Ghost Stories 3

The angry Aboriginal 1991
The Haunted Caravan (trailer home) 1994

The angry Aboriginal 1991

Whoever said truth is stranger than fiction, wasn't lying. Try convincing a straight-laced, old fashioned Anglican Minister that your brand-new, freshly build (oh well three years old) house is haunted, particularly when it was transported to a site of a new town in the middle of nowhere.

It started when we moved in. Well, moving town came as such as a relief, I drove into town in a small yellow Datsun, with Matt & Sarah in the back, crying, me not them. Didn't know what time in the morning it was as Matt had broken the clock 'playing' with it the day before, when we left Adelaide.

My house was transportable, in other words, they had moved it into town on the back of two trucks. When they cleared the land on the block they removed two beautiful big native trees they didn't need to remove. (I wasn't there or I would have had their guts for garters). anyway I digress ...

The house was complete and ready to be inhabited, when, the roof caved in smack over the centre of the house. Very auspicious. There were twelve families on the waiting list for this house, we were the twelfth and we got it. (You had to put in your choice of three houses and hope). Anyway, the house was finished and sat vacant from May to August 1987 when we took up residence.

I thought the first supernatural visitor was Pop, but I was wrong, and finding this out really did explain a lot of different occurrences.

After Pop left I arranged for the local minister to bless the house. This feat was achieved by picking up my courage and going to his house (down a couple of short blocks) and hoping like hell he didn't ask me why I wanted it done. I had been in town about 4 years at this stage, and had a reputation for doing and saying 'strange' things.

Of course, he did. Number one was why didn't I come to church ... and well, to cut a long story short, we came to an arrangement that he would bless the house if I would come to church. (Man, you should have seen the faces of the congregation, the day I turned up with the kids, that would have made you laugh).

When John, the minister, arrived to bless the house I was relieved. I felt Matthew, at 6, was too young to be dealing in the supernatural, and Sarah at four, well the gift passes down the female line, usually, and I didn't want to think about it.

This is what happened. John and I went from room to room. He cast holy water into each of the four corners and said a short prayer cleansing and protecting the room and its inhabitant. Inside me a pressure was building up. We had started in the bedrooms, which were at the opposite end of the house to loungeroom.

Down the hall we moved, bedrooms 3, bathroom, laundry/wc, all was well in our path, but in the lounge room a storm was beginning to build. Dining room was next, out into the extended family room, kitchen.

When John entered the lounge room, I couldn't enter. I pushed against the air pressure and followed him. T his was my territory now I was thinking.

John began to pray and a storm of fury hit me. I staggered. John caught my arm, looking at me in alarm. I was looking at him, because he stood like a rock against the maelstrom, and I couldn't believe it .... In front of me were the bay windows and to the left of them was a corner I had never been able to get anyone to sit in.

Now the truth is, for four years I had moved furniture around that lounge room trying to make it comfortable. For four years I had walked down the hall at night aware that something in the loungeroom was watching me, but unable to see or feel what it was. I only knew it was old.

For four years I had annoyed the company my then husband worked for by stating they had built the town on Aboriginal Sacred ground, a thing the company had sworn they had not done. (Hah! two years after these events the Aborigines tried to claim the area back, and failed. There is a sacred circle of theirs on Andamooka Station just a few kilometres away.

This story is complicated by the fact that during this time I was growing, very slowly, into my abilities. If I had moved into that house today, I would have known straight away that something was out of place.

Go back a couple of paragraphs. In the end I put a plastic potted plant in the corner near the bay window. Not even the kids would play there. It was the only corner my stupid cat, long since parted company, wouldn't wee in.

Go back even further. As John cast the water (sprinkled, sounds like he was drowning the place) a small, about four feet tall, angry, very angry, Aboriginal appeared. He was old, he had a bone through his nose, a totem bag on a thong around his neck, a public tassel. He had wrinkles.

He had two white lines painted across the tops of his arms. His hair was black with grey through it and pulled up on top of his head with a cord. I just stared at him, dumbfounded.

John turned to me and asked if every was all right, because it was time to go outside to bless the block. I said no and frowned. How did I tell a straight-laced Anglican Minister that there was an angry aboriginal in the corner, and he was not budging from his grave.

You may at this time get the impression that one: I liked John, and two: I was out of my depth. You'd be right. John was very kind. He believed me when I told him about the Aboriginal. He took me seriously, particularly as I was having serious doubts about myself ....

John blessed the corner again and looked at me expectantly. I shook my head, the aboriginal was dancing, or in this case jumping up and down and gesturing, with rage. He asked if going outside and blessing that corner of the house would help. What could I say? We went outside. The little aboriginal turned around on his spot and watched us. John blessed the corner of the house and tipped the rest of bowl on the house. I had my eyes shut by this stage. When I opened them, he was gone. (The aboriginal, not John.) The rest of the block was a breeze. The house felt light and clear and free for the first time since I'd moved into it. The cats would even come inside now, instead of sitting at doorways waiting to be lifted in. (Strange cats, or strange doorways.) John, and his wife and family, became friends, and he confirmed me into the Anglican faith a few years later...

The Haunted Caravan (trailer home) 1994

And another story from the same town:

I used to live in a mining town near the middle of South Australia, almost in the desert. It is a very pretty town, with a very transient population. They had two caravan parks, one at the mine fourteen kms away and one in town.

Some people actually lived in the town caravan park, in vans they'd brought in. These are not the trailer homes that you see around America, these things are usually tiny. Sorry, back to the story ...

I had a phone call from my friend B ... B was a budding psychic and she and I got to know each other about 1 year before I left town, through our sons. B told me that her husband had been spoken to, at work, by a man who was having a few problems at his caravan. Her question to me ... Could I help?

Now, having told B, months earlier about the angry aboriginal, I said "Of course, get the guy to ring me and in the meantime I'll talk to the Anglican minister."

So a meeting was set up at my house for that day at 4.00pm to get myself, the owner, C, and the minister, together so that Ian could go and 'clear' the caravan. Take note folks, this was not my favourite minister, John, he and his family had moved to Adelaide by then.

Yes, I know I said this was ghost story, and it is. It just has to untangle this way.

Well C arrived, B was already there, and the three of us got talking. Then Ian, who I will now christen 'big mouth' (bm) arrived. He roundly criticised me, for wanting him to help get rid of a ghost, C for not being a good Christian, B for being associated with me, everything and anything he could. He was extremely rude and informed C that he had brought the whole thing on himself by reading the 'wrong sorts' of books and inviting things in.

Oh brother .. that was the longest cup of coffee in history. His parting comment, just before I threw him out the door, was that he would not 'clear' C's van until C turned up at church and changed his attitude.

By this point I was suffering from embarrassment and impotent rage. If John had been there, he and C would have disappeared and fixed the problem in the time it took bm to pontificate. Well, it forced my hand. I knew how to fix the problem, so I took B and my bible and went to have a look ... my first serious ghost-bust ... I don't know who was more scared, B or me .... but it sure was entertainment for a Saturday afternoon, and C refused to go into the van.

This is C's story ...

He bought the caravan at a second-hand place just before he moved up to Roxby. As a contractor he wouldn't be able to get a house, let alone rent one (company town). When he got to Roxby he set up the van, added an annex ...

Trouble started straight away ... the first night he slept there, he laid in the dark waiting to go to sleep, when a creeping feeling of terror started at his toes. A chill swept up his body, paralysing him. He felt something touch his face, then it went away.

He had lived in the van for two months when he spoke to B's husband. Over that time the 'gentle touch' had gone to the feeling of being laid on and that awful feeling of something trying to force itself into his body. He'd taken to sleeping at his girl-friend's place as often as possible ... he was extremely frightened, and didn't even like going to the van in the daylight.

On the Saturday afternoon that B and I arrived he was waiting outside, having opened the door. He and B went inside together. I think he wanted to protect B, she wanted to see if she could 'feel or see'anything.

Where was I? ... Good question. Prowling the perimeter of the van site, working out where it stood in comparison to the fence near the main road. I have a reason for this.

I looked around C's van, outside. Like usual it was ugly .. and certainly wasn't new. There were trees near one side, touching in places the side of the van, and the other side was on the road that ran around inside the site. From outside the front of the van, kitchen area, felt clear, no feeling of anything present. I walked along the side near the door, fine for a while until the bedroom area, then a touch of 'something'. I backtracked and walked down the other side, same feeling at the bedroom area, so I kept walking and finally scrambled under the trees to cross the back of the van.

A definite presence of something not normal. Small statement, I know. The presence was of 'awareness', not evil, just ... present. This may have taken a long time to write, but it took only minutes to do. I went into the annex, it was clear. I climbed the (short) stairs up into the van. The kitchen was clear. B and C were sitting in the dining area. B hadn't felt a thing, C was looking around nervously.

I went down to the bedroom. B said later, C took one look at me and went outside to wait. B followed me in.

The bedroom was quite large as far a van bedrooms go. It had a double bed pushed into one corner and along the end of the van was a cupboard with three sliding doors. The middle was a mirror.

I asked B what she felt. She answered "nothing really, but I don't like the mirror". I was pleased about that because I didn't like it either. Take a moment now to realise that I was still frightened. I had no desire to see, or try and handle, something that would be too strong for me, hurt B or bother C again. I was still angry at the bm minister. I needed more energy to focus, so I asked B to give me her hand, (which she did without asking why, thank the world for B who is a wonderful person), and said out loud, "In the name of Jesus, show yourself".

Well that got something's attention. In the mirror a figure started to appear. He was a short man, neat short brown hair, obviously older (about 50) but with an unlined face, well dressed, wearing a beret. He had his back to us, so we could see his face, which meant that he was materialising right next to where C's hips would be. He was admiring himself in the mirror, adjusting his hat, tugging his clothes. He just loved his own appearance. He didn't know he was dead.

Poor B. She couldn't see anything, but she could feel, and said later, wanted to 'run like hell'. I can laugh now, but at the time it wasn't funny. This guy wasn't evil, but he was so arrogant and 'in love with himself' he just wouldn't, couldn't, didn't know, how to let go.

He kept admiring himself as we spoke (mentally). He wasn't dead. Yes he was. He still could see himself ... He said that there was a presence in the van that he didn't like, but he was getting rid of it. I said, "I know, but it's you that should be going." His answer was, show me there's a Heaven and I'll go.

That stopped me for a minute. I didn't know what to do. The figure seemed to be amused, heading for annoyed. I was in his space and he didn't like it.

I thought, "Oh Boy", then said, outloud, it turned out, "Lord, if you can hear me, open a doorway for this man to leave."

.... I sit here and think as a cold chill runs down my spine. That is my truth signal that works all the time.

The wall of the van vanished. In it's place was a staircase, gold in colour, very pretty, very 'alluring', if you like ... The figure looked at it. The first time he had looked away from the mirror. He glanced at himself again, sort of glanced at me ... then headed up the stairs. At the top there was a door, that, when it opened, showed only light ...

In the meantime, B was staring at the wall where the stairway had appeared. She says she felt something 'wonderful' was there. I wished she could have seen it.

C returned to the caravan with no problems. I returned to the real world and wiped the Roxby Church from my visiting cycle. The minister came to see me to find out what had happened and I told him ... believe me, in no uncertain words, and a few extra. After that I had well-meaning visits from the Christians, who finally informed me that I would probably go to Hell. My statement was 'been there, done that" (see OBE).

Oh, and the two cases of possession - the first was the church trying to 'possess' C, and then the small man, he was trying to 'possess' C, one to get rid of him, and two, I think unintentionally, to get his (a) body back. Poor C, he copped it twice.

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