I want to say that I am not afraid of ghosts but honestly if I made that claim to you, you would have every right to call me a liar. In reality I’m very afraid of ghosts which I had always suspected and then confirmed in my first and only ghost encounter. You may find it odd that I have a ghost as a major character in The Daughter of Man and there is a reason for that. I love what scares me and despite a few embarrassing screams here and there, that is not going to change.
The Cork Street ghost is a name I have given to this unusual event that occurred to me when I was nineteen. It began with drinking and I know a few of you are howling right now in laughter at the prospect of a drunken vision. I was not drinking that much at all and I was in no way impaired. In fact, the event occurred at least an hour after I left the pub with a friend. He was drunk and if he had seen the ghost I would not have believed him. His story would have been called the Captain Morgan ghost.
I lived a good two hour’s walk away from downtown and it was late enough that the local transit was not running and thus, if I wanted to go home I would have a long hoof in front of me. My friend lived downtown, not far from the pub, in a small boarding house that had a few vacant rooms. This was not a seedy place with stains or bedbugs or even bullet holes peppering the walls. It was a nice place that catered mostly to students. My friend, offered to let me use a room for the night so that I could sleep then grab the bus home in the morning. It was an offer that I could not refuse and he led me to a quaint little furnished room.
I laid on the bed fully clothed as I was not about to sleep naked in a strange bed even though the linen had a scent of Tide coming off of the sheets. I turned out the light and stretched out on top of the bed before I closed my eyes. I immediately began to feel something like an uneasiness of sorts though it was almost more like a feeling of apprehension. This caused me to open my eyes and you can never truly be prepared for the sight of a ghost.
It didn’t look like a person or even anything recognizable for that matter. It was like glowing spaghetti that was hovering in the air fairly close to the ceiling. The strands where thicker than spaghetti but they were all twisted in over each other and glowing brightly enough that I could see everything in the room very clearly. This thing was incredibly fascinating while at the same time filled me with an indescribable fear. I was so afraid that I grabbed my bag and bolted from the room as fast as I could. I did not look back until I was outside of the house.
My rational mind decided that it had to have been a hallucination but decided that, just in case my rational mind was an idiot, I would take the two hour walk home. I began to walk and the further I got away from the house, the better I felt. Unfortunately, I was about to step onto Cork street. The funny thing about Cork Street was that it was not on the straight path home and somehow I had managed to go out of my way to encounter this side street.
The moment I stepped on Cork Street, all the hair on the back of my neck stood up. To say I was a little unnerved out would have been an understatement. The feeling intensified as I walked along Cork Street and I began to feel like I was being watched which I dismissed as paranoia. Obviously I was not over the event from the boarding house. At least that is what I told myself until I finally reached the end of Cork Street. The sensation of being watched and the hair standing up on the back of my neck completely vanished as soon as I turned onto the next cross street.
The rest of the walk home was without incident and I was not sure what to make of my experience though I was not willing to call it a ghost just yet. I climbed into my own bed and slept perfectly fine through what was left of the night. The next morning, almost noon, when I got up, I had forgotten about the events of the night before until I heard the news report. The previous night there was a murder on Cork Street which occurred around 2:30AM which was very close to when I saw my spaghetti-like apparition hovering near the ceiling.
There is always a chance that the events of that night were all a coincidence though I have a hard time subscribing to that. I don’t know what I saw or why it happened to me and any theory would be pure speculation. Could it have been the ghost of the murder victim coming to me because I was receptive? Could the feeling on Cork Street have been an almost encounter with a murderer? These are questions I will never have answered though they do fire my imagination which is a great result for a writer.
This was a true story but if you are a fan of ghosts please feel free to check out The Daughter of Man on kindle. I have a feeling that it may very well be a story that you will thoroughly enjoy.