Embracing the Spirits: True Stories of My Encounters With the Other Side (25 page)

the woman’s tear-stained face just inches from her own.

“And
then
,” gasped Marnie, “She just seemed to pass right through me. I felt a cold rush of air and she was gone!”

206 Marnie

Marnie knew that the Arts Centre had once been West-

ern Australia’s first mental asylum, and was convinced that

the weeping apparition was one of the building’s early occu-

pants. What Marnie didn’t realise was that the Fremantle Arts

Centre is thought to be one of the most haunted buildings in

the Southern Hemisphere, and the weeping lady sounds very

much like its most famous ghost.

Sightings of the weeping woman have often been reported

over the years, possibly as early as the 1860’s. Her story is one of the most heart-rending to come out of the asylum’s one

hundred and fifty year history.

It is believed that the woman’s daughter was kidnapped

and murdered; prompting her mental breakdown and subse-

quent confinement. The desperate woman habitually paced

the hallways of the asylum, all the while moaning with all-consuming anguish.

No longer able to bear the enormity of her grief, she

ended up hurling herself from an upstairs window. She was

killed instantly as her body crashed onto the limestone below.

It is thought that the tragic woman is still grieving the loss of her daughter, little realising that she too is dead. Hearing Marnie’s story reminded me of the importance of praying for

lost souls such as the weeping woman. How sad to think that

if only she could cross over, her suffering would finally cease.

I wondered if her beloved daughter was already in the light

waiting for her. I hoped that she too wasn’t trapped in earth-

bound misery, fruitlessly searching for her mother.

Of course there is a chance that the haunting is merely an

energetic replay of past events and that the woman’s spirit is not there at all. Given that her emotions were so intense, she may have merely left a psychic imprint on the ether whilst her Marnie 207

spirit moved on. I sincerely hope this to be the case, the alternative is just too heartbreaking to contemplate.

“Very sad …” said Marnie. “But I have a happy ghost story

too.”

It didn’t take much encouragement for Marnie to tell me

about another memorable spirit encounter; this one taking

place in the 1970’s.

“I remember waking up very early one morning. It was

still dark so I just lay there enjoying the view of the city sky-line. I was feeling quite contented and relaxed. Then without

warning, I felt myself lifting off the bed. It was as though my head lifted off first and the rest of my body followed. If I’d been watching myself side-on, I suppose it would’ve looked as

though my body was transcribing an arc.”

“In one smooth movement I found myself standing at the

foot of the bed, and who should be there waiting for me but

my husband!”

Marnie told me that despite it being three years since

her husband passed away, it felt perfectly normal to find him

standing there. The only thing she found unsettling was the

fact that she could still see her physical body lying inert on the bed. It was however her husband who commanded the focus

of her attention.

“He was as real as can be,” she told me. “He just stood

there smiling in his best navy suit. I could even smell him! He smelt of his favourite hair pomade.”

Marnie told me that she simply stood beside her husband

and gently rested her head on his shoulder.

“It felt perfectly natural and I wanted to make the most of

it. I just wanted to take it all in; the feel of him, his smell … it was such a gift!”

208 Marnie

After a while Marnie found herself lying back in her bed

and a moment later her husband was gone.

“I was so excited there was no chance of getting back to

sleep, so I went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. I noticed that it was a little after 4.15am.”

It was the dawn of what was to be a very special day, as

Marnie was to discover a couple of hours later. Slipped

beneath her door was a piece of paper, delivered in the early hours of the morning. Not wishing to wake up his mother

(but desperate to share his news) her son had written a note

announcing the birth of Marnie’s first grandchild.

Lily Victoria Grace was delivered at 4.15am; her time of

birth coinciding precisely with her late grandfather’s visit.

“How’d you like that?” asked Marnie with a twinkle in her

eye. “My darling didn’t miss out on being a Grandad after all!”

I went on to tell Marnie about my spirit friends at the

Ellington School House; knowing that she would embrace my

experiences as much as I had embraced hers. She listened with

great interest; all the while smiling and nodding as I told her about the boys.

“I really hope you see them,” I told her. “And if you do,

please make sure you speak to them. They really are gor-

geous!”

“Don’t you worry,” she smiled. “I most certainly will! And

naturally I’ll tell them that Barbara said
hello!”

As our appointment concluded I couldn’t help smiling.

What I had expected to be a routine consultation had evolved

into so much more; another reminder of the sheer wonder-

fulness of the spirit world. It seemed I was being blessed with these random insights more and more.

Marnie 209

And of course meeting Marnie had been just as wonderful.

Despite our fifty two year age gap I knew that I’d found a kindred spirit. I couldn’t wait to hear all about her stay at the old school house; I had no doubt that the boys would find her just as endearing as I did!

C l i f f s i d e

Not long after our trip to the old schoolhouse in Dunkirk, I

was back at my clinic, toiling through what had shaped up to

be a mammoth twenty patient day. With only two patients to

go, I was on the downhill slide. I couldn’t get through my last two consultations quickly enough; I was exhausted and ready

to go home.

All that changed when Paul Webster walked through the

door; an abundance of energy and charisma in tow. His ebul-

lience was infectious and I found myself thinking it wasn’t

so bad being at work after all. As an added bonus, Paul came

armed with an arsenal of ghost stories, accrued over the years he and his family spent living in Dunkirk.

Despite being neighbours for almost ten years, our paths

rarely crossed. Paul is a well known authority on community

development, whose unmatched expertise is highly sought

after around the world. As such he seems to be perpetually

travelling, and opportunities for a neighbourly chat are few

211

212 Cliffside

and far between. Fortuitously for me (but perhaps not so for-

tunately for Paul) a knee problem had brought him to my

clinic, and with it, the opportunity to chat.

During the course of the appointment I mentioned our

recent trip to Dunkirk, where I had encountered the spirits of two young boys. Paul recounted his own ghostly recollections

of the historic town, where he and his family had lived in a

gracious old homestead called Cliffside.

Cliffside is a breathtaking Dunkirk landmark, perched over-

looking the township for the last hundred years. Built in 1911, it was steeped in drama and intrigue; with a history so chequered that it was bound to be rife with ghosts. Built by the

original owner as an expression of love for his new wife, Cliffside was a glamorous turn-of the-century party house. It was

the scene of endless, high-end parties; its ballroom frequently bustling with the district’s well-to-do.

The Websters were well aware of their unseen housemates

before moving in, as the vendors made no secret of Cliffside’s restless ghosts. They told Paul that one of the presences (presumably the original lady of the house) had taken a particular dislike to their young daughter. The girl’s photographs were

repeatedly placed facedown, or thrown off the mantelpiece

in disdain. Despite the ghost’s obvious scorn for the girl in

question, Paul assures me that her presence was by no means

malevolent. “She was actually quite a lovely old lady,” he said.

“But for some reason she just didn’t like the young girl. If anything, she was just extremely sad.”

As well as being upfront about the ghosts, no secret was

made of Cliffside’s tragic past. The original owner’s son had shot himself in the dining room, as a reaction to being spurned by the woman he loved. His suicide was chillingly methodical;

Cliffside 213

he played
Smoke Gets In Your Eyes
on the gramophone, whilst proceeding to fire a bullet into his head.

Suicide was to revisit the homestead some years later,

when the owner himself chose to take his own life. Rather

than allowing his body to slowly succumb to terminal can-

cer, he chose to exit the world in the same way as his son.

Both tragedies left the lady of the house distraught; her grief-stricken energy remaining palpable within Cliffside’s walls.

Thus informed of Cliffside’s rich and varied history, it was

no surprise to the Websters when the ghosts came to call.

Paul’s wife, Amanda recalls a particularly disturbing epi-

sode which occurred not long after the family moved in. As

her car approached the homestead, Amanda and her friend

suddenly heard a shrill, high pitched scream. The hideous

screeching continued slicing through the air as they continued along the driveway, building in intensity as they drew closer to the house.

It seemed the unearthly noise was coming from the pad-

dock, so the women’s eyes scoured the long grass for a possi-

ble cause of the shrieking. Perhaps an animal had somehow

become trapped or injured. This idea was however quickly dis-

missed, as the source of the disturbance suddenly materialised before them.

A hunched figure scurried across the paddock; it’s shape

defined by a dense, inky blackness. All the while, the screeching didn’t let up. The figure radiated a negativity that was

impossible to ignore.

By the time they reached the homestead, the stable

hand was rushing to meet them. He too had seen and heard

the wailing figure and his shock was indisputable. He was a

pale, clammy mess and was shaking uncontrollably; Amanda

214 Cliffside

and her friend hadn’t fared much better. It was an ominous

encounter and one they would never forget.

There were of course periods of inactivity which made

it feel as though the ghosts weren’t there at all. Then just as the Websters were lulled into believing the ghosts had finally gone, something would stir them up and the disturbances

would fire up again. This was particularly true when work

was being done on the property, as the ghosts seemed to disap-

prove of the homestead being changed in any way.

Paul recalls one particularly unsettling episode which was

precipitated by some trenches being dug in the backyard. The

job was besieged by countless unforeseeable problems, as one

hiccup after another seemed to halt the project in its tracks. It felt as though they were being sabotaged.

Finally, against the odds and despite all the hurdles, the digging was complete. It seemed that the ghosts were not happy,

and wasted no time in conveying their displeasure.

The sight which greeted Paul the following morning made

his heart skip a beat, it defied all logical explanation. As he entered the grand dining room, he was met by a scene of utter

chaos. All of the furniture had been piled in to the room’s

centre; no mean feat when one considers the vast number

and weight of the room’s antique pieces. The illogicality of

it made it all the more sinister. There was no doubt that Cliffside’s ghosts were ticked off.

Yet another of Paul’s recollections took place in the infa-

mous dining room. Paul had recently been on a trip to Mel-

bourne, during which he managed to indulge his love of

antique shops and collectibles. Whilst scouring through some

old memorabilia, he chanced upon an old 78 record and was

instantly drawn to it. It was an original recording of
When
Cliffside 215

Smoke Gets In Your Eyes,
in amazingly good condition. Paul immediately thought of the young man who had killed himself in his dining room some forty years earlier, this very song playing in the background.

The significance of chancing upon the old recording on the

other side of the country wasn’t lost on Paul, who wasted no

time in securing his purchase. Actually listening to it though was another matter, somehow it just didn’t feel right. So the

record sat silently in the cupboard with a pile of other 78’s, waiting to be played.

It was some time later that the family decided to have a

little party; just the four of them, the old gramophone and

their stash of 78 records. Their joviality was soon to come to an abrupt end, as Paul went to retrieve the 78’s from the cupboard.

There amongst the pile of records, one of them had inex-

plicably shattered into countless tiny pieces. Without even

looking at its cover, Paul knew which record it was straight

away.
Smoke Gets In Your Eyes
was never to be played in that room again, the ghosts had made sure of it. Not surprisingly, all the other records had remained intact.