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The Ghost Posts

Part One: Never Underestimate The Power of Fear

That’s what the scientist bloke said on the Battersea Poltergeist podcast with Danny Robins. That was his response to pots and pans flying around a room (often smashing against walls) witnessed by many people. Mate, if you only knew! I’ve had a life of ghostly experiences, both good and bad. I know you already think I’m nuts (I am, I’ve got a certificate) but this was all before I whacked my brain. I will swear to my dying day that I was elevated and span around a room once. Yep, buckle up!

Where to begin. Well you know me, you’re going to get every last detail that I remember. Why say something in 200 words if you can say it in 20,000 is my motto, so I’ll start at age 4.


Earliest memories at age 4 are mostly fear. I’d already had a belt taken to me so was scared of the shouty parents. Some nights I’d cry myself to sleep wishing I knew how to be a good girl because then my mummy would love me. (I was a good girl, it was her that was batshit crazy.)

So there was a bit of childhood trauma going on which only intensified when adopted daddy ran away with the neighbour and local kids decided “you don’t have a dad!!” was a great thing to shout at me. Or kick or punch me. Or threaten to bomb me using a milk bottle and petrol. Divorce wasn’t so commonplace back then. I stuck out badly. Kids eh?! I blame the parents.

I don’t really remember the moment but it was this time mummy chose to tell me that she wasn’t my real mummy. Probably to make me stop crying about missing daddy. She said my real mummy was an Irish prostitute who didn’t want me, she wanted a boy. The prostitute and boy bit are lies, she was Irish and couldn’t afford to keep me.

But I’m not going down that road today, I’m only setting the scene. I’m trying to see if the scientist could be right. Could fear be the cause of the unexplained experiences throughout my life? Right, the evidence.

I was scared of witches. Terrified. I didn’t know any, although there was rumor the old lady two doors up was one. She was old, had a black cat, kept all our balls. But I was obsessed with witches. At night if the curtains weren’t fully closed I’d get out of bed and scare myself stupid looking out into the dark, totally expecting to see one flying across the sky on a broomstick. Going to take a wild guess I’d already watched the Wizard of Oz in toddlerhood.

Apart from the constant fear anxiety, nothing. No ghostly experiences whatsover. Until age 7. And so it begins

To be Cont’d…/

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