Passenger, which included a fairly gratuitous dog-fight scene, something I knew existed but was rarely if ever talked about on the news. Soon after, Michael Vick was on all the TV channels. After that, I wrote a novel called Snow, and although here in Maryland our winters are generally mild, we were unapologetically crushed by a terrible snowstorm later that year.

            “Cut it out,” my wife told me. “I know you’re doing it. And I hate the cold.”

            She knew of my friends’ claims that what I wrote about back in high school came true, and I thought maybe she was starting to believe it. As for me, I just attributed it to coincidence, like how, back in the 1980s, all those switching-bodies movies came out at the same time. Coincidence, right?

            My wife was pregnant with our first child while I was writing Cradle Lake, which focuses on a couple who have suffered a series of miscarriages. Our daughter was born without a problem, but it wasn’t until the book was published and my wife got pregnant a second time that the doctors alerted us to all the possible “problems” we might face this second time around. Of course, my wife and I were upset. “It’s your book,” said my wife. “It’s happening again. Please stop.”

            Thankfully, the pregnancy scare turned out okay and our second daughter was born happy and healthy, which is much better than how the Hammerstuns of Cradle Lake turned out, but it was still too close for comfort.

            Which brings us up to date. Perhaps it’s hypersensitivity on my wife’s part or perhaps I’ve surrendered to the superstition and finally bought into it, but with the looming publication date of Little Girls, my wife and I have found that our own little girls have been acting...well, strangely. They have begun waking up in the middle of the night and walking about the house, as if in search of something. Twice, I’ve opened my eyes to find my four-year-old daughter staring down at me in bed. She seems to intuit when the mailman will come, and stands by the door mere minutes before the arrival of the little white truck. And my one-year-old daughter has been mumbling a phrase that sounds disconcertingly like, “kill Daddy.”

            “It’s happening again,” says my wife. “Your book...”

            I try not to think about it too much, even when my daughter starts humming a song in the car, and when I turn on the radio, that song is playing. Or how she seems to know of distant relatives whom she’s never met that have died, and how she claims my wife and I will be seeing them soon...

            These anecdotes are frightening enough, but I feel I must apologize to the public at large. Not for Little Girls, which I think is a perfectly fine book, and not for my little girls who, most of the time, are also perfectly fine, but for next year’s release—a book titled The Night Parade. Which, dear readers, I’m sorry to report, is about the end of the world.

            Nice knowing you.

From Bram Stoker Award nominee Ronald Malfi comes a brilliantly chilling novel of childhood revisited, memories resurrected, and fears reborn…

When Laurie was a little girl, she was forbidden to enter the room at the top of the stairs. It was one of many rules imposed by her cold, distant father. Now, in a final act of desperation, her father has exorcised his demons. But when Laurie returns to claim the estate with her husband and ten-year-old daughter, it’s as if the past refuses to die. She feels it lurking in the broken moldings, sees it staring from an empty picture frame, and hears it laughing in the moldy greenhouse deep in the woods…
 
At first, Laurie thinks she’s imagining things. But when she meets her daughter’s new playmate, Abigail, she can’t help but notice her uncanny resemblance to another little girl who used to live next door. Who died next door. With each passing day, Laurie’s uneasiness grows stronger, her thoughts more disturbing. Like her father, is she slowly losing her mind? Or is something truly unspeakable happening to those sweet little girls?

Praise for Ronald Malfi and his novels:

“One cannot help but think of writers like Peter Straub and Stephen King.”
—FearNet

"Malfi is a skillful storyteller."—New York Journal of Books

"A complex and chilling tale….terrifying."—Robert McCammon

"Malfi’s lyrical prose creates an atmosphere of eerie claustrophobia…haunting."—Publishers Weekly

"A thrilling, edge-of-your-seat ride that should not be missed."—Suspense Magazine

Links to Pre-Order or Purchase:

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Or pick up or ask to order at your local independent bookstore or anywhere e-formats are sold!

Ronald Malfi

Ronald Malfi is an award-winning author of many novels and novellas in the horror, mystery, and thriller categories from various publishers, including Little Girls, this summer’s 2015 release from Kensington.

In 2009, his crime drama, Shamrock Alley, won a Silver IPPY Award. In 2011, his ghost story/mystery novel, Floating Staircase, was a finalist for the Horror Writers Association Bram Stoker Award for best novel, a Gold IPPY Award for best horror novel, and the Vincent Preis International Horror Award. His novel Cradle Lake garnered him the Benjamin Franklin Independent Book Award (silver) in 2014. December Park, his epic childhood story, won the Beverly Hills International Book Award for suspense in 2015.

Most recognized for his haunting, literary style and memorable characters, Malfi's dark fiction has gained acceptance among readers of all genres.

He was born in Brooklyn, New York in 1977, and eventually relocated to the Chesapeake Bay area, where he currently resides with his wife and two children.

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