Ghost stories and strange tales

Grandad’s photo clattered off the back of the mantlepiece as Julie and David watched Strictly Come Dancing. The frame glanced off their boxer,  Alfonso, who woke up with a loud woof and lumbered towards the kitchen in search of biscuits. ‘How on earth did that happen?’ said David. ‘Shh,’ snapped Julie, who was lying sprawled across the sofa in her onesie. ‘The scores are in.’ David got up from his armchair and picked the photograph up from the rug. ‘Lucky the glass didn’t break. Really odd. It’s never done that before.’ ‘It’ll be a vibration from the lorries outside. Move out the way; it's Anton Du Beke.’ ‘Anton Du Lally, more like.’ The Viennese waltz was drowned out by a crash in the upstairs bathroom. This time, even Julie looked up. ‘That can’t be a lorry,’ said David, pulling on his slippers.’ I’ll go and have a look.’ He returned a few minutes later. ‘Well, there's a funny thing. The shaving set your Grandad bought me for my fiftieth wa...

Stravinsky, Shubert and Tchaikovsky. Jacob's violin honoured their memory in the cold street for an hour. Perfect pitch, not a single note missed, not a semibreve off-key.   Beads of sweat peppered his collar despite the chill. His concentration never wavered; the intensity of sound heightened by a sense of sweet revenge, edging closer with every sweep of his bow.   Catgut, metal, horsehair and wood. Sticky resin irritated his skin, yet on he played until the last strains of the Shubert melody died away. On the final note, the metal e-string snapped and recoiled like a spring. Pain seared through his fingers as the string curled around the violin’s neck. Always the e-string.   In the distance, Big Ben struck seven O’clock. Jacob bent down, inspecting the empty fedora hat at his feet. The commuters of London showed no love for his music, but he played for himself, not for them. His violin returned to its case; Jacob walked the short distance to the Cellar bar he had ch...

While other girls worshipped David and Donny, my bedroom was adorned with photos of my favourite actor, Anton Walbrook. I didn’t have many friends, but it didn’t matter, as my mum and I were always so close. At weekends, she’d put the kettle on we’d snuggle up on the sofa and watch old movies. Anton starred in our favourite films: tales of obsessive love, brainwashed Nazis and suicidal ballerinas. He was always so handsome and mysterious. I loved his neat moustache, luscious dark hair and soft Germanic accent. He was my first real crush, despite inconveniently dying a decade earlier.  As I grew older, I got a job at a university. I kept myself to myself, but I enjoyed my work. At lunchtime, I would head to the library and study the film books and borrow DVDs to watch at home later. But then one day, mum had a stroke and she died two months later. It was a huge shock. I decided to take some time off, while the students were away, hoping it would give me the chance to adjust.  W...

For over one hundred years, actors and filmmakers  have headed to the bright lights of Hollywood with the dream of making it big in pictures. Yet for every tale of overnight stardom, there are countless more of disappointment and failure, for behind the glitz and glamour, there is a darker side to Hollywood. Certainly, the location appears to have gained a sinister reputation. Paranormal Investigator Nick Nocerino, former director of the Institute of Psychic and Hypnotic Studies once declared there were more homes afflicted by evil entities in the Hollywood area than anywhere else in California. Aleister Crowley is rumoured to have formed a black magic coven there in the 1920s and the Founder of the Church of Satan, Anton Le Vey held court with movie stars, most notably Jayne Mansfield, later died in a horrific car accident. Hollywood was also the backdrop to Charles Manson’s hippie cult murders which led to the deaths of seven people, including Sharon Tate, the actress wife ...

Court cases featuring accounts of the paranormal have proven popular fodder for journalists, especially when the headline can feature some sort of genuinely frightening pun such as ‘Scary end for ghost’ Over the past twenty years, the press has reported tales of ghosts connected  to all manner of offences. Ghosts have been blamed for encouraging people to commit a crime. There are instances of criminals pretending to be ghosts to intimidate victims and claims for compensation when lives have been disrupted by unruly entities. This post highlights some of the stories that appeared in the press, from the sublime to the ridiculous. There is the case of a burglar who blamed his break-in on a ghost after he was arrested for breaking into a family home in Lincolnshire and helping himself to whisky and cigars . John Griffin, 60, said the spook, called Jennifer, told him to meet her at the farmhouse in Stainton by Langworth, Lincs. He was found "confused and rambling" on a bed b...

Even at night, a prison is never truly silent. As you sit in your cramped little office, counting the ever-expanding hours until morning, you’ll hear the staccato of coughing or a prisoner crying out in his sleep, a sudden alarm announcing an overdose, and the whirr of CCTV. On some nights, you’ll welcome the temporary illusion of quietness as if the prison has merged into a single sleeping giant, and you are only the person awake in the world. But on other nights, without really knowing why, the atmosphere becomes oppressive and foreboding.  I met Roy Clarke on one of my first nights on the watch. He was older than the other officers, myself included. Still, he shared the same stocky physique of his colleagues - the widening midriff, a generous beard making up for the lack of hair on his head and a smattering of tattoos inked so long ago they had blurred into nothing. I think he must have noted my horrified expression as I first entered J Wing and thought I needed looking after....