Ghostly Sightings Around Haunted Horncastle

Ancient Caravans Ghostly Vibrations Anyone? I moved to Lincolnshire a dozen years ago as a near forty something, divorced, and a refugee of Bedsitland. My cure had been a lifestyle change: a small holiday caravan rented residentially at the rear of a large site; a satellite dish with 20 something Tv sats bringing in 4,000 free foreign channels, and my family of cats. For a dozen years I lived alone, gaining and losing jobs, taking A levels, watching Tv.. I'd always enjoyed Science Fiction, but preferred solid fact in my reading and media, over 40 true WW2 Escaper novels and a dozen Tibetan books amongst my collection. Cosmology and Astro Archaeology also figuring prominently, always a yearning for Who I was, where we're from, what really went before; not a practising christian, but always reverend to anything that exhibited a caring karma. So it was, living alone, becoming A Gardener & painter for the site, that things, or should I say, more things, were 'shown to me'. That's the only words to describe the phenomenon -  "more I can not say, what more can I say?" as John Lennon sang. That other people never saw the cloudbank following the eclipse, the Kingfisher, The Eagle, The Puma.... By the time I'd moved upto Horncastle to live in another small caravan facing the Wolds, I was less bemused, so the Giant fox mongrel, and another near deadly brush with a puma seemed par for the course. I secured horticultural work almost immediately to bolster the help I was giving on the park, and thus it was, dog tired, as I layed down to snooze, two or three shapes of people gathered round a small fire materialised for a moment right beside the bed. I felt these to be more ancient than Roman, hunched to the elements and their lot, not proud, aware or in any way Imperial. The natural dip and valley of the River Bain would have been a natural welcome arborial shelter compared to the marshy fen or stark Wold. It's a good place for travelllers to hide from the elements and rest up, even then. Canine Able Alas, the site was retired after helping many folk in need of Park living, but bigger 'Park Homes' can be had there now, perhaps Puma free. I moved down to a Georgian cottage, that had previously been a Veterinary practice and a Milliners, trying to get used to Town life. I disassembled a large double pine bed in the noisy front bedroom and put it back together in a rear box-room, nearly entombing myself in the process. Thus it was, after an afternoon's sunbathing in there, a big dinner, and a quick surf, I went into nice snoozies. Waking up in the pitch dark being held down, with what felt like two heavy paws on my shoulders, unable to say a word, like I was locked down. The moment passed. Nothing materialised to tear my throat out, but I was exhausted, and it took several minutes to 'come round' enough to twinkle my toes, take better breaths, and eventually move. The moment revisits me like a temporal timequake, echoing down the years, waking me up in angst, but gradually fading to a memory. The handy thing about the cottage was the bathroom door, which opened 100° to rest there, taking energy to flip it to closed. Until a foot fall on the landing one night, and the door closed 'on it's own'. I was out of bed in a shot and onto the landing, but no-one to be seen, or in the small bathroom. Feline Fine Across the road from the cottage, I helped out at the big antiqes shop, the Old CoOp, with it's outbuildings and yard. Previously the buildings had been a Tavern in the 16th Century, possibly because of a Grand Well, now underneath the Road, that served the Cellars of the houses there through tunnels, such was the climate of mini-ice age Britain. The Inn took it's name from the cat on the side of a gin bottle, The Tom Cat. It's on a gentle slope, and on several levels, nevermind any cellars or tunnels lurking under the cobbled yard. Being full of antiques, the place is kitted out with cctv - and most of it on motion sensors, so the monitor switches to that room as someone moves into it. So it was one misty winter's eve, the manager was locking the place up room by room whilst I sat at the till counter, watching the monitor. Well, the camera kept flitting to the road as the rush hour began, then to the yard where a cat was stalking, then the manager would come up as he passed a camera on his round. Then the camera kept going back to a dark and locked room - something was moving in there. Repeatedly. Then I saw it - a sprite, or ball-lightening of some long forgotten persons anxiety knot...rushing up to a doorway to look into the next room. I see in my minds eye a portly man in hat and tales, perhaps shouting in to the Inn some important news - or to catch a laggard who'd dishonoured him... It was a Full Moon that night, and the mist was particularly 'electric', energised, spiritual - what more can I say?!..   BBC Lincs Ghost Cam Little Shop Of Honours It's strange that these events get put on the back-burner as one crosses the road, gets changed for an evening job...I clean part of the old Sir Joseph Banks' Palace on the High St, very successfully, with a Customer Service Award and thanks from head office. It's 3 flights of stairs and a half dozen rooms, and I've grown aware of and gotten used to the 'coachman' who waits on the 3rd riser trying to use the momentum of his jump onto the unsuspecting to 'take control' and partially live again through a person. I've felt moved enough to sing hymns and say a few Lord's prayers as I clean on my own. A poltegeist type can initiate accidents to the unwary if he thought you to mean harm. I pull furniture out on a rota to clean behind, never all on the same night, lest he has nowhere 'atmospheric' to go. On the landing the Irish wolfhound, elderly lady and young girl constantly keep the Coachman at bay. An abused maid is fleeting on the 3rd floor and aware of her predicament, and may yet leave the ghostly realm to higher planes. Which is where (His Highness)   Sir Joseph Banks resides. The room was bathed in a yellow glow and his aura materialised with his spirit as he smiled happily from an office chair. A few weeks later I picked up a warning from him to take things with much more gravitas - and I left a dangerous driving job that week.. He is on an almost Islamic plane - the paradise spoken of in the Koran, and Jesus' parables in the Bible. His work in respecting life, despite a youth of curiousness and adventure, seems to have put him at our Makers right-hand. Kerfuffle Due to Cameron's attempt to maximise rooms for the new influx of Eastern Europeans, I moved over Christmas into a delightful apartment - the word bedsit doesn't do it justice. It's adjacent an old pub premises, again (as most of olde Horncastle was given to establishments). The Fleece Pub was notorious for it's 'Girls', and the warren of rooms, stairs, attics, cellars, a well or two, and maybe the odd bolthole in the chimney. A Full Moon and the activity of self locking doors, unscrewing handles, a noisy well (a   (3.0 quake near BGS Keyworth), dream like half woken states, convinced me to go 'lite'. I switched to ambient music, halved my furniture, moved out of the way of the window over the well outlet (as I think somethings use this), changed lightbulbs back to softglow fom the stark UV laden energy efficient (can ghosts be irritated by them like humans?)....Although I've not seen it myself yet, the lady in the shop below has had things lift off shelves and get dumped on the floor - perhaps an indication that that area needs to be freed, opened for them. I've seen a time portal at work, and you definitely don't want the end blocked. Most men could probably sympathise with this should their partner bear-hug them at a climatic moment... The latest activity has been again at Full Moon (last of a 3 eclipse month), with the wardrobe creaking intermittently - it's infront of a blocked up doorway, so I'm feeling the ghosts are still stepping through there, yet creaking the pine wood acoustically as they traverse.     More sightings reported locally.. Ironically, the oldest building, the Grade2 listed church, has yet to show any ghosts to me, probably as the beings there are spiritually rested. Librarium The Wall around Horncastle is still there. The Stables restaurant at the North end of the market recently found their stretch when attempting footings for expansion. In 2000 years Horncastle has probably had 40 floods - so many new buildings built on the hardcore of the old - it must have easily risen many centimetres. Which is unfortunate for the ruddy complexioned Centurion who I saw walking the outside of the Wall at the library. The Sun was streaming in over the comfy chairs, and I glanced up to see him walk past. He was looking to the wall, but way up - there must have been wooden ramparts or Hightower above it. His red cloak and adornments were brighter than any colors we have today. Frightening - imbued with life and oxygen (most of Europe was completely wooded). The steel for his sword we've also lost the recipe to - some Byzantine swords are found sharper (and harder) than today's razors. And the concrete - ours will be powder typically in 500 years.... His demeanour was typically   Pythonesque - possibly having walked hundreds of miles to end up patrolling the Cag (outcast) side of a small fort, nearer the Arctic Circle than the Equator...he'd have wanted Briton's grafitti to show his General how pointless occupation was...   Horncastle Halloween Ghost Tour ROMANI ITE DOMUM

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