Tag: John Riley

October 8, 2018 Add Comment

Willoughby Bedford calls in at a séance

Well, we instructed to wear black, a colour to wash out the life of you this time of year. Oh, and remove all jewellery and as for mobile phones, or anything electronic, concealed or otherwise, they had to be packed up in black trash bags, provided at the ticket desk and then left in an open office near the building’s entrance.

I must say I felt somewhat conspicuous amongst what was mostly a queue of ladies in their black evening gowns. I had a thought. The ensemble did look like a line-up of witches.

So once we had passed through a rather energetic security frisk by Jason, we sent and ushered into the hall. I found my way to a good seat only whisked off it, something to do with the balance of energies; anyway, they moved me to the back. I did have a good view of the cabinet on the dais. It looked like a tepee tent erected from a kit bought at Millets, with black canvas covering the frame and an opening at the front with an armchair in the middle of the den.

So for tonight, ladies and gentlemen, we were here to witness a séance.

The very efficient Ruby, with a pitch in her voice intoning of danger to the medium through loud noise, from any of us, or, if leaving for the bathroom, could result in damage to the medium while under trance conditions. So please attend to your lavatory needs before we start because we lock the doors until the séance completed.

Apparently, we told of an episode earlier in the year, when an audience member fell off his chair, it broke. Our spiritual medium had suffered nosebleeds for 2 weeks!

We had to be careful because ectoplasm could occur and all our electronic and metal objects had to be safely black bin-bagged and put way from the séance room. Tough for those with these tongue studs. The Goth lady at the side of me was unable to remove hers and told to keep her mouth shut for her own safety.

The lights dimmed and presented to us was spiritual trance medium Karen from Plymouth, resembling a member of the Black Light Theatre of Prague, save for her face she was head to toe in black lycra.

Once seated, with red lights the only illumination directed at her face, she prepared herself. With a quick rendition of, she’ll be coming ‘round the mountains led by Ruby to raise the energy we were granted an audience with the other side…

So what was it like?

After all the preparation, the procedure, the waiting I witnessed Karen talk with affected voice and take questions, make observations about this world and the next, a place apparently with many dimensions.

She seemed to change her voice register, dropping octaves, as you do when trying to do an impression of a man with a deep voice. The little girl’s voice was particular ear piecing, and a few of the ladies hearing aids started to whistle, due to feed back, and caused them much irritation.

A man got some healing on his back by just answering a few questions, which I felt were rather common universal statements. I’m being too hard perhaps.

Two hours passed so quickly and the Pièce de résistance, the star turn, apparently some famous spiritual medium from the Victorian age came through, and yes, there was a gasp of sheer delight from the regular followers of Karen, at being witness to an audience with what I suppose was a surprise guest to top the bill!

Well, now sat at the desk writing up my notes, what do I make of it. Do I think we had communication from the other side? I think not, but you are free to make up your own minds about trance mediumship. I witnessed a performance for entertainment value. I’m struck by how many Native Americans seem to show up, as well as famous people. Never seem to be the ordinary type of person who born, lived and died, did so facing those common issues we all deal with on this journey through life.

Does your Willoughby think there is an afterlife? Ha-ha well I’d like to think so, that yours truly can still get out and about being nosy, finding out about one’s reality when 6 feet under!

-end-

September 24, 2018 Add Comment

The Hunt

by John Riley

Bill Hines reeked of sump oil, finally cracking that heap of shit into life, squeezing the throttle tight to keep his dirt bike firing. A throaty goddamn racket screamed from the exhaust pipe ripping into Kate Brannon’s reverie.

She was somewhere else far beyond her reflection in the hallway mirror. She had to go, still holding off, but she had to go.

Bill wiping his hands, kinda wondering, as some did around the garage site facing Kate’s place, wondering about her.

She’d moved in back-end a couple of months ago. Looked a hard bitch to him, like the ex.

Then there was Jess Conway, haunted and kept saying, like he could know, he was soft in the head, anyway, saying he’d seen things. Heard her child had been killed.

Whatever, she’d kept her distance from them, flinty, taken to riling folk up when others only trying to help in that neighbourly way. He crouched down reckoning on checking over the bike idling away sweetly and watching Kate through it.

Just then something heavy thrown into her pickup, enough to catch him off guard. Reckoned it was a post hammer and the clatter following might have been stakes. He waited, saw her climb into the white Chevy; crank it up first time then a gear crunched. She set off kicking up a dust cloud and heading out for some place that kept her focus forefront of her mind and not on some dirt bike rider stirring up a racket.

next part

The Ghostly World Fictional Ghost Stories

September 17, 2018 Add Comment

The Hanging Tree

Here’s another little piece set out in verse. A dark tale for the hours of darkness. Do give it a read, comment if you so wish, for now here is:-

The Hanging Tree by John Riley/Thomas Flyte

A tender young man o’er by hanging tree
did see another maid on bended knee,
with cut briar rose for one grave urn
and silent thought until weather turn.

When lunar face shining bright and full
and night time beckons at rainfalls lull,
cast in shadow upon hillside mound
beneath tree a man waits his mistress found.

Court does this suitor a maiden so fair
and startles appearing from out of nowhere.
From behind gravestone to offer his charm
while skies turn stormy at nature’s alarm.

Their love did grow from that stormy night
a secret courting o’er full moonlight.
He feels the warmth of her tiny hand
upon the hilltop where they stand.

And so did nature send storms and rain
that crash and bang but all in vain.
Soaked to the skin they dash on foot
to shelter in old gravedigger’s hut.

She steals a kiss from lips so cold
forgetting the things she’s been told.
His skin so pale and ice to touch
now townsfolk cry its all too much.

In unhallowed plots sleep the brokenhearted
necks pulled long when life soon parted.
Bewitched by a love who never dies
those stolen kisses under stormy skies.

September 10, 2018 Add Comment

Myrtle Brown (Audio Version)

Here is the audio version of Myrtle Brown, a short flash piece for your entertainment.

for written transcript see post here Myrtle Brown

The Ghostly World Fictional Ghost Stories

August 30, 2018 Add Comment

Scrying with Hot Wax

Willoughby Bedford Journal investigating folklore and superstitions

I took a few weeks off, and before heading back home I stopped at the Lancashire seaside town, Morecambe. Do you know their Winter Gardens Theatre, apparently it is haunted.

I walked for miles along the very clean and flat promenade even caught the sun on my face, but not where I’d been wearing my sun glasses. That evening it felt odd when complete strangers broke into uncontrollable belly laughs on first meeting me, they can’t look me in the face! Not quite panda eyes, but you get the implication.

Anyway, I did a spot of scrying with a local psychic group kind enough to welcome me.

Roger and Marge showed me what to do. Apparently with some candle tea lights, left to burn and turned to liquid wax, a stack of white paper plates bought for the occasion by the ever resourceful Hyacinth, we lined up to splat wax on the plates.

Marge showed us what to do, taking the tea light and quickly turning it over so that the wax plopped onto the plate forming a random pattern. No order to it, no, straight over to trust the powers that be to show a message within the solidified form.

We were to pair up and read our plates and see what we made of the wax shapes. Then, give a reading and hopefully receive positive feedback from an ability to see messages within the mess.

However, Brendan quite an excitable lad by the look of him, went for his tea light eyed previously and hoping no one would take it which was the case. He made a lunge for it. Caught unaware of how hot it was to the touch.

Brendan yelped, flinging hot liquid wax not on a plate but on Marge’s dress, the newly painted wall, picture frame, polished table, carpet even catching Hyacinth’s spaniel’s fluffy ears.

I couldn’t resist and said the shape on the wall looks like a right mess! Nobody was laughing at my face.

-end-