Haunted House!


photo from davidstillman.blogspot.com

All I could think about was the sad face that haunted my dreams at night, and my thoughts all day. The face that was taking over my life. Why? I didn’t know her. If it was the old man’s daughter, she was long since dead. My day at work was painfully slow. Finally, eager to talk to the old man, I made and excuse to leave early.

January dusk soon fell, cold and uninviting. I was grateful for my heated car seat after being chilled to the bone walking across the parking lot. It was dark when I pulled onto the drive way of the ranch. There wasn’t a light to be seen in anywhere in the house either. Wishing I’d brought a flashlight I opened the car door. The breeze was no longer gentle.

Watching my step I walked in the direction of the huge shadow which loomed ahead of me. It’s all I could see of the house. I approached the front door and tapped on it nervously, feeling like an intruder smothered in a blanket of darkness.

The door swung open slowly, creaking as it did so. Doors always creaked in these situations.

“Hello, is anyone home?”

No answer, no movement. The air was deadly still. I took a step forward into the house. The temperature dropped several degrees when I did so. How could it be colder inside than out. My breath formed a cloud in front of my face.

“Hello.” I said softly.

A floorboard creaked. The sound came from above. I looked in the direction of the stairs, but thought the better of going up there.

What if he’s dead? 

Standing just inside the doorway I wondered what to do next. I had no business walking around the house uninvited. People did that in movies and it always ended badly. Turning around I pulled the door shut and walked back to the car. Should I leave a note?

Footsteps crunched on the gravel drive way and I looked up expecting to see the old man. The steps continued, but there was no one to be seen. Instinctively I locked the car door. Footsteps crunched past me, stepping onto the porch. Looking in my rearview mirror, I watched the front door open and close on its own.

Time to get out of Dodge! 

I started the car and floored the accelerator, pebble dashing the front of the house with gravel as I left.

Thank God I didn’t go upstairs! 

Conversations with a ghost?

When my daughter was young, and I mean very young, she would wander around the house in the night. I have no idea why, but it would scare us to death. She is 27 now and I know if she reads this it will embarrass her, but she would have conversations with invisible people before she could even talk. Seriously!

The first time this happened we heard a noise downstairs and realised it was the childish giggles of a one year old. My husband and I jumped out of bed and ran downstairs wondering if someone else was there. Our baby girl was standing on a chair, looking out of the window and talking to the moon. She jumped up and down and down on the chair, unaware of our presence. She talked in child talk and then stopped as thought she was listening to someone talking back. Then she would giggle. We stood for a few minutes amazed as we listened to what seemed like her side of a conversation. When I scooped her in my arms, she didn’t object, and I tucked her back into bed, where she slept soundly for the rest of the night.

The next ‘night time’ conversation was a week or so later. I heard my baby girl get out of bed and ran to her room to stop her from clambering down the stairs again. I picked her up and put her into the middle of my bed, between my husband and I. If she tried to go downstairs she would have to crawl over one of us and we would wake up and stop her.

She didn’t try to crawl out of bed, but instead laid on her back, her arms animated as though she was conducting an orchestra. She proceeded to have a conversation with someone whilst looking at the ceiling. There was nothing there but shadows. I lay awake and listened to her childish giggles and baby talk for thirty minutes or so before she fell asleep. I wished I could hear the other side of the conversation, I would love to know who she was talking to. Who was making her giggle so much?

I wondered if she had inherited my gift, and the gift my grandmother had before me. We saw people who no one else could see, but it didn’t happen to me until I was five years old. My daughter was only one year old!

She vaguely remembered these incidents until she was about fifteen. There was one more occasion when she a freshman in high school. She came home from school sick. She lay on the sofa and remembers seeing a woman sitting in the corner of the room looking at her, maybe even watching over her until I got home.

If my daughter still has this gift, she no longer talks about it. Maybe it’s hard for her to come to terms with, it was for me too. When she is older she may open her mind again. I believe someone is watching over her. I hope so anyway.

You can purchase my two short stories from Amazon. They are based on paranormal experiences I had as a child, and then as a teenager. They are my first attempt to talk to the world about what happened to me. I am still learning how to put my stories together. Later this year my first novel ‘Dead of July’ will be released. This novel is being edited by a wonderful editor called Amy Eye and I believe with her help, it will be a great read. It is based on things that happened to me whilst living in Germany in 1982. It is a German ghost story.

 (Preview) Dead of July













My two short stories can be purchased from the links below. 

Girl on the Beach (UK)

Girl on the Beach (US)

Guy at the Bar Amazon

Guy at the Bar Amazon UK

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Mothering Sunday – Do I hear my Mother?

None of us really knows what happens after we die. It’s probably a good thing because it may scare us. We all hope we will end up in a better place at least that is what we like to believe.  I hope it’s true but, I have no thoughts one way or the other, I choose not to think about it.

I often sit and have a conversation with my mum and dad. My dad died over twenty years ago and  my mum died around ten years ago. I know, it sounds crazy, but they don’t judge me. I talk about my day, blurt out my problems and ask for help and advice. Of course I don’t get an answer, well not one I can hear. I know they help me though because problems that I talked to them about are often resolved. Impossible situations are often fixed, so I know they hear me.

My mother died in late April of 2002, it doesn’t seem that long ago, but it is almost ten years. My dad died over ten years earlier, just before Easter. Give or take a couple of weeks, they left this world at the same time, only ten years apart.

From late March to mid May (my dad’s birthday was May 15), I feel that they are close to me. When I woke up this morning several doors had been closed during the night. Before he went to bed, my dad would close every door in the little house where I was raised. Things had been moved. It looked liked my house had been organized while I slept. Yes my mum was very tidy.

At times I am sure I can smell her perfume, she liked to wear ‘Tweed’ by Lentheric. This Sunday is ‘Mothering Sunday’ in England. 

‘Mother’s Day’ as it is known here in the US. I always made a fuss of my mum on Mother’s Day and I think she remembers it and comes back to do the same for me.

Laugh at me if you want, but I am telling you that every year between ‘Mothering Sunday’ and my dad’s Birthday on May 15th, they come to visit. I don’t see or hear them, but I do know they are here and they are very welcome.

To read more about ‘Ethel and Wilf’, my mum and dad, check out my short stories from:

My dad inspired me to write, although it took a long time for me to realize it. When I have finished my current novel ‘Dead of July’ I am going to finish a story he started in 1944, about the London Blitz. I hope it makes him proud.

You can keep up to date with my stories her on my blog or by following my Facebook Page  Follow me on Facebook

January Jitters!

My birthday is behind me. Now I just have to survive the January Jitters.

It is an uncomfortable month for me and I don’t know the real reason. I live in Colorado, so it can’t be lack of sun. January in Colorado is beautiful, even when its cold.

January is a quiet month, maybe that is the problem. My house is quiet. No unexplained footsteps, no premonitions, no shadows on the stairs. I miss my uninvited visitors!

Why don’t they visit me in January?

To read about my premonitions and visitations, click on the links below.

Watch out for my upcoming novel ‘Dead of July’ which will be released in late Spring. 

Ghosts on the Fell – Sheila’s Story


I can’t remember how long I slept on the air bed at  my Grandma’s house.

I didn’t see too much of my mam while I was there because she worked as much as she could to get some money together to support us. She did odd jobs for different people, from cleaning to styling their hair. All the while looking out for something permanent that would put a roof over our heads and food on the table. My story continues in the early sixties.

This photo is how I remember 1961. Hairstyles changed and girls looked glamorous. I remember my mam and my Aunty Jeannie going to some fancy ball in dresses similar to this.  They looked gorgeous.

Back to the story though…..

My Grandma kept me amused during the long summer of 1961. We sat on her front step a lot, talking to the neighbors, who were all elderly because they were ‘old people’s bungalows’.They loved having a four-year old around and spoiled me a little.

Gran and I went for walks along the fell and in lower Butterknowle. She told me stories about her younger days and some of the trouble she got into. It was funny thinking that my Grandma ever got into trouble, or was ever young. It was during one of these walks that I felt like we had company.

The sun was getting low in the sky and the shadows were long. I kept looking over my shoulder to see if someone was there. There was no one. I started looking around to see if there was a dog or fox following us. Still nothing.

‘Grandma do you think someone is following us?’ I asked.

My Grandma looked at me with her blue eyes, the bluest eyes I have ever seen and said “Its your granddad. He comes to keep me company every time I walk along here.  That is why I come.”

Some one was walking with us

“But Gran, he is in heaven isn’t he?”

“Most of the time, apart from when he comes and walks with me”

“Gran, why can’t I see him?” I asked

Gran didn’t reply. Instead she stopped and sat down on a low broken stone wall. I sat next to her and started talking.

“Hush, don’t talk, sit quiet” she told me, and I did.

It wasn’t completely dark yet, but almost. We were close to home, and in the distance I could see the lights from my grandma’s back kitchen, so I wasn’t scared about getting lost in the dark. I was hungry though. I was about to tell my grandma I was getting hungry. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out, instead my mouth hung open as I looked at the man who had joined us. I didn’t see or hear him arrive, but he was sitting on the broken stone wall next to my Grandma. He looked about fifteen years younger than her. I felt like I was looking at fuzzy image in an old black and white photo. I knew it was my Granddad!

He didn’t speak. No-one did. He was with us for less than a minute and then he was gone, he just seemed to fade away!

“Come on hinny, let’s get home and get a bite to eat” my grandma said as she took my hand. I still couldn’t speak. I kept looking over my shoulder to see if my granddad was still there, but he had gone.

When we got back to my Grandma’s house it was dark so the street light was a welcome sight. Gran looked down at me as we walked along her garden path.

“Did you enjoy your walk?” she asked with a mischievous smile on her face.

“Yes Grandma, I did”

We never walked that way again, and I never to got to see my granddad again, but I will always remember him.

Butterknowle from Cockfield Fell

Two Novella’s available  as e-books for  99 cents about other ghostly experiences:

A week with wings

This week definitely had wings!

Remember my ‘Flat Country Snow’ story? I published it on my blog early last year and enjoyed every minute of it. It is a light-hearted touching short story, which again is spiced with truth.

I am going to publish this story as a free e-book on Amazon and Smashwords. If you didn’t catch it on my blog, watch out for it! It’s a short amusing read, which has many twists and turns, especially during the drive home in the blizzard.


Driving in a Blizzard

A fond farewell and my first rose.

My first rose

So here we are, at the end of another story.  This one was quite different to most of my others.  Softer, more emotional, and mostly true.  I hope you enjoyed it.  I am taking two weeks vacation from my blog so if you want to keep up with my travels, check out my other blog ‘travelwithsandra.wordpress.com’ (Travel Tales and Mishaps) just click on the link to the right hand side of this blog.  I will be back with new stories and adventures at the end of August.  I still have a lot to write about so don’t give up on me.  Enjoy the last chapter of my snowy Ghost Story and thanks for checking in.


It took about another forty five minutes to get to the A1. The truck pulled over into a service station and I stopped behind it to say my goodbyes once again.  This time I thought I was going to cry.  It had been a very full day already, almost ending badly, but thanks to some old lady I had never met, my guardian angel and the British Army, everything turned out alright. I really had some powers on my side today.  I got out of the car and thanked Corporal Whitesmith and the truck driver for their help.  Sgt Davies appeared from nowhere and gave me a hug, before yelling orders to anything around him that moved (and a few things that didn’t).  Steven looked at me and laughed, “Welcome to my World” he said. We hugged again, to the sound of wolf whistles from passing soldiers.  It looked like an army invasion at the service station as the combat clad group all ran to use the toilet and buy magazines etc. It was still snowing, but not so badly now.  Steven helped me knock the thick layer of snow from my headlights which were currently almost useless. As everyone started getting to their trucks and doors were slamming we shared another friendly kiss and then we parted ways for the last time. Maybe we would meet again (don’t know where don’t know when), who knew?

            I watched all of the trucks pull away, feeling quite emotional about my whole situation.  When the last of the army trucks pulled away I got out of my car and went across to the service station to use the toilets and buy some drinks and snacks for the rest of my journey.  It had taken me longer to get to the A1, than my original journey to Thetford yesterday. Was that only yesterday?  Wow, a lot had happened in two days. The snow had slowed things down, but on the other hand, I had seen Steven again.  I almost felt protective towards him, he was so strong, and smart, but so vulnerable too.  People in the early seventies weren’t so kind or forgiving to people they didn’t understand.

            I could see the cars speeding along the over pass, which was the A1, so after filling up with petrol, I set off for the last part of my journey.  I had only been on the motorway for about fifteen minutes when the snow stopped, and the further north I got, the less snow there was.  It seems like it was one of those isolated storms, for which I was greatly relieved.  The drive home was extremely easy. No more snow, motorway all of the way, I went into a semi trance like state, the way you do on long journeys and re-lived the weekend.  I had set off to meet up with a ‘pen pal’ who turned out to be gay, but very nice.  I drank lots of champagne. I sort of got engaged, well I suppose technically I was engaged. I met the ghost/spirit of someone’s grandma, well I didn’t actually see her, just felt her and heard her, in my head at least. I stayed in a really nice old Inn, which I had actually seen several times on the television. All in all, it was a good weekend. A little over three hours later I arrived at Gatherly round a bout, which meant my motorway journey was over and I was almost home.  A good thing too because it was starting to get dark and I didn’t have much petrol left, and no money to buy more.  Credit cards weren’t used back in those days, well not by people like me anyway.  Ten minutes from home, what a relief, I was tired. Too much champagne the  night before too. I didn’t have a hangover, but I was pretty thirsty.  As I pulled up outside our house I saw my mum looking out of the window, she was obviously a little worried about me.  My brothers Ford Capri was parked outside too. My brother liked his cars, and the Ford Capri was pretty special, although he said he was going to change it soon.  I liked it a lot and wished I could afford to buy it from him.  It was gold with a black vinyl roof.  I walked around to the back door with my little bag and my Bobby opened it before I got there.  He was surprisingly pleased to see me, usually he wasn’t too bothered about me at all. “You did a good job driving in that snow” he told me “We saw it on the television, it was awful, good job Sheila” he said, then he put his coat on and left.  I was touched!

            My mum, as always, put the kettle on. “We ate at lunch time, do you want a lamb sandwich?” she asked “Oh yes please, I would love one, any mint sauce?” I replied.  My mum busied about making me something to eat and my dad came in and sat in the kitchen and had a cup of tea with me while I ate. “So how was your trip to see your pen pal? Did you hit it off, is he your boyfriend now? Wait a minute are you engaged?” I forgot about the ring!  I was caught completely off guard.  I couldn’t really tell him I had spent the weekend with a gay man, neither my mum or dad would really understand that, I actually started laughing. My dad looked at me puzzled. “No Dad, I am not engaged, this is Steven’s Grandma’s ring, I am wearing it because he wanted me to. We had dinner with his Sergeant and Steven is trying to impress him because he is due for a promotion.  His Sergeant thinks family men do better in the army so we pretended to be engaged for the evening, and I just forgot to give the ring back” My dad took a closer look at it. I don’t think he really believed my story.  He probably though I wore it so we could get away with pretending to be engaged so we could have a ‘dirty weekend’. He gave me one of those disapproving looks. “Nice ring though” He said.  “Did you hit it off with the young man? Do you think you will get together again?” My mum had just put a cup of tea in front of me and a big doorstep of a lamb sandwich. Between bites of my sandwich and slurps of tea, I told him we got along OK, but Steven was very career oriented and probably didn’t have much time to think about girlfriends right now, but we would continue to write.  My dad seemed satisfied.

            We sat and chatted a while longer, idle chat about what was happening with the woman down the road, who had lost their cat, village scandal etc. and then I told them I was really tired, which wasn’t a lie.  It was only about eight o clock, but I went to my room.  I unpacked my case and to my surprise and pleasure, I found a bottle of champagne with a rose lying next to it.  The rose was a little worse for wear, but what a lovely thought.  Steven must have slipped them in there, what a shame he was gay.  I put the champagne in the fridge, to keep for a special occasion, and pressed the rose in one of my big books.  It was the first time anyone had ever given me a flower so I wanted to keep it forever.  The very first rose, who knew, it may be the last one.

            I got washed and ready for bed, but before going to sleep, I sat propped up with cushions and started writing a letter.

Dear Steven,

            Thanks for a great weekend, it wasn’t quite what I expected, but I really had a good time.  I hope we are friends forever.  I hope you feel comfortable enough to confide in me and let me help you in any way I can.  You are a great person, and have a lot of obstacles to overcome, I know you can do it.  I hope you made it back to Germany safely.

Take Care and Keep Writing!


Your very good friend (and fiancée)



The letter seemed inadequate, but I had to write something, I really did want to meet up with Steven again. He was gay and I was odd!  It made a good combination! Us against the world! I yawned, maybe I was tired.  I put the letter in an airmail envelope and addressed it, ready to post the following day. I dropped it on the floor next to my bed and settled down to sleep. Before sleep took over, I once again saw a light, a soft light by my bed. There was no shape and no sound this time. Just a gentle comforting glow! I think I may have attracted another visitor, but I had a feeling she was friendly. Comforted by this thought, I slept.



Haunted? You decide!

So just when I thought it was safe to go back in the spare bedroom, the window shutters started opening and shutting on their own! I keep them shut when the weather is this warm because the bedroom window faces south-west and gets the full glare of the unforgiving sun in the evening. Now, every morning, I find one shutter halfway open. This is the room my 25-year-old daughter won’t sleep in because of different things she experienced there. Her cute little puppy whimpered all night the only time he shared that room with her. Now when she visits us, she sleeps in the other room and her puppy is happy. I am going to keep my eye on this room and see if I can figure out who is staying with us and why. It’s not unusual, we have had unseen guests with us for thirty years or more.
keep reading! You never know, I may even catch something on camera! If you think I am making this up……come visit and sleep in my spare room. I dare you!