I couldn’t have been more than nine or ten years old when I heard my first ever ghost story.
Crazier still, it came from my dad.
He’s your typical, old-school, go-to-work-and-don’t-make-a-fuss type. Not “let’s huddle around a campfire and tell stories over toasted marshmallows.”
Far from it.
That doesn’t mean he hasn’t got any hobbies, or doesn’t ruminate over “grander” possibilities.
Given that one of his favourite pastimes is to peer through the telescope on a clear night while sipping away at scotch, extraterrestrials aren’t controversial to him.
But ghosts?
He would sooner accept the world is flat than ever believe in the supernatural, which makes his story all the more chilling.
Here’s how it went down:
Back in the day, he used to work nights at a factory. Oftentimes, it would just be him and one other guy running the entire place. But on this particular night, it was only him and the machines.
While working the machinery (I cannot remember what his factory produced. I just remember it being loud and noisy), he recalled suddenly feeling a draught whip past him.
Strange, considering there were no windows left open…
No doors ajar…
And certainly no other person to stir up a breeze like that.
Instinctively, he turned around and surveyed the factory floor, but all that greeted him were the flickering overhead lights and the roar of machines. He stood there, perplexed.
What could have caused that?
Then, out of nowhere, a waft of perfume assaulted his nostrils.
The problem was that few women worked at the factory, and none of them worked at night. So how on earth did a gust carrying the smell of perfume sweep through the building?
Desperate for an answer other than the one clawing at him, he called out the names of his co-workers, even though he knew they weren’t there.
And to no surprise, no one answered back.
I’ll never forget him describing how every hair on his body stood up.
Even recalling it now gives me the heebie jeebies.
That was the first and last time he ever shut down the machines and left the factory early. And for a man who is never one to skip a shift or take a day off, that speaks volumes.
So what was it?
A breeze?
A by-product of a weary mind?
Or was it a supernatural encounter?
Well, I happen to believe it was the latter, not because he’s my dad, but because I don’t have a mind as narrow as a straw. There are simply too many things that don’t add up with this story, which is only compounded by the fact that he’s not a man who engages with this “nonsense,” as he calls it.
Anyway, that was the first-ever (and real) ghost story I heard.
(Cheers for the free email, Pops.)
Whether you believe in this ghost story or not is besides the point, for what’s really fascinating is the strange allure we all have toward them. From kids to fully-grown adults…
We just can’t seem to get enough of them for whatever ungodly reason.
So, in the spirit of Halloween season, it’s only right we keep this wagon going.
It’s only morally correct that I plug my ghostly fictional wares.
Whoa, wait… what’s that I hear?
“You wrote ghost stories? I thought you were just an epic fantasy guy.”
I am, but before I wrote about dark lords and grave prophecies, I was a supernatural thriller writer (wondered where the steelspirits came from? Now you know).
And one of those supernatural thrillers I penned was a duology called The Curse of the Abbey Ruins. It’s a two-part series of short, modern-paced books (no surprise there) following a desperate father who ventures into a remote woodland for his missing daughter.
What he finds there might just haunt you for a couple of nights.
Lord knows it cost me a few bouts of sleep paralysis, which probably isn’t the most persuasive thing I could say about the series.
Or perhaps it is?
And given it’s pumpkin season, methinks it is the perfect time for stories like these.
To grab this duology, go here:
https://djjwatsonstore.com/products/COAR
DJJW