Part III - The Last View

BBC Radio 3 reported the other morning that a survey had found that one in three of us believe in the supernatural. I have had too many spooky experiences to dismiss ghosts out of hand. As promised, here is the final instalment in my series of real life Halloween stories - things that have actually happened to me. 

One summer in the early 1990s MTM and I took possession of a derelict barn we planned to turn into a home. MTM works in the construction industry, so we had the right contacts, and after eight months of dust, noise, and plaster, we moved in. The double garage we’d been granted permission to build, however, was still just an idea on paper. 

One of our nearest neighbours, Reg, was already in his nineties - a retired farmer and former cavalryman from the first world war. He’d lived most of his life in these fields. On fine afternoons, he would stroll outside and gaze across our garden to the field beyond, watching sheep graze or, occasionally, a chestnut mare cropping the grass. 

It was only later we realised that if we built the garage, we’d block his view entirely. We hesitated for years, torn between respect for Reg and the reality that our planning permission was expiring. We meant no harm, but we were practical, busy people in our thirties. When the time came, we built the garage, feeling guilty but resigned. 

Time moved on and sadly, Reg passed away. 

That winter, strange things started happening. The new fluorescent light in the garage began flickering and buzzing at random - always when no electrician was around to see it. Sometimes it flickered, occasionally it would dim to near darkness, another time, it would be overly bright, casting long, trembling shadows across the walls. We replaced bulbs, switches, fittings - nothing helped. The buzzy hum seemed to follow me out of the garage like a reproach. 

One cold evening, MTM stood staring up, frustration stiff in his shoulders. A construction professional and he couldn't get a bloody light to work properly! The light buzzed and flickered maddeningly above him, sputtering away in provocation.

Decisive action was called for. He stood in the centre of the garage, hands on his hips, addressed the flickering bulb and then muttered in an assertive tone “Now look, Reg, I know that’s you. You never wanted this garage, and I’m sorry. But it’s here now - so please, just … stop it, will you?” 

He flicked the switch off and stomped back inside. There was a heavy silence afterwards; the garage was holding its breath. 

Believe it or not but from that night on, the light NEVER played up again. Did MTM really exorcise the ghost of Reg by asking him to stop? 

We lived in the barn for twelve years altogether and we never had any more electrical problems. Wherever you are, Reg - thank you for giving us a bit of peace. 

As the nights grow longer, the temperature cools and the wind whispers through the trees, I know whenever I catch sight of a fluorescent light or hear its hum, it'll remind me of Reg, a man who watched over the calm, green Lincolnshire fields for nearly a century. 

Rest in Peace, Reg and Happy Halloween. 🎃 👻

[Name has been changed for privacy].