Everlasting Screams

Hampton Court Palace just outside London is reknown for the well established ghostly appearance of Queen Catherine Howard. You may find this hard to believe, but her ghost was such common knowledge and accepted as fact that for years the Palace shop at Hampton Court sold postcards depicting her ghostly image. But let me give you the full facts behind this famous yet eerie haunting. It all started when the infamous Henry VIII, yes the same Henry that beheaded Anne Boleyn took his fifth wife, Queen Catherine Howard. The fact is Henry married Catherine when he was rather old. Catherine was less that five feet tall and a plumpish woman, but he referred to her as 'a rose without a torn'. Catherine was a mere 20 year old. And this light hearted, lively young girl had a lover or two besides Henry. But Catherine was playing a very dangerous game. In those pre-Victorian days, infidelity was not just grounds for a quick divorce, it was classified as an act of treason. Anyways, the careless Catherine was caught with her pants down, so to speak. She was accused of high treason and Henry wasted no time in demanding her head, he literally ordered she be beheaded. The story goes that on 4 November 1541, Queen Catherine escaped from her guards after she had been arrested at the Palace. She rushed towards the chapel, within the Palace, to make a last minute appeal for her life to Henry VIII. But it was of no use. Henry Showed no mercy. Infact, he piously continued his prayers, pretending he did not see or hear her. Catherine was beside herself. She sobbed for mercy but Henry continued to ignore her.

By then the palace guards had caught up with her. They shoved her out of the chapel and rushed her along the Gallery of the Palace towards her room, where she was to be held prisoner. Catherine shrieked with terror as she was escorted to her room. She knew the fate that awaited her, she only left her room to be taken to the Tower of London for her execution in front of a disapproving public, in February 1542. Catherine and Henry lived and loved and enjoyed each other's company in various rooms and apartments of Hampton Court. But nothing of that remains. The only traumatic event that has survived them are the screams of the terrified young Queen as she was rushed along what has become known as the Haunted Gallery. The screams, in particular, have been reported by any of the residents at Hampton Court. In the stillness of the night, her agonising cries often echo far down to the other side of the castle. But some of the regulars in the castle have experienced much more than those terrifying  screams. They have actually seen the ghostly figure of Queen Catherine Howard. They have glimpsed a figure in white with loose flying hair, rushing along the same paneled gallery. The fear of the apparition was so real that for many years the Haunted Gallery was shut off. Servants slipped by its doors hastily, and until today the passage outside it is rarely used at night. But still the inexplicable screams continue to be heard.....

The Brown Lady Of Raynham Hall

Rayham Hall is the source of a ghost story that's been doing the rounds for more then 150 years. But this spooky story has a twist. The chilling image of this ghost has been captured on film. Infact, one of the most famous twentieth century ghost hunters, Robert Thurnston Hopkins, on seeing the photograph and noting how authentic it was, had this to say: 'It may well be the most genuine ghost photograph we possess and no study of the Supernatural is complete without reference to it.' I have reproduced the photograph for readers to judge for themselves. What do you think? Does it make the little hairs on the back of your neck stand too? The photograph caused quite a stir when it was first published, mainly because the negative had no evidence of double exposure which can easily be spotted in most fake ghost photographs. Secondly, there were independent witnesses to back up the story on the actual snapshot and the development of the negative. So what's the story behind the ghost, I hear you ask. Well, here's the scoop: Raynham Hall is located in Fakenham, Norfolk, near the east coast of London. It was named a hall because in actual fact it's really a big, rambling ancient mansion. It is quite impressive looking and has been passed down from generation to generation for hundreds of years within a particular family related to Royalty, the Townshends. The ghostly female apparition that haunts the house was first spotted on the main oak staircase of the house.

Since then those unlucky souls who have crossed paths with the apparition almost always say they first spotted her ghostly form at or near the oak staircase. She moves quietly down the main staircase, along one of the corridors and in and out of one of the first floor bedrooms. They say she appears as a clear and distinct figure, dressed in a gown of brown satin and yellow trimmings, with a frill around her throat. He features are quite clearly defined, but her eyes are sometimes dark hollows and her cheeks are unnaturally white. She is usually silent and harmless, but every occasionally there seems to be an evil, menacing quality about her and sightings of her have been known to bring terror to those who have seen her. But who is this ghostly Brown Lady? Well, many are convinced they know who she is. You see, on the first floor of Raynham Hall is a room with a portrait of Dorothy Walpole, whose ghost the Brown Lady is thought to be. Dorothy was not your average Jane Doe. She was a direct blood relative of the Townshends and her brother was Sir Robert Walpole, England's Prime Minister in 1722. Dorothy lived at Raynham Hall but she had an unhappy marriage that finally fell apart. When she got divorced, her children were taken away by her husband. Dorothy became so distraught, she suffered from mental depression. In those Victorian times the only thing they could think of doing was to confine her to a particular room, away from the public eye. And that particular room must have been the first floor bedroom I mentioned before. Rumor has it she either fell or was pushed to her death down the staircase that she now haunts, still constantly searching for her children who were taken away from her.

One of the most well known sightings of the Brown Lady was made by a famous writer, Frederick Marryat, who happened to be a guest of Lord and Lady Charles Townshend. The story goes that Marryat was a non believer of the Spirit World. Despite all the stories he was told about the hauntings in the mansion, he refused to buy into any of it. Infact, he went so far as to say that if someone was playing tricks in the mansion, he welcomed the opportunity of crossing swords with them, and that's exactly what happened. You see, Marryat was sleeping in the large, first floor bedroom. The very room the Brown Lady was often seen making her way into. It was also the room in which hung the portrait of Dorothy Walpole. Marryat was not disturbed at all by this. But he did take one precaution, he slept with a loaded revolver under his pillow. But the first night passed peacefully. So did the second and he began to wonder if the revolver under his pillow was really necessary. By the third night he began to relax completely. But just before twelve that night, as Marryat was about to call it a day, there was a knock on the door. Two other guests of the Townshends, sharing a bedroom further down the corridor, invited Marryat to their room to check out a new gun they had bought. Marryat set off to see it, but he was cautious enough to take his revolver with him. In a huge house like that a room down the corridor was not a short distance away, and in the darkness of the night, anyone could spring up before him. Those were also the days where you did not have lights in the hallway to guide you in the dark. So Marryat took a candle in his one hand that was free, and made his way across the long, dark corridor to the other guests room.

After inspecting the gun, he prepared to make his way back to his bedroom. The two guests were kind enough to offer to walk him back to his room. The three men set off together in the gloomy darkness of the big, old mansion, only their footfalls breaking the silence of the night. They were half way down the long, narrow corridor when Marryat suddenly pulled back. 'Look...' he whispered in a shaky tone. A woman was coming from the direction of Marryat's room. She looked so real and life like and her dress even rustled as she walked. But all three men noticed something quite extraordinary that made them very nervous. The temperature dropped sharply as she approached them. The three men had by now stooped dead in their tracks. And she grew closer to them, Marryat noticed something that made him feel even colder. The woman looked exactly like the lady in the portrait, hanging on his bedroom wall. Her clothes too matched the description given by his hosts when they recounted to him the sightings of the ghost in their house. But Marryat was determined not to be taken in so easily. Thinking perhaps someone was playing at being the ghost, he quickly pointed his revolver at the woman. But she was unfazed. She continued to move closer to the three men. When she got within yards of them, the unexpected happened. Marryat was so flustered, he pressed the trigger of his revolver.

The noise of the explosion was deafening in the stillness of the night and in the confined space of the narrow corridor. The three men waited anxiously for the smoke to clear, expecting to see a body on the floor. But as the last bits of smoke cleared, what remained was an eerily deserted corridor. The only evidence left of the whole ghostly incident was a hole in the wall showing where Marryat's bullet had gone through the figure they had all seen. Marryat maintained he had seen the Brown Lady, and in that day and age he was often ridiculed for his honesty. But the people who knew him, believed him. Not least of all his daughter. Infact, she even wrote about his encounter in a book. She ended the account of his experience with these words: 'My father never attempted again to interfere with the Brown Lady of Raynham Hall and I have heard she haunts the premises to this day.' Well, she was not far off the mark because exactly 100 years later, proof of the Brown Lady very unexpectedly resurfaced again, this time in print, for all to see. The old mansion had by then passed into the hands of the Dowager Marchioness Townshend. She had agreed to some photographers visiting Raynham Hall to take photos of the grand, old mansion to be featured in an exclusive magazine, Country Life. Country Life sent two top professional photographers, Captain Provand, art director of a reputable firm of Court photographers and his assistant, Indre Shira, for the photo shoot at Raynham Hall. They arrived on the morning of 19 September 1936 and took snapshots of many different areas of the mansion and its surrounding gardens. It took hours, but the two men were professionals and their work was thorough and time consuming.

At roughly four o'clock in the afternoon, as the day grew darker, they concentrated their efforts more in the house. Both men were totally absorbed in their own thoughts about their work when they arrived at the oak staircase. In the Country Life magazine issue of 26 December 1936, Indre Shira described the events that followed: 'I was standing by Captain Provand's side just behind the camera with the flashlight pistol in my hand, looking directly up the staircase. All at once I detected something. An etheral, veiled form was coming slowly down the stairs. Rather excitedly I called out sharply, 'Quick! Quick! There's something! Are you ready?' 'Yes,' Captain Provand replied, and removed the cap from the lens. I pressed the trigger of the flashlight pistol. After the flash had gone and the shutter closed, Captain Provand removed the focusing cloth from his head. He turned to me and said, 'What's all the excitement about?' I explained I had distinctly seen a figure at the staircase, transparent so that the steps were visible through the ethereal form, but nevertheless very definite and to me perfectly real. He laughed and said I must have imagined I had seen a ghost, for there was nothing now to be seen. It may be of interest to note that flash from the bulb which was used was equivalent, I understand, to the speed of one fiftieth part of a second. After securing several other pictures, we decided to pack up and return to Town. Nearly all the way back we were arguing about the possibility of obtaining a genuine ghost photograph. 

Captian Provand laid down the law most emphatically by assuring me that as a Court photographer of 30 years standing, it was quite impossible to obtain an authentic ghost photograph, except, possibly, in a seance room and in that connection he had had no experience. I have neither his technical nor long years of experience, neither am I interested in physic phenomena; but I maintained that the form of a very refined influence was so real to my eyes that it must have been caught at that psychological moment by the lens of the camera. When the negatives of Raynham Hall were developed, I stood beside Captain Provand in the dark room. One after the other they were placed in the developer. Suddenly Captain Provand exclaimed, 'Good Lord! There's something on the staircase negative after all!' I look one glance, called to him, 'Hold it' and dashed downstairs to the chemist, Mr. Benjamin Jones, manager of Blake, Sandford and Blake, whose premises in immediately underneath our studio. I invited Mr Jones to come upstairs to our darkroom. He came and saw the negative just as it had been taken from the developer and placed in the adjoining hypo bath. Afterwards, he said had he not seen for himself the negative being developed, he would not have believed in the genuineness of the picture. Incidentally, Mr. Jones has had considerable experience as an amateur photographer in developing his own plates and films. Mr. Jones, Captain Provand and I vouch for the fact that the negative has not been retouched in any way. It has been examined critically by a number of experts.

No one can account for the appearance of the ghostly figure; but it is there clear enough...'

Unsolved Mystery

Like I said before, the Tower has a gory past, most of it from what I gather is linked to sex, power and deception. Tied to this past is the sad fate of two little boys who were supposed to become kings. Their ghostly apparitions have been seen many times over the last five centuries, in a section of the Tower known, quite rightly, as the Bloody Tower. The background to their deaths is still a mystery. But what we do know is that the older of the two boys 12, and he was about to be crowned King because his father had died. He and his brother were taken from their mother and placed in the Tower of London for 'safe keeping' with their uncle, while plans were made for the coronation ceremony. But somehow or other, a sordid affair came to light. It was revealed the 12 year old was an illegitimate son, his father was actually married when he was courting the boy's mother. So many people argued the boy was not the rightful heir to the throne.

In the confusion that followed, the 12 year old and his younger brother disappeared. They were never seen again. And shortly afterwards their uncle was conveniently crowned King. Until today there is considerable controversy as to how they died and who done it. But one rumour about those two little boys survived over the centuries. One child was rumoured to have been smothered, the other stabbed to death. In 1674 excavations were carried out in that part of the Tower where the little boys were taken for 'safe keeping'. The workmen that carried out the project found something that made them stop dead in their tracks. Two skeletons were uncovered under the foundations of a staircase. Assuming them to be the remains of the two little boys, the Ruler at that time commissioned the construction of a tomb. The skeletons were put in it and lain to rest in Westminster Abbey. But did they really put the remains of those two little boys to rest? As it turns out, those were infact the third set of bones that had been found in the Bloody Tower and taken to be that of two little boys. Controversy continued to rage until a famous professor of pathology examined the remains in the tomb at Westminster in 1933. All he could confirm was that the skeletal remains were of two children aged 12 and a half and 10 years. But he could decipher nothing else from the bones. So the mystery surrounding the two little boys remains, who killed them? And when and how? The only people who could put the mystery firmly to rest are the restless souls of the two little boys.

Their sad, yet eerie apparitions continue to haunt that part of the Tower. The two wide eyed boys are often seen hand in hand, clad in white pyjamas. But sadly, their tortured souls have remained mute, unwilling or unable to communicate the horrific truth of how their young lives came to an abrupt end. But you never know when a new clue could emerge to solve this horrible mystery. Because it seems the history of the Tower is still unfolding. Take for example what happened when they decided to build an extension to the Tower in 1976. When the new foundations for a History Gallery were being laid, on reaching a depth of 15 feet, the workmen stumbled on something they would rather have not seen. It was the skeleton of a young man. He lay on his back, his knees slightly bent and his hands crossed before him. His head was tilted to one side and his skull there was an ugly, gaping hole. Scientists worked out he had been lying there for nearly 2,000 years. But who he was and how and why he died so violently, they have no clue. More importantly, will his spirit return to haunt those who dared to violate his last resting place? Only time will tell. 

Death Cries

The ghost of Anne Boleyn may be the most famous in the Tower of London, but one of the most frightening spectres in the Tower would have to be that of Margaret Pole, the Countess of Salisbury. You see unlike Anne, Margaret died unwillingly, resisting her death to the end. And the final result was a bloody spectacle, literally speaking. The fiesty Margaret was over 70 years old and innocent of all crimes she was accused of committing. She really was killed as an act of vengence. Her son had his differences with the ruler at that time, the same Henry VIII who killed Anne Boleyn. But her son was safe from Henry's evil designs because he was conducting his long distance battle with Henry from France. Unfortunately his mother was within Henry's reach. She lived in England. Henry retaliated by taking it out on the man's poor mother, the Countess. He ordered her execution and his word was the law because remember, in those times he who had the Tower had the power.

At the execution site, the Countess did the unthinkable. She simply refused to kneel over the block where the axe was positioned to brutally lop off her head. Instead, she told the axeman, 'I challenge you to remove my head as best you can.' And that's what happened. The axeman chased the defiant Countess around the execution block. The end result was a bloody scene, he hacked her to death in a pool of blood. It is possible that her execution was one of the most gory in the history of the Tower of London. And it should surprise no one that the Countess still haunts the site of her brutal death, centuries after she was hacked to death. On the anniversary of her brutal execution, her ghost has reportedly been seen running around the execution block, chased by a phantom axeman, holding over his head a blood stained axe. Those who have seen the gory sight will no doubt never manage to forget it, as hard as they try. Infact, it has been reported that one witness of this gory, ghostly spectacle became insane soon after and took his own life. But fortunately for many, they only hear her gruesome execution being carried out. There was a well publicized case in 1975 about one such incident. It was first reported by Army personnel who live within the Tower of London, in Army personnel quarters known as the Waterloo Block. This block happens to overlook the site of the execution centre where prisoners were beheaded.

The Army blokes who lived there with their families were rudely jolted from their comfortable slumber in the early hours of the morning by a sound that made their skin crawl. They heard piercing screams echo in the distance. Coincidentally, the two sentries on duty at the Byward Tower, a good distance away from the Waterloo Block, sent in a curious report that very same morning. Around two am in the morning, they became aware of something rather unusual, a woman was shrieking in the distance.Although it sounded distant, there was no mistaking it. At that hour in the Tower you could hear a pin drop, they said. When the shrieking persisted, they decided to track it down. As they As they moved closer to the screams, they became aware every hair on their body was standing on end. It was a surprise to them because at that point they were really more curious than afraid.The woman's pitiful shrieks began to grow louder and louder as they approached the execution site. It was only then that the two battled hardened men started to feel nervous. But when they finally got to the execution site, they were greeted with an eerie silence. The woman's shrieks had abruptly stopped. There was no one around. The execution platform gleamed mysteriously under the moon light as they strained their eyes, scanning the darkness for clues to the woman's agonising cries. They saw nothing. But they did smell something; both men began to retch violently when they were hit by a sudden overpowering, musky smell that made their stomachs turn.

It was the smell of fresh blood. There was no mistaking it, they said. The smell was so distinct. Yet, there was nothing there to see or even hear' just an eerie silence, broken only by the occasional gust of wind that rustled the leaves of trees around them. It was only much later they became aware of another chilling fact. That very day was the anniversary of Margaret Pole's execution. So what did they hear that early morning of 1975? Was it really the death cries of the Countess, so brutally hacked to death centuries ago? 

Queen Anne Boleyn

Christmas Regret

Although the Tower of London is said to be teeming with ghosts from the past, there is little doubt the most famous spirit that haunts the Tower is that of Anne Boleyn, a former Queen of England. Till today there are many eyewitness accounts of seeing her ghost nearly four and a half centuries since her execution at the Tower of London. But when you learn of the circumstances of her death at the age of just 32, it is no surprise, really, that her restless soul still stalks the Tower, Heck, if I had to go the way she did, I would still be around haunting the premises too. Let me tell you in brief, the sordid but sad tale of why and how Anne was executed. Anne was queen for only two brief years when she was accused of cheating on her husband, Henry the VIII, and of being a spy. She was even accused of casting spells on him, would you believe? Mind you, Henry the VIII was himself married when he spied Anne and took a fancy of her. He then started to woo Anne, who in turn played it cool and insisted he marry her and not just have her as a mistress. On reflection, perhaps that was not the best thing for her. But anyways, back to the story. The randy Henry agreed and by the time they got around to marrying in January 1533, Anne was already pregnant. But three months into their marriage, Henry's love for her began to cool. And her birth to a baby girl did not help. To make matters worse, the following year she suffered a miscarriage and her hopes of producing the all important male heir to the throne was dashed. Henry consoled himself by falling in love with one of Anne's maid of honor. And it was then that he trumped up the charges of infidelity and treason against Anne. I guess he had to get her out of the picture to pursue his new romance. Anne was charged with committing adultery with her own brother and casting spells on Henry. You must hand it to Henry, he had no lack of imagination. But somewhere in that evil body of his, there must have been half a heart. Because Henry did grant Anne a few mercies. For one, he spared her the horror of being executed by the axe. The axe was a heavy, ill balanced and inaccurate weapon that often needed more than one blow to finish off the suffering victim.

Henry ordered Anne be headed by the sword. Up to then the sword had never been used in England, but it was a much more precise and swift method of execution compared to the clumsy axe. The other exception he made was to allow her the dignity of having a private execution. The public were not allowed to see her killed. And Anne had yet another surprise when she was brought to the Tower of London to be executed. When she asked the guards, 'Will I be put in a prison cell?' The guards replied, 'No madam, you have been allowed to stay in the residence of the Royalty. You will stay in the room you slept in on the day you were crowned Queen.' On the day of her execution, Anne was said to have been the picture of bravery. Unlike most of us who would have gone down kicking and screaming our innocence, she was composed and dignified. She mounted the platform where she was to be beheaded and in a calm and brief speech, typical of British stiff upper lip tradition, she accused no one of her death. She did not admit to the crimes she was charged with, but she expressed her submission to the law. Then she went down on her knees and the gruesome execution began. A French executioner brought down specially from Calais, step forward. He was a big, formidable man, clad in black from top to toe and he towered over poor Anne.

He lifted his gleaming sword over his head and brought it down swiftly. In one fell swoop his flashing blade sliced off Anne's head from her body. In accordance with the custom then, he held her head up high for all present to see. And the few who were there to witness the private execution gasped in horror. Her eyes and lips continued to move. Her husband, Henry the VIII, no doubt was unmoved by the horror of her barbaric execution. He remarried the very next day. And perhaps Anne's show of bravery was just a front masking her real anger and revulsion at the way she was treated. Because it seems Anne is still with us, unable to accept her own brutal death. many brave and level headed soldiers of the British army have sworn under oath to have seen her ghost. And most of these cases have been carefully documented and investigated. One such unfortunate soul was a sentry of the King's Royal Rifle Corps. He was on duty at the Tower of London, just outside the Queen's residence where Anne Boleyn was confined before she was executed. It was the night before Christmas. his mind was far away from the job at hand, anticipating the merry making ahead of him with his family and friends; until something caught his eye through the swirling mist over the river that ran just outside the Queen's residence. It was the unthinkable figure of a female, clad in a long, flowing white robe. There was something unearthly about the way she moved. She did not seem to walk but rather to float and move very quickly. It made the poor sentry shudder to see her glide in his direction. Before he knew it, the figure in white was fast approaching him. He couldn't make out who it was in the darkness of the night. But her white, loose gown stood out in the dark.

As was his duty, he commanded the figure to stop and identify herself. But the figure continued to glide swiftly forward, ignoring his command. The sentry called out three times. His quivering voices echoed in the still, quiet night. But she ignored him. After the third warning, it was standard practice to challenge the intruder. The sentry swallowed hard and steadid his shaking nerves to confront her. She was now only a few steps away from him. He finally managed to make out her facial features. It was then that a great wave of fear washed over him and goose bumps broke out all over his body. Her face was deathly white and her eyes had a vacant, empty stare that pierced right through him. When she was right before him, an icy breeze suddenly started to blow around him. Shaking with fright, the sentry nevertheless did his duty. He plunged his bayonet into the figure. But the bayonet went right through the ghostly woman. No one knows what happened after that, except that hours later the sentry was found unconscious by his sentry box at the entrance to the Queen's residence. To be asleep or drunk while on guard duty is obviously one of the most serious military offences one could commit, so the sentry was brought before a court martial. he was forced to tell the tribunal about his eerie encounter. He was afraid he would be laughed at and called insane. But lucky for him, there happened to be two witnesses looking out from a window at the Queen's residence.

They too saw the ghostly female. Their testimony was given with such sincerity, the sentry was acquitted of any military misconduct. But there was more to the story on further investigation. The description the three witnesses gave of the ghostly figure seemed to fit Anne Boleyn. And that was not the last of Anne Boleyn's ghost. Her ghostly apparition has been seen by other sentries over the years. Infact, that particular sentry post has one of the most dreaded reputations within the ghostly Tower of London. One sentry spotted a bluish form hovering in the bushes and then gliding swiftly towards the Queen's residence. Another sentry stationed at this infamous post swore he saw a headless woman float towards him. Anne's ghost has also been seen gliding over the bridge across the river, in the castle grounds. On every occasion she has been seen, it has been the eve of Christmas. They say Henry VIII proposed to her on that fateful day. You have got to wonder what would have happened had she not said yes. Perhaps she would not have died in that tragic and brutal way. Maybe her tortured, ghostly form feels that way too, and that is why she is always seen on that fateful day.

Deadly Room

But Anne's ghostly presence is not confined to the area around the entrance to the Queen's residence. My gang and I have it on good authority that she also haunts one of the room in the Queen's residence. An evil atmosphere surrounds the room in which she spent her last days before her execution. They say anyone who enters the room will instantly break out in goose bumps. But it is not just because the room is strangely colder, much colder than all the other rooms in the house. It is more because of a still, death like atmosphere in the room. On top of that, there is a strange, sickly sweet smell that many describe as the 'smell of death', that stubbornly refuses to leave that room ever since Anne's death. Reportedly, successive members of the Royal Family have ordered the room to be cleaned and aired from top to bottom to rid it of that strange, suffocating smell. But there's no chance of that. The smell refuses to go away. It is almost as if Anne had vowed to make that room cold and uninviting for any other living person. And for those who do not get the message and choose to spend a night in there, well, they have had a heck of a night. They have woken up in the dead of the night, screaming in terror. Unseen hands have tried to slowly suffocate them. So menacing is the atmosphere in that room, sources close to the Queen say there is an unwritten rule on who can sleep there, no girl or child is ever permitted to sleep there alone. So we can safely conclude they have got the message.

Funeral March

Anne Boleyn's pitiful remains were buried in St Peter in Chains, the chapel within the Tower of London. But is her tortured spirit really resting in peace there? Not according to many eyewitness accounts. One famous documented case of a sighting of her ghostly figure in the chapel itself was recently experienced by an Officer of the Guard within the British Army. One late night in autumn, the officer in question was making a tour of inspection at the Tower of London when he thought he saw something rather strange. The lights in the chapel were burning brightly. From memory, he knew the chapel normally in darkness at that hour. Why were all the lights on tonight? He cornered a sentry and asked why the chapel lights were ablaze. The soldier shrugged and said he had no idea. But he added that he too had often noticed them on while he was on duty in the area. On hearing this, the officer grew more curious. He was determined to get to the bottom of this. He marched up to the chapel and tried to open the main door. It was securely locked. Then he tried the side entrance. Still no luck. But at the side entrance, he chanced to spot a ladder. He decided that would do. he propped the ladder up against the wall, climbed up and peered into the chapel through the side window. What he saw would haunt him for the rest of his days. There in the huge, grand old chapel he saw a group of people. But they were not ordinary looking people. They were all dressed in elaborate, old fashioned costumes from long ago. They walked in a slow, mournful procession down the main aisle. At the head of the procession was a woman. Although her head was averted, the officer's mouth fell wide open when he realized with a start who she was. he recognised her instantly as Anne Boleyn. The officer was so stunned by this discovery, he almost fell off the ladder. When it finally dawned on him what he was witnessing, his whole body began to tremble. he had to grip the ladder tightly with both hands to keep himself on it. He looked on at this sad procession with a mixture of disbelief and horror. The ghostly procession continued up the aisle towards the altar, underneath of which lay the sad remains of Anne Boleyn, buried there centuries ago. As the procession got nearer to the altar, he noticed the vision before him slowly began to fade. The chapel too slowly became darker and darker until finally, the officer was left staring into a pitch balck church. The shaken officer got off the ladder, his mind racing to comprehend what he has just seen. No doubt his life was changed forever by what he had witnessed.

The Tower Of London - The Ghosts Of 900 Years

If there is one building that can instantly conjure up the idea of ghosts, in my mind it would have to be the Tower of London. Why? Simply imagine being in a building made, from top to toe, of grey stone, stretching a massive 18 acres. Then imagine the walls of this building to be 15 feet thick and 12 feet high. This brick monster actually exist in the middle of London and it has been standing there for almost a 1,000 years. Imagine the sheer size, darkness and dampness in that building, with only an odd window here and there. Would you be spooked walking in there? Well, I for one was totally spooked. Not only is the building and its architectural style cold and grim, once you learn of the things that have happened within those walls, it is quite enough to give you the shakes. Countless innocent souls were killed within the confines of this building using a gleaming axe, burning logs, a taunt rope and even a glistening sword. No, I'm not exaggerating. And if that's not bad enough, most of them were tortured before they were killed. The history of the Tower is so horrific, I am told that even till today the mention of 'going to the Tower' makes many Londoners feel uneasy, nervous and apprehensive. No one can quite explain why, but many speculate it is because of a primitive instinct that has survived the centuries, as a reminder of the terror that once lurked within the walls of his formidable building. 

But wait, let me start from the beginning. This rock solid tower was built almost a 1,000 years ago as a fortress to keep the Ruler of London safe within its walls. It served as a palace for him and his family to live in. It was said then the man who had the Tower, had the power.  Infact the Royal Family lived there for over 600 years. But of course all rulers live in fear of their enemies, people within their ranks plotting to overthrow them. These suspects had to be imprisoned at the very least and killed off at best. Again, the Tower managed to serve that purpose too just as the height and thickness of its walls managed to keep the enemies of the Ruler out, it could also keep in the enemies of the State. The Tower doubled up as a prison, torture chamber and execution center. Yup, the Tower had the works. And many of the symbols associated with these events are still there on display for all tourists to see; the State Regalia, the executioner's axe, the platform where prisoners were beheaded and an assortment of instruments used to torture them. But it seems these are not the only things that have survived the Tower's bloody past. Many swear they have seen apparitions of people imprisoned and killed off long ago. Could these tortured souls still be lingering in the shadows of that massive cold, grey building, reappearing when least expected? The disturbing news is that most of those who swear they have seen or heard ghostly figures and shrieks are personnel of the British Army, sentries who patrol the Tower in the unearthly hours of the night.

We all know the night is the time for memories. And the Tower has one too many evil memories that cry out to be heard. Infact, many claim the Tower of London begins to take on an unearthly atmosphere once the sky turns grey and shadows begin to lengthen. True or false? Well, why not find out first hand by joining me on a journey to the Tower after sunset...

Flashback

Just outside the Tower of London stands the eerie Tower Hill. Why eerie, you ask? I'll tell you. Because it was on top of this lonely hill that most victims were marched to from their prison cells in the Tower, to be executed in front of scores of the public. If the prisoners were beheaded, their heads were spiked on London Bridge as a reminder to all of what would happen if they crossed the Ruler of London, much like the Japanese spiked the heads of local Singaporeans around town for committing offences during the Japanese Occupation. For the more important prisoners, their bodies were brought back from Tower Hill and buried within or near the Chapel of St. Peter in Chains, within the Tower of London. The late Queen Victoria took an interest in this aspect of the past. She ordered that the floor of the Chapel be taken up so the human remains there could be identified and given a proper burial. Would you believe over 200 bodies were found underneath those floors. Unfortunately, only a few could be properly identified.

But back to Tower Hill. You can imagine the fear and dread the prisoners must have felt as they made their way to the Hill to face their death. It is no wonder then that particular location is the site of some of the most horrific hauntings associated with the Tower of London. The guards that patrol the area in the dead of the night often speak of unexplained shrieks and screams coming from the direction of Tower Hill. But one particular sentry experienced something far worse. It was a late, cold winter's evening. The lone sentry made his rounds around the entrance to the Tower of London. The stillness of the night indicated nothing out of the ordinary. The only sound he heard was the steady clip clop of his own boots on the pavement. It was sometime before he became aware, through the night mist, of a group of figures trooping down Tower Hill, heading his way. Now this could not be, he thought. He knew for sure he was supposed to be the only person patrolling that huge, dark and gloomy area that night. He began to feel nervous. Who are they? Why were they heading this way? He squinted hard to make them out in the pale of the night. He simply couldn't. A knot of fear pulled at the pit of his stomach. This is not right, he kept thinking. The harder he strained to make them out, the more convinced he was that he saw the vague outline of human forms coming his way. His thoughts automatically strayed to the horror stories he had heard of the Tower of London and its ghostly inhabitants. Was he about to suffer the fate of many who had witnessed some ghostly form, he wondered. A cold shiver ran down his spine. His instincts were to run, but he knew his duty compelled him to stay and challenge the advancing group of people.

As the band of people came down the hill and moved closer towards him, he slowly began to make out in the darkness of the night, what was before him. He could not believe his eyes. The men were clad in what looked like uniforms worn centuries ago, uniforms he had never seen before. They were carefully carrying something between them. He squinted hard to make it out, but he simply couldn't. What are they carrying, his mind screamed? His thoughts were a blur and his heart pounded in dreaded anticipation. As they came closer to him, he finally made out the blood chilling sight. A headless body was sprawled on the stretcher. But the head was on the stretcher, it sat eerily between the arms and the body. The gruesome sight filled him with such horror, his mind went blank. He opened his mouth to scream in fear and revulsion at the hideous sight, now barely 500 yards away from him, but not a sound came from his mouth. The horror of it all had left him speechless. Yet the uniformed men continued to inch closer. Close enough for him to make out their faces. They were grim and stone cold. No emotion showed on their faces. the sentry just stood there paralyzed with fear until he finally found himself on the ground, his legs having buckled from fear. But the men still continued towards him in a steady trot. Nearer and nearer they came. Although the sight so revolted the sentry, his eyes were transfixed on the severed head, bobbing up and down eerily on the stretcher. They had got so close to him now, they were near enough for him to reach out and touch. the fallen sentry shook with fear, the scream in his throat was soundless.

But then suddenly there was just darkness before him. The grim looking men were gone. The dismembered corpse was gone. the whole gory scene that had been just yards from him had disappeared in the blink of an eye. Only the dark, grey mist that had surrounded them remained, dancing eerily in the still, moonless night. The sentry remembered nothing after that, except collapsing at an outpost some half a mile away. He had no recollection of fleeing from the ghostly scene, although his flight must have been record breaking. His detailed report was later investigated by the relevant London authorities. And what they found left them staggered. His description of the uniforms the men wore, matched exactly with the gear worn hundreds of years ago by the men who brought executed prisoners from Tower Hill back for burial at the chapel within the Tower of London. Even the way he had seen the body tallied with historical fact. Everything the sentry said he saw matched the historical details of the past. So what exactly did he see? A reenactment of an event that happened hundreds of years ago? I leave you to draw the necessary conclusions.

No Man's Land

But as creepy as Port Arthur is, it is still not half as scary as the Isle of the Dead. This completely deserted island is just a kilometer off shore from Port Arthur. And its name pretty much reflects what the island is all about. here is where all of Port Arthur's dead are buried. It's the official cemetery. At least it was from 1830 right up to 1877. Almost 1,800 prisoners were buried here in the most undignified fashion in mass graves. A further 180 'free' people were buried in individuals plots. The British often chose the most notorious convict in Port Arthur to live on the Isle of the Dead by himself and work as the resident grave digger. one of the last prisoners hand picked for the job was Mark Jeffrey. This Irishman was a big, hulking man, short on temper and long on nerve. This hot head, dare devil was hard to tame and the British were glad to banish the trouble maker to the Isle of the Dead. He spent the entire week on the deserted island alone, except for Sunday, when they came to get him by boat to attend church at Port Arthur. For a long while the arrangement worked like a charm. The Irishman enjoyed his freedom alone on the deserted island and the British enjoyed peace and order at Port Arthur. But out of the blue early one mid week morning, the British authorities at Port Arthur spotted a distress signal coming from the Isle of the Dead. A detachment of reluctant guards were ordered to row across to the island to investigate what was wrong. They headed off slowly, dreading a confrontation with the fiestyIrishman.

But when they got there, they were surprised to find Jeffrey in a wild, agitated state of terror. He begged them to take him off the island and imprison him in Port Arthur. It was sometime before they managed to piece together the reason behind Jeffrey's terrified state. It had happened the night before. He was asleep in his hut when he was rudely awoken. The hut was shaking and rocking from side to side. The bewildered Jeffrey looked out to see what was causing this, but all he saw was darkness surrounding the hut. Yet the hut continued to rack and sway from this invisible force. Jeffrey's confusion quickly crystalised to fear. And just about then a fiery red glow lit up the whole hut. That was it for the big man, he scrambled out of the hut. That's when he was confronted by the unthinkable. The Devil himself was out there, eyes smloudering, horns erect, encircled in sulfurous smoke. On hearing Jeffrey's story, the guards were puzzled. They knew the Irishman was not drunk, the only logical explanation they could think of for such a tall tale. There was no booze available on the island. They simply concluded his mind had become 'unhinged by crime and suffering.' They decided not to force him to stay on the dead man's island. Jeffrey was ferried back to Port Arthur where he remained, meek as a mouse. Gone was his fiesty spirit and hot temper. He was never the same again.

Tasmanian Devils

Tasmania is a tiny island at the southern most tip of Australia. It has the dubious reputation of being the coldest spot in Oz, with many areas on the island reputedly lucky to get two weeks of sunshine in the whole year. But the locals take that in their stride. Speaking of stride, you can almost feel the pace of life here slowing down remarkably from Melbourne and Sydney. Infact, it almost feels as if the people here actually walk a lot slower than the city slickers to their north. But Tasmanians are a hardy lot. And it's no wonder, given that the island first came into being as an outpost for convicts, they were imprisoned on this cold, remote island and often executed here too. With its old, colonial buildings, its cold, misty climate and its history of cruel beginnings, it is no wonder Tasmania is often referred to as the Ghost Island of Australia, there are no lack of ghost stories about the place. There is even a ghost tour around the famous Port Arthur. A very popular tour it is too, I might add. And those brave hearts who dare go on it are often 'rewarded' by many spooky and unexplained things that occur on this eerie trip. Of course when I touched down in Tasmania, the first thing I did was sign up for 'the tour', the ghost tour of Port Arthur. I wouldn't count myself as a brave heart. Far from that. I was just very 'kaypo' to see what all the fuss was about. When I rocked up for the tour, I was surprised to see how many others were just as curious. There were almost 20 people on the tour, ranging from a 12 year old Japanese girl to a German man who had just celebrated his seventieth birthday. Just goes to show the interest in ghosts knows no barrier.

You wouldn't think it possible at first glance that Port Arthur has such a spooky reputation. The place looks so pretty and cosy. Its structure is elegant and the surroundings so serene. But Port Arthur used to home Britain's most notorious convicts. A brooding sense of evil has lingered in the air ever since. Our first stop on the tour was the multi storey prison. It was built way back in 1848. It is hard to imagine the building once had such a dreaded reputation, because all that's left of it is a harmless looking shell, a sad, old building minus a roof. And they say it is free of ghosts. Don't knock it, because thousands of miles away in tiny Tasmania lies a perfect example of this tried and tested theory; people are often surprised this building of all places in Port Arthur is free of spirits. But the smaller prison just beside it, or what the locals call the Separate Prison, is quite another matter. In this innocent looking building, much horror and misery prevailed. It was the most dreaded place in the Port because here inmates were kept in solitary confinement. To humiliate and alienate the prisoners further, they were required to wear masks to hide their features. All this combined, worked wonders in keeping the prisoners in check. Infact, many a hard core criminal was reported to have gone berserk in this chamber of horrors. When our tour group was led into these little cells, the atmosphere in them was really quite suffocating. The individual cell are so small, there is barely enough room for a grown person to stretch out.

And it is so dark here even during the day, I could barely see my hands in front of my face. Imagine being locked in there for days on end. It could drive the strongest man around the bend and beyond. Years ago, a 14 year old boy was condemned to the Separate Prison for two weeks, while awaiting his execution. The poor lad was terrified of the darkness and silence that surrounded him there. He went stark raving mad, way before he was beheaded. But locals swear they can still hear his petrified screams in the late hours of the night. But the Separate Prison managed to break the spirit of people twice his age, so forbidding was the atmosphere there. Another prisoner, William Carter, sentenced to serve time there, couldn't heck it either. He finished himself off in his cell by hanging off the cord that held up his canvas bed. Coincidentally, a middle aged woman in our tour group broke into tears the minute she stepped foot into Carter's cell. She was fine just before she entered the cell and she could not understand why she felt so sad all of a sudden. But the tour guide was not surprised. It was only then that she told us what had happened in that cell years ago. She said many tourists that step into that particular cell suddenly feel very anxious and depressed long before they are even told of Carter's abrupt end by his own hands. And there was another creepy thing that happened here. The light bulbs in some of those cells would suddenly blow, just as we stepped in. At first I thought it was just part of a 'special effect' of the tour and I chuckled silently to myself at the thought. But my cynicism quickly flew out the window when the tour guide informed us, in all seriousness, that the short circuiting bulbs were not a planned act. Infact, countless electricians have been called in to study the problem and fix it. But they have had no luck.

It seems the problem is beyond science. The spirits roaming the building are determined to keep the place the way it has always been, dark and gloomy. When the guide said we were finished with the prison, I breathed a sigh of relief. I could barely wait to get out of that gloomy setting and back outside into the warm sunshine. It was like being born again. We were next ushered to what they used to call the commandant's residence; the British chief in charge of this convict settlement lived here in this rambling old house, overlooking the bay. The view was great here and to cap it off, there was a huge garden fashioned in typical English country style. One look at it and I started to take it easy. It seemed to me like we had moved away from the most spooky parts of Port Arthur. But I was wrong. The house is teeming with a assortment of restless spirits. The tour guide told us of a strange incident a few years back when the solid gate leading up to the cottage was opened by unseen hands in full view of a group of tourists. We were warned that the unearthly powers that be within the house are so strong, they have the power to stop the wrist watches of many tourists. But my crusty old 'Rolex' picked up in Phuket for not more than $10, held up well against the Dark Forces. Perhaps its only the genuine watches that get affected, I can't say for sure; but my Swiss friend was not so lucky. His Seiko watch, the genuine article, went quite psycho. When he walked into the house, his watch started to tick backwards.

But we first walked into the deceptively cosy looking garden. In the late evening hour many who wander around here have often left the piercing stare of an unseen person lurking in the background. Those who have responded by turning around rather suddenly have been rewarded with a heart stopping sight at the north east side of the garden. A spectral male figure with his head twisted to one side like a hanging victim stares back at them. Others have seen the same figure in the hallway of the house. But for me, the most eerie feature of the house is the room located right at the end of the building. It is just an ordinary looking room, only much smaller than the rest of the rooms in the house. But in one corner of the room is a spindy old rocking chair. I remember staring at the chair and feeling somehow that it added a touch of gloom to the room. To be honest, the minute I walked into the room, it felt gloomy, much gloomier than the rest of the old house. I noticed the little hairs at the back of my neck bristle. At the same time this happened to me, another older man in our tour group quickly walked out of the room. When I met up with him a little later on, I asked why he had turned around and walked out of the room so abruptly. He shrugged his shoulders and said in a rather embarrassed tone, 'I thought I saw an angry, old woman sitting in the chair.' He did not know what we already knew from the tour guide about the room. You see, it used to be the room of a former nanny. She was hired to look after the children in the house. She worked there for years. But an unfortunate 'accident' brought her job to an abrupt end. One of the children under her care was found dead one evening.

The circumstances that caused the death of the poor kid were never established but the nanny copped the blame, and she was shown the door that very day in a most unceremonious way. The little old lady may have been forced to leave physically, but she remains there in spirit to this very day. And how do we know this? Early one Christmas eve morning, a worker found the eerie, old chair gently rocking by itself. On another Christmas eve, another worker heard whispery voices coming from the room. The worker walked slowly forward and gently pushed open the door to the room. She peered in to see who was huddled together there in quiet conference. What she saw made her jaw drop open. The little room was empty, and the voices had abruptly stopped. But what I found creepiest about that room was the tour guide's warning. She said taking photographs in the room had always been very difficult; cameras seem to mysteriously jam, flashes suddenly stopped working. And she warned that those lucky enough to get a shot would find ghostly images appear on the negative. Sure enough many of those in my group found their cameras throwing strange tantrums when they tried to use them in the nanny's room. I held my breath, focused my Panasonic on the rocking chair and pressed down on the button. The flash went off on cue. I silently congratulated myself for not letting the powers of auto suggestion get the better of me. After all, they do say that once an idea is put in your head, you automatically play it out.

Just to play it safe, I decided to quickly snap another photo of the creepy old chair. Again, I was pleased as punch that there was no trouble; the camera reeled off another shot. But the story did not even there. When I got back to Singapore, I developed my film at the local neighbourhood Kodak processing centre. The minute the man handed me my photos, I could not bear the suspense of waiting to get home. I quickly thumbed through the stack of photos to see how they had turned out. I noticed right away there were no photos of the nanny's room. I pulled out the negatives and scanned them. Aha! There were definitely two shots in there that clearly showed the creepy old rocking chair. I raced up to the shop owner an asked why they had not been developed. The big man, wearing just a white singlet, had a strange look in his eyes when he said in gruff Hokkien, 'It can't be done.' I knew better than to push the matter further. Even though the nanny's gloomy little room with the eerie looking rocking chair was now safely thousands of miles away, I still shuddered at the thought of it in my mind's eye. I realised she had got me too. Perhaps she resented the way her private little room has now been invaded by hordes of inquisitive tourists. And perhaps this is how she gets even with those that try to photograph her room. They do say the unseen powers that reside within that seemingly cosy cottage have been known to have a hold on people long after they have left Port Arthur. There was  a famous incident where a visitor sight seeing at Port Arthur, but did not get around to finishing it.

Some days later many miles away, the amateur artist fished out the sketch determined to finish it off from memory, but he froze when he saw his sketch. It was already finished. The cottage was complete with a female figure in period costume standing in the background, eerily staring back at the bewildered artist. Who that woman was, nobody can say for sure. But a female was again responsible for leaving a lasting impression on an archaeologist who slept in the house while it was being restored in 1983. In the middle of the night the tired man became slowly aware he was being roughly tapped on his right shoulder. His weary eyes slowly opened, but they quickly dilated at the sight before him. An elderly woman, with no body or arms, loomed over his bed. As he lay there in a cold sweat praying he was only dreaming, the horrifying spectre slowly floated up to the ceiling and faded away. By the time our tour group digested all these spooky stories at the commandant's house, it wasn't just the odd wrist watch that had missed a few beats, believe me. But there was more action ahead. Our next stop was the innocent looking personage where the chaplin used to live, we assume, happily and well amidst all the misery and deprivation around him. But even this place, that housed the man of God, has not been spared of spooks. Infact, the most famous ghost story here has to do with a Reverend, Reverend George Eastman, who lived in the personage in the middle of the last century. The good Reverend was enormously over weight and he died, unfortunately, in a room upstairs. As hard as they tried, they simply could not get his coffin down the narrow stairs of the house.

Out of sheer desperation, they used a rope to lower his coffin from the bedroom window to the ground below. But it proved to be a messy affair. The rope simply could not take the weight of the heavyset dead man. So you can guess what happened next, it snapped. The Reverend's bloated corpse tumble into the gutter and lay there spread eagle. It was sometime before it was carted away by a group of huffing and puffing men. But that was not the end of the matter. Years later people complained of smelling rotten flesh and hearing moans and groans coming from the personage. Others actually saw the late Reverend's corpse lying spread eagle in the gutter. Then there was the business of the bedroom downstairs in the personage. The sister of the Catholic chaplin slept there while her brother was away. But she was rudely awoken one warm summer's night. A loud banging was coming from the walls and floor all around her. The petrified woman did not know what to do. She simply sat in bed and prayed like never before. But the sound continued to reverberate around her for a good few minutes before it abruptly stopped. Later every possible angle was explored, but no explanation was found for what had happened. But a few months after the incident, a maid cleaning the very same room let out a terrified scream before falling to the floor, unconscious. When she came around, she could not stop shaking. And no one could get out of her what she had seen. It was days later that she finally dared to let on what she had witnessed. An evil looking figure stood at the window with a knife in its hand, poised to strike some invisible victim.

even the man of God who lived there was not spared. While the Reverend was walking down the stairs one evening, he felt a sensation that made him so frightened, he called out loud the name of God. A distinct cold and clammy hand came to rest over his own on the banister rail. But all this happened years ago when people used to live in the personage. Now the personage is unoccupied and I was left wondering if any ghostly presence still stalked the place. As if reading my mind, the guide assured us the ghostly sights and sounds continue to fill the house right up to this day. Workers who clean the house often complain of hearing strange noises and seeing lights in the house when no one is in. One worker, until then had not believed in ghosts, was petrified to find herself upstairs in the empty house when she heard the unthinkable. The stairs were creaking loudly from the bottom step right up to the top step slowly and clearly, one at a time. She stood there trembling, waiting to see someone come up the stairs. But there was no one. Instead, the light just above the stairs began to sway eerily from side to side. In the early 1980s three builders stayed in the house while it was being renovated. Mind you, this was a 100 years from the time the cleaning lady had seen the evil figure with the dagger. One of the builders was entering his room one night when he spotted a woman dressed in old fashioned clothes, standing by the foot of his bed. He felt the temperature in the room dive; the curtains in the room flapped about as if there was a great breeze blowing through the window, although the windows were firmly closed.

She eyed the man for a few seconds then evaporate into thin air. In the next few seconds, everything in the room returned to normal. everything, except the terrified man. His temperature shot up to register a high fever he simply could not shake off for days. Another builder woke up in the dead of the night, gasping for air. he thought he was being attacked. He said it felt like someone was sitting on his chest, driving the breath out of his lungs. But just as he thought he would suffocate, the unexpected happened. He heard a great hiss and the weight on his chest immediately lifted. All three of the builders also reported hearing the famous banging noises, way past the time they stopped working on renovating the spooky place. I wonder if the work they were carrying out might have upset the spirits residing in the old house. After all, the renovations were pretty heavy duty. They were removing the second storey of the house where coincidentally most of the hauntings were reported to bring the house back to its original, single storey design. Our last stop was the solemn looking church at Port Arthur. You would think surely the house of God would be spared any eerie events. But no, not in Port Arthur. Here everything is tainted by the hand of Darkness. Infact, one of the most talked about incidents happened at the church only six years ago. It was 10.45 pm exactly on a clear, starry night. An excited bunch of chattering tourists had assembled outside the church for a night tour of Port Arthur. But out of the blue something happened that left the entire lot of people speechless.

The whole church lit up like a fire cracker. The blinding light illuminated every nook and corner of the building. They know what it was not; certainly not lightning, and it was much brighter than a dozen camera flash lights all popping at the next exact same time. So what was it? Just another unsolved mystery, courtesy of Port Arthur's Spirit World. You would think a spooky place like Port Arthur will eventually chill out. After all, they do say that over time the incidents of ghosts become fewer and apparitions fade out. Port Arthur is an exception, tragedy and death seem to be a way of life here. Just recently, on May 6, 1996 to be exact, a crazed gunman shot and killed 35 tourists, two of them Malaysians. The massacre was the world's worst ever mass murder by a lone gunman; it sent the whole Australian nation reeling in shock and the government was forced to review the guns laws in the country. But in Port Arthur, it means just one thing, adding another 30 odd people to the long list of humans killed here in the prime of their life...

Grave Man

The Brighton Beach boxes are a cluster of 81 little hut like boxes painted in bright, gay colours, located along a sandy beach in the upmarket seaside suburb of Brighton, in Melbourne. These beach boxes go back a long way. Apparently the first one was built by an unassuming gardener, Mark Hollow, way back in 1860. He built the first beach box as a place to get shelter from the elements of nature. Now the trendy folk of Brighton lease out the boxes from the council to store their swimming gear, alcohol, stereos and other such modern necessities used on the beach. But the boxes don't just serve that purpose alone. They are also Brighton's biggest tourist attraction. There's just something unique about a bunch of gay huts of all shapes and sizes sitting right on the beach, just yards from the ocean. Tourists come from all over the world to take snapshots of the boxes and of themselves, perched around these gaily painted huts. But locals say there's more than meets the eye here. But to find out what the added attraction is, is tricky business. You have to have a trained eye. In Singapore you might well say you would have to have a 'third eye' to sample this more sinister attraction. Many Melbournians believe a ghostly male character stalks the area. There are many theories as to who he is and why he haunts the area. But let me rehash the experience of some unsuspecting victims before I get to that.

Bussinesswoman, 38

I go down to the beach as often as I can after work, in the evenings. The sound of the waves crashing on the shore and that mass of clear, blue water often helps me to unwind and relieve all the tensions that have built up over the day. I also have a huge, hulking german sherpherd, Tilly, who simply loves to romp around on the beach. It is great exercise for her. But there's another reason I like having Tilly with me. Brighton's beach is very private, more so in the colder months. Tilly is a fearless companion; she is afraid of nothing and I feel really safe with her. She doubles up as my bodyguard on that deserted beach.One evening in the autumn of 1986, I went down to the beach with Tilly for our usual stroll. I remember it was quite a cloudy day, and the beach was even more deserted than usual. With the exception of a couple of other regulars who walks their dogs there in the evening and the odd jogger who passed me by, that long stretch of beach was completely empty. I was halfway down the lonely beach, wondering how long the weather would hold out before it rained, when something unusual happened. Tilly, who was just ahead of me, suddenly stopped dead in her tracks, turned around and stared at something behind me. But that was not all. She let out a very long, high pitched eerie howl. I had never heard her howl like that in all the six years I had had her and it really gave me the shivers. I instinctively whipped around to look at what had upset her. A hideously ugly man was not far behind.

I don't mean to be cruel when I say that, But he really did look extremely ugly. I remember being repulsed when I first caught sight of his face, although I tried hard not to show it. He honestly had a face that looked like a dried lizard. His clothes were vary shabby and I remember thinking that was odd, no one around Brighton normally dresses like that. The other strange thing I noticed about him was the way in which he carried a rather large plastic bag. Instead of carrying the plastic bag by its handles, he cradled it in his arms like a baby. There was something about him that made me very uncomfortable. But I realised he was eyeing me squarely in the face and my immediate reaction was to blurt out 'hello'. But just as I was about to, it suddenly hit me why I had such an ominous feeling. The evidence was there in the sand as the man walked towards Tilly and me. He did not leave a single footprint in the sand. Yet, he was walking on the sand. I simple froze when I realised this. The man seemed to have sensed what I had just realised, and he picked up speed. It looked like he was trying to catch up with me. But out of the blue a tremendous bolt of lighting flashed across the sky. It blinded me for a split second. And what happened next left me completely cold. The hideous looking man had disappeared. One minute he was almost catching up to me and the next he was nowhere in sight on that vast, empty beach. I was so stunned by it all, I had let go of Tilly's leash. My huge dog took off like the wind, her tail between her legs. I don't know which one of us was more scared at that point, because I was not far behind her.

I didn't dare go to the beach after that. I was petrified I would run into that sinister man again. But a few weeks later I happened to pick up a local newspaper and the leading news item on it caught my attention. The lead story was about the body of a man that had been found on the beach. The police were baffled with the discovery. You see, the body had been found in a busy area near the beach boxes, yet it was badly decayed. He had been dead for quite sometime. I shuddered at the news because I somehow instinctively knew the body they were referring to was that of the man I had seen. But what I read next confirmed my suspicions he cradled a plastic bag in mould. I now know why the man looked so frightening, he possessed the abnormal ability to hang on to his body some days after death had already claimed it.

Teenager, 16

'I had wandered away from the shore towards the beach boxes, looking for a particular type of purplish shell I like to collect, when it slowly dawned on me something strange was starting to happen. I distinctively felt 'something' start to surround me. It is hard to describe it, but it felt like a bit like an invisible force was trying to wrap a wet, cold blanket around me. I got really scared and my natural instinct was to get away as fast as possible. But it all happened so quickly that when I tried to move, this wet 'blanket' got in my way. It was frightening because I couldn't see it and yet it was there, surrounding me. It felt cold and clammy, the way lizard's skin would feel. I was wearing a necklace given to me by my grandma. She handed it to me before she died three years ago, and I had been wearing it ever since. She was a devout Catholic, and the locket on the necklace had a holy inscription on it. When the blanket started to wrap around me tightly, the locket shattered into tiny pieces. At that point I freaked out and started yelling out to my friend. But by the time she got there, the whole horrible thing had disappeared. But I could not stop shaking for awhile after that. I honestly believe the holy necklace protected me from the Unknown that day on the beach.'

Bank Executive, 41

'Everything was normal until I got to the end of the south side of the beach boxes. All of a sudden I felt as if I run into something. It touched me physically although I could not see it. It felt cold and wet and it resisted my passage. And there was one other thing, I could hear someone breathing. I say 'someone' because it sounded like a human being. It was very rhythmic, in and out and in and out. Yet there wasn't a soul around. The whole thing was quite creepy. It definitely was not my breathing, because I could hear that too. My breath came out in short, irregular intervals because I had been jogging for quite awhile and I was forced to stop so suddenly because of this invisible thing that had blocked my path. For awhile I was so stunned I just stood there, paralysed, not knowing what to do. But when I heard that breathing, god I was scared. I did the first thing that came to me, I blurted out a holy verse I had been taught years ago at Sunday school. It worked like a charm, the thing just vanished. Just like that. I have jogged in that area many times since but I have never had that experience again. But still, I can't help wondering what the hell it was I experienced that day. Whatever it was, it totally creeped me out.'

Mistaken Identity

Western Australia has the dubious honour of having what many Aussies believe is the most haunted building in Australia, the Fremantle Museum and Arts Centre. There are no less than three ghosts said to stalk the building. And the history of hauntings here is so real and ominous, there is even a ghost tour for those visitors interested in the Supernatural goings on within the building. But to understand the spooky business within this infamous brick building, it is first necessary to understand the building's history. And what a history it has had. You see, the building was built with the sweat and toil of convict labour way back in 1865. When completed, the huge, solid brick building was used to keep away from society some of the most dangerous people. It housed the criminally insane. By 1909 it was used to put up another batch of struggling, despairing segment of society homeless women. But when the Second World War broke, it was used as the headquarters of American forces stationed in Fremantle. It was only after the war that the building was used for more routine purposes, it became a technical school. But as the years went by, they took a toll on the building. Rot had set into the tired, old structure and its garden had become neglected and overgrown. As a result, only the dead beats of the city hung out there and vandalised the place, pulling apart rotten timber and breaking glass windows. 

The old building was a sight for sore eyes. So much so by the early 1960's the authorities made the decision to pull the sorry, old building down; they wanted to convert it into a public park. But the efforts of a dedicated group of conservationists reversed the decision. Instead, the building was renovated and restored with much pains taking effort. At the end of this exercise, the building cleaned up so well it was decided it would be used as the city's Museum and Arts Centre and that's how it stands till today. But the history of the past cannot be erased. Not least of all, as many claim, because spirits from the past continue to walk the corridors of that old, grey brick building. And the most visible evidence of these hauntings appears in the Museum's Recherche Gallery. The atmosphere here is positively chilling because this is said to be the 'centre' of the most aggressive ghost. Those that have worked for many years in this part of the building are convinced there is at least one spirit residing here. And their encounters with it vary from person to person. Those who come in early have often heard footsteps in this part of the Museum and an eerie, tuneful whistling that makes their blood turn cold. But when they check the area, there is not a living soul to be seen. Yet as soon as they leave, they hear furious rattling of locks and bolts coming from the Gallery. There has also been a high turnover of cleaners, especially from the early morning shift. Many of these cleaners have quit after experiencing incidents that left them completely stunned. Their feather dusters have been snatched from them by unseen hands.

On one recent occasion, documents were rudely knocked out of the hands of a visiting gentleman and scattered on the floor by an unseen force. The poor man did not know what hit him. He left completely flustered and frightened. But most of those who work there had dismissed the spirit as a mischievous but harmless soul, and they were quite prepared to put up with it. but an incident that took place not long ago has forced them to rethink that theory. The whole event started out as a harmless prank, pulled off by a handful of female students visiting the Gallery for the first time. one particular staff member, EJ, who has worked there for several years recalls what happened. 'I remember clearly it was a Monday afternoon. A very balmy, breezy summer's afternoon. The Museum was almost empty, with most of the public enjoying the outdoors and the majority of our staff on their lunch break. We were opening with what we call skeletal staff, the fewest possible number of staff to keep the place going. It was about then that three young teenage schoolgirls wandered in, looking rather bored. At that point I was at the opposite end of the Recherhce Gallery. But I recognised their school uniforms as that of one of the private schools nearby where my niece was also schooling. I did keep an eye on them and I noticed them wandering listlessly from room to room. When they reached one of the rooms at the end of the Gallery, they did something completely unexpected. Two of the girls suddenly pushed the third girl into the room, slammed the door shut, turned the key in the lock and bolted away from the room in a fit of giggles. But what followed was no joke. Infact, the next few minutes took a terrifying turn.

Every door and window in the Gallery started to rattle furiously. I still remember the cold terror I felt on seeing that sudden change. In a split second, the pleasant atmosphere in the gallery had changed. It had become menacing. It seemed as if the whole building was in an uproar. For awhile we were so frightened, we did not know what to do. the only other staff member in sight stood to my far right, and she just kept crossing herself over and over again. We were both too frightened to move. But the girl in the locked room was screaming for help. The sound of her screams were horrific and I can still hear them in my head. Infact that was what forced me into action. As terrified as I was, I found myself walking towards the room on my trembling, unsteady legs. All along I felt as if an unseen force was pushing me back. It was like a huge, angry wind right in front of me. But I started to pray under my breath and that gave me the courage to continue to go forward everytime I was pushed back. Somehow I finally got to the room with the screaming, terrified girl. I wasted no time in turning the key and unlocking the door. Not knowing what to expect, I took a deep breath and pushed open the door. The girl rushed out of the room. And everything went back to normal, as if nothing had happened. no more rattling of doors and windows, not a trace of wind. Everything was warm and cosy once again. But the girl trapped in the room for those frightening few minutes was unconsolable.

She looked a mess and she was too petrified to describe what she had seen. There was no doubt in our minds she wasn't scared simply because she had been locked in. But there was no way we could restrain her long enough to calm her down and get her story. She ran from the building like the wind, and we never saw or heard from her again. No doubt what she saw, locked in that room all alone, she will carry with her for the rest of her life.' But the drama within the haunted room had by no means played itself out. On hearing about the incident, a member of the Display Staff within the Museum, a confirmed skeptic, simply refused to believe it. He pooh-poohed the idea of a ghost haunting the room and he made a big joke of the whole episode. But when started to laugh heartily at the end of the story, an eerie thing happened. He suddenly clutched at his throat and raced out of the building. He threw up violently. But no one knew what caused him to be sick. He did not return again that day. Infact, he did not return to work in that branch of the Museum for a long time. but about two months later, he rolled up at the Fremantle Museum again. He refused to speak about his experience. but he was determined to prove the whole story of a ghost was a load of rubbish. He said he was prepared to visit the dark and gloomy room himself. The big man had a determined look in his eyes and no one seemed to be able to talk him out of his dare. He even challenged any other staff member to come with him. There was a moment's silence. Finally one female staff member, E, hesitantly agreed to go along with him.

He started up the stairs of the gallery, bounding confidently ahead of E. The room was on the second floor, so they climbed the first, narrow flight of stairs before they started on the next. But when they had just started up the second flight of stairs he abruptly stopped. E wondered why he had stopped so suddenly at the foot of the stairs. She followed his gaze up the stairs, but she saw nothing. Yet she noticed he was overcome with fear. The proud, hefty six foot man was quivering with fear at the sight of something at the top of the stairs. Moments later he started to clutch desperately at his throat and move backwards. Then he turned and fled down the stairs and out of the building, almost knocking E down in the process. When he got out of the building he was once again violently ill. This time he refused to enter the building again. And he simply could not bring himself to talk about what he had seen. He resigned that very day rather than go in the building again. Very soon after this incident, something sinister happened yet again. Again, it had to do with the same, gloomy part of the gallery. This time the unsuspecting victim was a visitor. A school teacher had brought a group of students to the Museum. The group were in the Discovery Gallery with one of the Education Officers when a peculiar change came over the teacher, leaving everyone stunned. She became hysterical. She seemed to be struggling furiously with an unseen assailant.

A member pf the Museum staff eventually managed to get the hysterical teacher out of the room. As soon as she was taken out of the room, the teacher seemed to recover. But she simply could not explain what had happened. All she remembered was that for a moment, she could not speak or hear anything. She could see her students mouthing words, but she could not hear a sound. She felt a strange force trying to push her out of the room. She was so shaken by the incident, she simply refused to go into the room again. And the students too were very upset after seeing their petite and normally calm teacher suddenly go crazy. They left shortly afterwards. The Museum staff, as you can imagine, were really frightened by these incidents. Many of them started to wear holy chains and bring in Bibles with them for protection. An uneasy calm descended on the building after that. But those who continue to work there to this day, although they have not actually seen anything, confess to hearing strange noises. They freely admit they sense unearthly beings reside in the building. The disturbances seem to peak between October and January. Tape recorders have been left in that part of the building, and when played back, some strangely creepy sounds have been heard. One particular sound was enough to make another staff member quit the building. The sound was a huge lung, noisily breathing in and out. Other distinct sounds picked up by the tape recordings were of doors being open and shut and strange bumps, thuds and groans. One other sound that stood out was of a tuning fork being struck.

All this in an empty, deserted building. The infamous haunted room has since been renovated. When it was stripped off its padding and the floor boards were lifted in the rebuilding process, nothing showed up to explain away the hauntings surrounding it. Only a few bent spoons were found under the floor boards the only utensils allowed to the insane for feeding purpose when the building was used as an asylum. But a separate haunting in the building does have a sad story behind it. It relates to a ghost that walks the corridors of the Investigator Gallery on the first floor. Many who work in this part of the building claim to have heard footsteps in the corridors when no one else is around. Others have seen doors open and shut by themselves and mysterious lights appear and disappear on that first floor. These strange phenomena have attributed to the one ghost that is most persistent in the building. Over and over, the description different witnesses have given of this apparition has been strangely similar. The apparition is of an old lady dressed in black. Some who have seen her have given more detailed descriptions of her outfit. They say her dress has a white collar with frills on the bodice. And those that have spotted her at night insist she carries a lantern with her. The ghost, many believe, is of deranged woman who was brought to the building and committed there at the turn of the century, when it was used as a mental asylum. The story goes that the woman's daughter was kidnapped and the mother simply went mad from this trauma. They say even when she was brought to the asylum, she continued to search for her daughter.

She finally ended her own life by throwing herself out of the first floor window of the asylum. But she is believed to still be on an endless search for her daughter. And she has been captured on film as recently as 1980, by an unsuspecting student. Shelley Reynolds was a student at the Mount Lawley Technical College in West Australia at that time. She had an assignment that required a photograph of an overall scene. Shelley had always been fascinated with the Fremantle Museum and Art Centre where she had spent a lot of time. When the assignment came up, she naturally chose to photograph the big, old building. When Shelley was asked why she chose to photograph that particular part of the building, She said it held a particular fascination with her because it was the part of the building least seen by the public, being at the opposite end to the popular Museum. Like most other residents in Fremantle, she was well aware of the ghostly stories that circulated around the building. But she herself had never actually witnessed any strange happenings and was skeptical of the stories. On the 19th of March 1980, Shelley arrived at the historic, old building in high spirits. It was an ideal morning for a good photographer, clear and sunny. She was determined to get a good snapshot for her assignment. She had timed her visit in the early morning when the place was deserted. it was around eight am. She wanted to capture only the building in the photograph, she did not want any human traffic in her snapshot.

When Shelley focused her camera and snapped her shot, she remembers clearly there was no one in her photo, except the stone building she intended to photograph. but when she developed the film, she was in for a huge shock. A distinct of a woman appeared, standing at the window of a room on the first floor. As you can imagine, when news of the photograph leaked out, it caused quite a stir in Fremantle. Newspaper reporters and psychic investigators besieged poor Shelley. Thorough investigations were made and it was found there were infact two other people in the building at the time Shelley took the photograph but they were in the rooms at the opposite end of the building. The rooms facing Shelley were still locked and empty at the time. And another fact made the photo all the more spooky. The window where the figure appeared in Shelley's photograph is 10 feet high. There is nothing inside that room that could have been used by anyone to stand on and the room was, of course, locked on the outside. So who was the woman at the window? People were convinced it was the ghost of a woman from long ago. The evidence sparked off a rush of people heading to the building with their cameras in hand, hoping to capture the ghostly figure on film. But none were successful. But why did the ghost appear in Shelley's photograph? An eerie coincidence may well be the answer. You see, the woman who committed suicide in the building was Irish. She died distraught, still searching for her long lost daughter, who it seems was a red haired Irish girl. Eyewitness accounts indicate the mother's spirit continues the search for her daughter till today.

Shelley, coincidentally, is Irish with flaming red hair. Could the spirit have mistaken Shelley for her long lost daughter? Sadly, we will never know the answer for sure.