Paranormal Incident or a Coincidence?

Several years ago my now deceased Aunt Margaret told me an interestiing story while handing me a small plastic white tailed Deer trinket stating, “This was a pin your father used to wear on his favorite sweater when we were children.

Full story by richard wing:

Paranormal Incident or a Coincidence? | Authspot


Poltergeist | Authspot


Just discovered a really great horror writer: Mystify. In a prelude to "Poltergeist", one of her short stories, she says this:

"As many of you know I have been writing horror stories for along time and have found a way to incorporate horror into poetry,almost like mini stories so to speak. I love writing horror because the human mind will never ceased to be fasinated by the unknown. This is a horror poem I wrote specifically for Halloween.
Are you among the bloodlines?"

Check it out here: Poltergeist | Authspot

More Horror Poetry By Mystify:

A Fit Of Rage
Night Shadows
From Out Of The Darkness
The Feast
Shadow Wolf
To Dance With The Devil
Sin Seeker
To Be Set Free
Wake Me Up


002 - There Is No Death, by Florence Marryat: Captain Frederick Marryat, the Ghost-Seer...

Now, before going to work in right earnest, I do not think it is generally known that my father, the late Captain Marryat, was not only a believer in ghosts, but himself a ghost-seer. I am delighted to be able to record this fact as an introduction to my own experiences. Perhaps the ease with which such manifestations have come to me is a gift which I inherit from him, anyway I am glad he shared the belief and the power of spiritual sight with me. If there were no other reason to make me bold to repeat what I have witnessed, the circumstance would give me courage.

My father was not like his intimate friends, Charles Dickens, Lord Lytton, and many other men of genius, highly strung, nervous, and imaginative. I do not believe my father had any "nerves," and I think he had very little imagination. Almost all his works are founded on his personal experiences. His forte lay in a humorous description of what he had seen. He possessed a marvellous power of putting his recollections into graphic and forcible language, and the very reason that his books are almost as popular to-day as when they were written, is because they are true histories of their time. There is scarcely a line of fiction in them.

His body was as powerful and muscular as his brain. His courage was indomitable – his moral courage as well as his physical (as many people remember to their cost to this day), and his hardness of belief on many subjects is no secret. What I am about to relate therefore did not happen to some excitable, nervous, sickly sentimentalist, and I repeat that I am proud to have inherited his constitutional tendencies, and quite willing to stand judgment after him.

"I have come to tell you that I am dead!”


I have heard that my father had a number of stories to relate of supernatural (as they are usually termed) incidents that had occurred to him, but I will content myself with relating such as were proved to be (at the least) very remarkable coincidences. In my work, The Life and Letters of Captain Marryat, I relate an anecdote of him that was entered in his private "log", and found amongst his papers.

He had a younger brother, Samuel, to whom he was very much attached, and who died unexpectedly in England whilst my father, in command of H.M.S. Lame, was engaged in the first Burmese war. His men broke out with scurvy and he was ordered to take his vessel over to Pulu Pinang for a few weeks in order to get the sailors fresh fruit and vegetables. As my father was lying in his berth one night, anchored off the island, with the briljant tropical moonlight making everything as bright as day, he saw the door of his cabin open, and his brother Samuel entered and walked quietly up to his side. He looked just the same as when they had parted, and uttered in a perfectly distinct voice: “Fred! I have come to tell you that I am dead!”

When the figure entered the cabin my father jumped up in his berth, thinking it was some one coming to rob him, and when he saw who it was and heard it speak, he leaped out of bed with the intention of detaining it, but it was gone. So vivid was the impression made upon him by the apparition that he drew out his log at once and wrote down all particulars concerning it, with the hour and day of its appearance. On reaching England after the war was over, the first dispatches put into his hand were to announce the death of his brother, who had passed away at the very hour when he had seen him in the cabin.

The Brown Lady of Rainham

But the story that interests me most is one of an incident which occurred to my father during my lifetime, and which we have always called The Brown Lady of Rainham. (See also: The Ghost Photograph of the Brown Lady of Raynham)

I am aware that this narrative has reached the public through other sources, and I have made it the foundationof a Christmas story myself. But it is too well authenticated to be omitted here. 

The last fifteen years of my father's life were passed on his own estate of Langham, in Norfolk, and amongst his county friends were Sir Charles and Lady Townshend of Rainham Hall. At the time I speak of, the title and property had lately changed hands, and the new baronet had re-papered, painted, and furnished the Hall throughout, and come down with his wife and a large party of friends to take possession. But to their annoyance, soon after their arrival, rumors arose that the house was haunted, and their guests began, one and all (like those in the parable), to make excuses to go home again. Sir Charles and Lady Townshend might have sung Friend after friend departs, with due effect, but it would have had none on the general exodus that took place from Rainham. And it was all on account of a Brown Lady, whose portrait hung in one of the bedrooms, and in which she was represented as wearing a brown satin dress with yellow trimmings, and a ruff around her throat – a very harmless, innocent-looking young woman. But they all declared they had seen her walking about the house – some in the corridor, some in their bedrooms, others in the lower premises, and neither guests nor servants would remain in the Hall.

The baronet was naturally very much annoyed about it, and confided his trouble to my father, and my father was indignant at the trick he believed had been played upon him. There was a great deal of smuggling and poaching in Norfolk at that period, as he knew well, being a magistrate of the county, and he felt sure that some of these depredators were trying to frighten the Townshends away from the Hall again. The last baronet had been a solitary sort of being, and lead a retired life, and my father imagined some of the tenantry had their own reasons for not liking the introduction of revelries and “high jinks” at Rainham. So he asked his friends to let him stay with them and sleep in the haunted chamber, and he felt sure he could rid them of the nuisance. They accepted his offer, and he took possession of the room in which the portrait of the apparition hung, and in which she had been often seen, and slept each night with a loaded revolver under his pillow.

For two days, however, he saw nothing, and the third was to be the limit of his stay. But on this third night, two young men (nephews of the baronet) knocked at his door as he was undressing to go to bed, and asked him to step over to their room (which was at the other end of the corridor), and give them his opinion on a new gun just arrived from London. My father was in his shirt and trousers, but as the hour was late, and everybody had retired to rest except themselves, he prepared to accompany them as he was. As they were leaving the room, he caught up his revolver, “in case we meet the Brown Lady,” he said, laughing. When the inspection of the gun was over, the young men in the same spirit declared they would accompany my father back again, “in case you meet the Brown Lady”. The three gentlemen therefore returned in company.

The corridor was long and dark, for the lights had been extinguished, but as they reached the middle of it, they saw the glimmer of a lamp coming towards them from the other end. “One of the ladies going to visit the nurseries,” whispered the young Townshends to my father. Now the bedroom doors in that corridor faced each other, and each room had a double door with a space between, as is the case in many old-fashioned country houses. My father (as I have said) was in a shirt and trousers only, and his native modesty made him feel uncomfortable, so he slipped within one of the outer doors (his friends following his example), in order to conceal himself until the lady should have passed by.

I have heard him describe how he watched her approaching nearer and nearer, through the chink of the door, until, as she was close enough for him to distinguish the colors and style of her costume, he recognized the figure as the facsimile of the portrait of  “the Brown Lady”. He had his finger on the trigger of his revolver, and was about to demand it to stop and give the reason for its presence there, when the figure halted of its own accord before the door behind which he stood, and holding the lighted lamp she carried to her features, grinned in a malicious and diabolical manner at him. This act so infuriated my father, who was anything but lamb-like in disposition, that he sprang into the corridor with a bound, and discharged the revolver right in her face. The figure instantly disappeared – the figure at which for the space of several minutes three men had been looking together – and the bullet passed through the outer door of the room on the opposite side of the corridor, and lodged in the panel of the inner one.  My father never attempted again to interfere with “the Brown Lady of Rainham”, and I have heard that she haunts the premises to this day. That she did so at that time, however, there is no shadow of doubt.

But Captain Marryat not only held these views and believed in them from personal experience – he promulgated them in his writings. There are many passages in his works which, read by the light of my assertion, prove that he had faith in the possibility of the departed returning to visit this earth, and in the theory of re-incarnation or living more than one life upon it, but nowhere does he speak more plainly than in the following extract from The Phantom Ship:

"Think you, Philip" (says Amine to her husband), "that this world is solely peopled by such dross as we are? – things of clay, perishable and corruptible, lords over beasts and ourselves, but little better? Have you not, from your own sacred writings, repeated acknowledgments and proofs of higher intelligences, mixing up with mankind, and acting here below? Why should what was then not be now, and what more harm is there to apply for their aid now than a few thousand years ago? Why should you suppose that they were permitted on the earth then and not permitted now? What has become of them? Have they perished ? Have they been ordered back? to where? – to heaven? If to heaven, the world and mankind have been left to the mercy of the devil and his agents. Do you suppose that we poor mortals have been thus abandoned? I tell you plainly, I think not. We no longer have the communication with those intelligences that we once had, because as we become more enlightened we become more proud and seek them not, but that they still exist a host of good against a host of evil, invisibly opposing each other, is my conviction.”

One testimony to such a belief, from the lips of my father, is sufficient. He would not have written it unless he had been prepared to maintain it. He was not one of those wretched literary cowards who we meet but too often now-a-days, who are too much afraid of the world to confess with their mouths the opinions they hold in their hearts. Had he lived to this time I believe he would have been one of the most energetic and outspoken believers in Spiritualism that we possess. So much, however, for his testimony to the possibility of spirits, good and evil, revisiting this earth. I think it will be found to gainsay the assertion that where he trod, his daughter need not be ashamed to follow.


Apocalypse | Authspot

                                      Image via Wikipedia

First the air turned putrid

And the mist crept in

The portals opened

And down came the sludge

Drip by drip

And drop by drop

Down it fell

Read Here the Full Poem: 
Apocalypse | Authspot


001 Introduction - There Is No Death, by Florence Marryat

GhostWritings will publish on these pages Florence Marryat's famous book on spiritualism, "There Is No Death" (1891). We take a start with, of course,  an Introduction:


It has been strongly impressed upon me for some years past to write an account of the wonderful experiences I have passed through in my investigation of the science of Spiritualism. In doing so I intend to confine myself to recording facts. I will describe the scenes I have witnessed with my own eyes, and repeat the words I have heard with my own ears, leaving the deduction to be drawn from them wholly to my readers. I have no ambition to start a theory nor to promulgate a doctrine; above all things I have no desire to provoke an argument, I have had more than enough of arguments, philosophical, scientific, religious, and purely aggressive, to last a lifetime; and were I called upon for my definition of the rest promised to the weary, I should reply—a place where every man may hold his own opinion, and no one is permitted to dispute it.

But though I am about to record a great many incidents that are so marvellous as to be almost incredible, I do not expect to be disbelieved, except by such as are capable of deception themselves. They – conscious of their own infirmity – invariably believe that other people must be telling lies. Byron wrote: "He is a fool who denies that which he cannot disprove!" – And though Carlyle gives us the comforting assurance that the population of Great Britain consists "chiefly of fools", I pin my faith upon receiving credence from the few who are not so.

Why should I be disbelieved? When the late Lady Brassey published the "Cruise of the Stinbeam" and Sir Samuel and Lady Baker related their experiences in Central Africa, and Livingstone wrote his account of the wonders he met with whilst engaged in the investigation of the source of the Nile, and Henry Stanley followed up the story and added thereto, did they anticipate the public turning up its nose at their narrations, and declaring it did not believe a word they had written? Yet their readers had to accept the facts they offered for credence, on their authority alone. Very few of them had even heard of the places described before; scarcely one in a thousand could, either from personal experience or acquired knowledge, attest the truth of the description. What was there – for the benefit of the general public – to prove that the Sunbeam had sailed round the world, or that Sir Samuel Baker had met with the rare beasts, birds, and flowers he wrote of, or that Livingstone and Stanley met and spoke with those curious, unknown tribes that never saw white men till they set eyes on them? Yet had any one of those writers affirmed that in his wanderings he had encountered a gold field of undoubted excellence, thousands of fortuneseekers would have left their native land on his word alone, and rushed to secure some of the glittering treasure.

Why? Because the authors of those books were persons well known in society, who had a reputation for veracity to maintain, and who would have been quickly found out had they dared to deceive. I claim the same grounds for obtaining belief. I have a well-known name and a public reputation, a tolerable brain, and two sharp eyes. What I have witnessed, others, with equal assiduity and perseverance, may witness for themselves. It would demand a voyage round the world to see all that the owners of the Stinbeam saw. It would demand time and trouble and money to see what I have seen, and to some people, perhaps, it would not be worth the outlay. But if I have journeyed into the Debateable Land (which so few really believe in, and most are terribly afraid of), and come forward now lo tell what I have seen there, the world has no more right to disbelieve me than it had to disbelieve Lady Brassey.

Because the general public has not penetrated Central Africa, is no reason that Livingstone did not do so; because the general public has not seen (and does not care to see) what I have seen, is no argument against the truth of what I write. To those who do believe in the possibility of communion with disembodied spirits, my story will be interesting perhaps, on account of its dealing throughout in a remarkable degree with the vexed question of identity and recognition. To the materialistic portion of creation who may credit me with not being a bigger fool than the remainder of the thirty-eight millions of Great Britain, it may prove a new source of speculation and research. And for those of my fellow-creatures who possess no curiosity, nor imagination, nor desire to prove for themselves what they

cannot accept on the testimony of others, I never had, and never shall have, anything in common. They are the sort of people who ask you with a pleasing smile if Irving wrote "The Charge of the Light Brigade" and say they like Byron's "Sardanapalus" very well, but it is not so funny as "Our Boys".

In her book “There Is No Death”, Florence Marryat told the story of a séance that was held in a haunted house in Bruges, that soon would be known as “Bruges-la-Morte”, because of the famous novel of Georges Rodenbach… This psychic investigations is recounted here: There Is No Death in Bruges-la-Morte.

Florence's father, Captain Marryat, played an important part in the famous story of The Ghost Photograph of the Brown Lady of Raynham Hall. The true story of a fake photograph, considered one of the best ghost photographs of all time. The ghost picture of the already infamous Brown Lady was taken in 1936 at Raynham Hall, Norfolk.


A Ghost City Tour or a Ghost City Game in Bruges-la-Morte

Contact the English Ghost City Tour Guide of Bruges-la-Morte here... and Take the Tour or Play the City Game!

The Ghost City Tour or Game starts...

"In the dry bedding he dug a grave for Minna. He covered her body with a blanket of water lilies and he stayed with her a full night. After that, he let the water stream again. Soon the grave of his beloved Minna reflected the heavenly blue sky. Then Stromberg rolled a heavy black stone onto the riverbank and he hacked the letters Minna's Water into it. And because the name 'Minna' meant 'love', this also meant LoveLake." 

Read More: The Love Lake Succubus of Bruges-la-Morte

Continue the Ghost City Tour or Game here:
  • Bruges-la-Morte, by Georges Rodenbach
    In 1892 Georges Rodenbach published his masterpiece Bruges-la-Morte. The short novel immediately was acknowledged as one of the greatest achievements of the "decadent movement" in French literature, a vision of a wasteland, a ghost city...
  • There is No Death in Bruges-la-Morte
    In her book on spiritism "There Is No Death", published in 1891, Florence Marryat told the story of a sance that was held in a haunted house in Bruges, that soon would be known as Bruges-la-Morte, because of the famous novel of Georges Rodenbach...
  • The Demon and Our Lady of Lust
    A short story of horror and lust, a little demonic fairy tale of Bruges-la-Morte... Inspired by the illustrations of Felicien Rops.
  • The Dolls of Death
    Look how Our Lady of Lust comes dancing to the tunes of this little serenade, straight through the front wall of the most haunted house of Bruges-la-Morte...
  • The Holy Blood of Bruges, a New Jerusalem
    The Holy Blood of Christ seems to have turned medieval Bruges (in Flanders, Belgium) into a Holy City. It's what, since the 19th century, made tourism popular in Bruges. But maybe this Holy City is not as holy as it seems...
  • The Holy Sepulchre of Bruges-la-Morte
    Visiting the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Bruges-La-Morte, the Venice of the North, is a strange and morbid experience. Not only because the Holy Grave is to be found here, or a statue of the dead Christ,...
  • The Holy Blood Procession in Bruges
    Every year in Bruges, on Ascension Day, the Procession of the Holy Blood takes place. The centerpiece is the coagulated relic of the Precious Blood of Christ. Many thousands of spectators are watching this parade of historical and biblical scenes...
  • The Satanist Chaplain of the Holy Blood
    In 1891 Joris-Karl Huysmans published his novel "Là-bas" in which he paints a fantasy of Satanism and the occult, such as it was reportedly still practiced at that time in Paris and Bruges...
  • The Code of the Holy Blood
    In 1890, the French writer Joris-Karl Huysmans wrote to a young Dutch novelist he was searching for a real demonic priest of Satan... who turned out to be the chaplain of the Holy Blood Chapel in Bruges.
Ghost Music of Bruges-la-Morte. Listen to it while you read:
  • Very Slow and Spooky French Cancan
    In a haunted house in Bruges-la-Morte, you can hear a ghost playing the piano. The lid is always open, a piano stool in place. And every night, the whole street can hear that wonderful music... But where is the pianist?
  • Ghost Dance
    A beautiful young lady dances to the tunes of this ghostly music through the walls of a haunted house in Bruges-la-Morte. She disappears very slowly into the night and into the mist. Do you see her? Can you hear it?
  • The Spirits of Bruges - a Ghost City Soundscape
  • Into the Evil Cathedral
  • Enchanting You

ReadyPhotoSite Blog Time To “Boo!”

Halloween is right around the corner and it’s time to get prepared to the horror and mystery hovering all over. Most photographs showcased in this blog are just photo manipulations (some shots pretend to depict real paranormal entities), ghosts look quite realistic in them:

ReadyPhotoSite Blog » Time To “Boo!”

(This one is not on the Time To Boo Blog!)

4 Haunted Bars - Weird Worm

Everyone likes a good drink on Halloween. For the adults a party or dressing up and going to their favorite bar are a plus on this night. A lot of bars will have live bands and a costume contest for their patrons to participate in. But, there are some bars where to haunting of their patrons is a year round adventure. So, pull up a bar stool and have a drink at some of these haunted bars and see if you return for the most haunted nights out there.

the old absinthe house

Read More:
4 Haunted Bars - Weird Worm


Bruges-la-Morte, by Georges Rodenbach

Read More: Bruges-la-Morte, by Georges Rodenbach

In 1892 Georges Rodenbach published his masterpiece Bruges-la-Morte. The short novel immediately was acknowledged as one of the greatest achievements of the "decadent movement" in French literature, a vision of the Flemish city of Bruges that once was a depiction of Jerusalem and now was turned to doom by the evil forces of Satan, whose Pope was resident in this town...

Ostensibly, Bruges-la-Morte was the account of a doomed love affair that culminated in a bizarre murder, but even more important were its dream-like evocations of Bruges as a ghost city of silence and desolation, lost in time but nevertheless dictating the inevitably fatal events of the narrative...

The Love Lake Succubus of Bruges-la-Morte

The Love Lake Succubus of Bruges-la-Morte

In folklore and medieval legends a succubus is a frightening demon who takes the form of a woman to seduce men in dreams and have sexual intercourse. In modern times, a succubus is often depicted as highly attractive. Minna, the Love Lake Succubus of Bruges-la-Morte, also had been a very beautiful woman... long, long ago.



Strange Happenings | Authspot

From the moment we moved in the house odd things started happening, little things... at first. Lights would flicker on and off and things would mysteriously disappear then reappear in different places. Doors that we had closed earlier we'd find slightly ajar later. We didn't think much of it at first. My husband, the skeptic, always had an acceptable explanation ready.

Read More:

Strange Happenings | Authspot

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The Island of the Dead Dolls

Come and follow me to the Canal of Xochimilco, with its unsettling mystical charm. Over hundreds of years the area has been desecrated to this one single canal, the sole tributary of the Xochimilco Lake... Here, an old legend tells a story that mirrors the survival and strength of the ancient Aztecs. It is the tale of La Isla de las Munecas, or : The Island of Dolls... 

The Island of the Dead Dolls

Image Credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/esparta/2994076542/

Shared via AddThis


The Dolls of Death

Look how Our Lady of Lust comes dancing to the tunes of this little serenade, straight through the front wall of D the most haunted house of Bruges-la-Morte. 

Look how this carriage with its two dark horses appears out of the fog, closing down to you over the shiny cobblestones.

The coachman, old and sombre, seems to be coming for you, seems to be coming to get you - hear the rattling of the wheels, hear how he is whipping his horses again!

Look... and listen to the music of Bruges-la-Morte, while you read this true tale of horror here!


The Haunted Town of St Andrews, Scotland

Most visitors to St. Andrews Cathedral and Castle take interest in the hauntings believed to be present this historical site. Is it true that this is the most haunted town in Scotland? What were the spooky stories surrounding this town?

Featuring: Ghostly Animals,  The Haunted West Cliff Cave, Cardinal Beaton’s Ghost, the White Lady, The Ghost of James, Earl of Bothwell, The Ghost of Thomas Plater, and... The Ghost of Piper Jock!


An excellent article by "historigal": Full stories here!

Halloween Stories: Four Tales of Horror and Humor for The Haunting Season

‘Tis All Hallows E’en’ again and time for the witches and ghoulies to come out. It is the time to turn off the lights, ignite a candle and, in the flickering light, settle down with tales of waking spirits, haunted places, demonic possessions and other stories to make your heart go bump in the night.

Alternatively, you could creep up behind someone else who is doing this and shout “BOO!”!

Here are four short tales that will take you on a twisting journey. From a way to have fun on Halloween, through a tale of frightened children in the dark in the yard behind Grandma’s, an undertaker’s worst nightmare and to the conclusion: the chilling story and picture of the doll in the attic that was posted world wide on the internet.
Are you sitting comfortably?

Then let us begin!


Eight Haunted Castles to Visit in Scotland

A Little Tour of Spooky Scotland... Scotland is a land of Myths. Do I have to remind you of the Monster of Loch Ness? Scotland also is Ghost Territory. Here are my favorite Scottish True Ghost Stories: meet the Creatures of Glamis Castle, visit the Red Room of Borthwick and see the Ghosts of Culloden!

Full article here!

Weird Tales



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