Phantom footsteps, strange voices, mysterious moving objects, eerie encounters, and the unnerving feeling of being watched continue to haunt Mostly Ghostly, which celebrates its 16th birthday on Hallowe’en. Kathleen Cronie reflects on the origins of the group and where her passion for the paranormal and love of sharing tales of the unexpected began
As Mostly Ghostly gears up to celebrate its 16th birthday on Hallowe’en, I’ve been reflecting on the wonderfully eclectic people we’ve met and worked with, the places we’ve investigated and hosted tours and events at, and all the close encounters of the eerie kind we’ve experienced; the as yet unexplained occurrences that keep you lying awake at night.
I’m also reminiscing about how Mostly Ghostly came to be, and, more specifically, where my life-long fascination for spirits and the supernatural came from. For that, I need to take you back to the mid-1980s when I was a pupil at Laurieknowe Primary School in Dumfries.
Was there a pivotal moment? I have never seen a ghost, but a woman who was in the right (or wrong!) place at the right time, unwittingly stoked the flames of my vivid imagination. I was on Terregles Street, near my house, when I happened to glance round and there she was: a middle-aged woman with red bobbed hair and glasses, and a slightly unsettling grin spread across her face. She wore a floral dress and was running towards me. Why so strange you may ask? It’s hard to define, she just looked out of place and seemed to ‘appear’ without warning behind me. I can’t remember what happened next. I won’t pretend she disappeared in a dramatic flourish, it’s quite hazy now, but what I do know is she inspired a whole narrative, created around ‘Orangie,’ as my school friends and I christened her. While my memories may be muddled after all the tall tales, something about her expression unnerved me, the way she seemed to look fixedly at me. Poor soul, if only she knew how that fateful meeting impacted on a bunch of P4 and 5 pupils, and their glassy-eyed, break time ghost story fests!
I was enthralled by the supernatural before the ‘Orangie’ incident; the idea of ghosts, hauntings and unexplained mysteries felt like part of my DNA, and now we had a focal point, a bogeywoman if you will! I can still see us now, gathered furtively in the corner of the playground, members and curious friends of ‘Spirit World’ – my very first ghost club – exchanging stories, sharing opinions on the latest episode of Arthur C. Clarke’s World of Strange Powers, and creating imaginary scenarios (inspired by the unsuspecting residents living on the periphery of the school).
With time, these stories became more far-fetched, and rather than disclosing real-life accounts, most were concocted by the group. It didn’t matter, I was hooked! These clandestine meetings highlighted the potency of storytelling, its power to bond people and just how addictive the cosy thrill of fear really was.
One of our daily rituals was to scope out an old, deserted house on the way home from school. It looked like the archetypal haunted house, complete with requisite cracked windowpanes, which we’d scan for signs of ghostly activity, and it had a palpable feeling of neglect and melancholy. Occasionally, we’d slip through its forlorn gate, into a tangle of overgrown foliage, daring to scurry round the back of its silent stone shell, and knock, tentatively, at the door, waiting on tenterhooks to see if someone (or something) might knock back. It never did.
Apart from a mini piano seemingly playing on its own when I was a visiting a school friend - no doubt a well-timed malfunction that had us freaked out for days - I’d never seen, heard or felt anything out of the ordinary. Even in my years with Mostly Ghostly, those elusive sightings remain out of reach. Maybe I’m not tuned in on the old spirit radio dial, but I have witnessed things I can’t explain, and my belief is still as strong in the ‘other’ world and that after we’ve shuffled off this mortal coil, a unique part of us survives and is reunited with the ones we’ve loved and lost. Interestingly, I’m more sceptical than I used to be, questioning everything, seeking out the rational explanation – if it’s a squeaky floorboard, it’s a squeaky floorboard (unless it’s a ghost!) – and in the absence of an obvious reason, I’m flooded by a sense of wonder that has only intensified - that, and the tell-tale goosebump-inducing spine shudder.
The steps were definite, deliberate, and seemed to resonate against a wooden floor as if a person was simply sauntering across the stage, perhaps surveying the empty auditorium. I’ll never forget radioing the stage manager to ask if everything was okay, only to discover he was still in his office. No one else was in the building…
As for the voices at Amisfield Tower on a freezing cold Hallowe’en night in 2009 – that was an unforgettable way to spend our first birthday. We heard low, murmured tones, which seemed to be coming from both outside and above us. The voice I remember sounded masculine and there was a conversational tone, yet only one side of the conversation was audible. I also remember alerting the group to a high-pitched female voice. The tower is ancient, the rooms above us were empty, so who was in deep discussion that night?
It’s funny how your early passions can shape your life. My childhood penchant for the paranormal has paved the way towards my true vocation, as a storyteller, tour guide and supernatural sleuth with Mostly Ghostly, and also in my new role at the historic Globe Inn.
From the creeping dread of an earthly presence behind our car on a dark, rain-soaked roadside, to the strange dizzying sensation I experienced in the basement of the Troqueer Arms, also witnessed by my Mum, and the deep desire for that unequivocal eureka moment to occur, which is always just around the next spooky corner, our work is emotional, exhilarating and occasionally, exhausting. Would I have it any other way? Not a chance! Happy birthday Mostly Ghostly!
