I’d recently seen that movie The Sixth Sense with Bruce Willis, and I thought it was fine, I didn’t get really scared by it, or so I thought. There’s a part in it where the young boy (who was kinda creepy in all his earnestness) sees a ghost hanging by its neck at the end of the hallway. It was an eerie movie with a big twist at the end, and I thought it wasn’t so scary.
Fast forward about 3 months to a Goddess Women Workshop my heart sister Jayne held for a weekend in the hills in an old mansion called Woodhouse. It’s a big old two story mansion which is used often by the Scouts, or other communities for weekend retreats. It’s got heaps of bunk beds on the second floor, huge grounds, and a large communal kitchen.
I arrived for the weekend and dropped my gear onto a bunk upstairs, and joined the others in a large room downstairs. Over the course of the day women came and went and it became apparent that only about 8 of us were actually going to stay the night. Since there weren’t many of us we decided to use one of the rooms downstairs as a communal space to eat, sleep and hangout in. It made it much more cosy and inviting, with all our colourful cushions, and rugs, strewn over mattresses lain on the floor. We lit candles, burnt incense, laid out nibbles and wine.
I remembered I’d left my gear upstairs and as the night time air came in, the house had started to creak and moan, as the shadows lengthened down hallways and in corners. It was also about this time that I’d noticed the stairway in the kitchen lead up to a locked attic door and reminded me of a recurring nightmare I used to have as a child.
I looked at the creaky old staircase leading up to the empty top floor and started to feel creeped out by how the house looked like so many old haunted houses in past scary movies, so much so that I now couldn’t go upstairs by myself to get my sleeping bag. I was scared. So Red Catherine my Romany heart sister held my hand up the stairs and told me she was ready to fight off any ghosts, so that I could go in and collect my stuff. It was funny and scary at the same time.
Back in the communal room we chatted, and drank wine, we listened to music and told stories and we bonded as women do when they are unencumbered by the responsibilities of life. The hours ticked by, and one by one we dropped off to sleep and out of the conversation, cuddled up in our harem like world and all was perfect, until I woke up and had to go to the loo…
Everyone was asleep by this stage, and all the lights were out. I knew I had to walk what seemed like miles through the dark empty haunted house, to the annex that housed the toilets. I was terrified, so I lay for hours holding on to my bladder for dear life, until I could hold on no more. I walked the 60 steps, alone, in the shadowed darkness, down creaking corridors, through empty anterooms, past locked off attics, alone and terrified and bursting to pee, telling myself I’m a grown up, and feeling all of the emotions I have always felt while being scared of the dark.
Every hair on my entire body was set to alert, my heart was pounding in my ears, and I could see bodies hanging from cornices at the corners of my eyes, and wisps of fabrics disappearing around corners as I passed by. I walked those 60 measured steps like a witch walking to my burning. There was a timed light switch in the toilets as I sat for the longest pee in the history of womankind, but it no longer mattered that the light was on, I was out of the dark but not out of the darkness. I had broken into a cold sweat and was enveloped in fear.
With my pants finally back up I zoomed my way back to my shared boudoir, and zipped my sleeping bag cocoon right up to the top. My heart was still pounding, the blood still rushing in my ears. I said goodnight to the ghosts of Woodhouse, but not to the ghosts of movies past, and for some reason that night, sleep eluded me, as I lay awake listening to the sounds of the others breathe. Sixth sense indeed.
I wrote a poem Lucifers gate about scary movies and the effects they have on me… then I got to thinking we could all share scary stories round the campfire…
do you have a favourite scary movie?
or a favourite scary experience?
a scary poem, a scary artwork, or scary story…
lets share ghost stories round the campfire… I’ll pour us a nip of port…
I’ll go first…
ps stay tuned, I’ve invited heaps of people to the campfire…I had to go out for more port…
for Pink Panther Magazine: my sixth sense experience at the Goddess Women Workshop …any of you ladies willing to share a story???
Matt Penfold Meeting the devil
Lisa Jewell Trick of sight?
Arcadia Tempest jaw bones
Unique-Mistique The Amityville Horror
msdebbie A dream?
raymondoantonio House of Shadows
sandra ellen one foot in the grave and one in his pants ;-)
troader Gowns of flowing white
Tuliptree Waverley stagecoach
Holly Runyan Deja Vu
cosimopiro Night Walker
Jenifer DeBellis Eyes wide shut – A Mystical Memoir
Russell Holder Phyegyas… a boatman’s tale
George Yesthal The Hatchetts
ClaireJane Run, rabbits run!
Lisa Jewell In the ghetto
George Yesthal Angels O’ Mercy
George Yesthal The Hereafter
wildwomenlove ghost stories…
TheWanderingBoo I would hear voices
bluevelvetrose1 Ghost White Face
annamora my addition to, the ghost stories round the campfire
P J Ryan the glue factory of my pasted existence
Kirstine Dieckmann it’s a funny thing
Kable (drinking red wine…hic)
linskudd (drinking ginger wine…hic)
Redviolin (eating marshmallows)
Loui Jover (drinking shnupps…hic)
Melodyone (eating marshmallows)
wigs (scoffing port and marshmallows)
bearwings (drunk as a skunk !)