24 April 2015
Story #769
R. Linda:
Weasil told me that recently a friend of his bought an old ruin of a castle in Scotland. The price was minimal, and 3/4 of the castle walls were rubble on the ground. However, in the half-standing tower, I was told one could look over hills and dales and even a lough where the water rippled in the strong winds of the Highlands, and it was as black as night. No, not Loch Ness, but some other lough, loch, lake. I understand there are some sea serpents in that lough, but it is ominous to look out at the black water without getting a shiver creeping up one's spine.
There was one wall and an enclosure still standing. And, if you got up on the half-open tower (where the breeze will blow you about with no mercy) and stood upon the crumbling stone stairs, it would be like one is experiencing a hurricane! There was a doorway up there that had been shored up, and the new owner broke open to find two rooms inside the wall that were still intact. Messy, full of bird droppings, leaves, broken stonework, and such, the laddie spent a week clearing it out. He got a friend, and they used mortar to restore where they could. They basically got the two rooms into some order.
One room was made into a makeshift kitchen (because they had to have their food) and the other, a bedroom of sorts. Well, the black lough (oh, forgive me Irish, LOCH in Scottish), in the distance and the high winds had so unnerved the other fellow he decided he was going back to Glasgow, he was done. He told the new owner that he felt like he was being watched as he worked and that something dreadful would happen if he stayed. Besides which, as he worked, he had the distinct feeling his ears were being pulled, but there was nothing there! The new owner felt none of this and told his friend he understood (which he did not) and this is how the Weas got the call to come take the helper's place.
As you know the Weas be an enthusiastic sort he is, and it would be just up his alley to be on top of a ridge looking down at the minions below (of which there were none), a black lake would not be a bother and as you also know, nothing scares the Weasil. I will say often the Weasil has frightened the bejayus out of me, but that is neither here nor there.
It came to pass that for two weeks, the two laboured on these two rooms, and the owner moved in, without electricity, a working water closet, heat, or much at all but a lovely renaissance-style bed and a few family tapestries placed strategically on the old stone walls to shut out what wind they couldn't mortar out.
A large assortment of medieval candle holders were obtained from somewhere, and so, at night at least, there were two blazing rooms in the old ruin that could be seen from far away. With the aid of so much light, the owner drew up his renovation plans. He had to go to Inverness, which was some distance south, and so he asked Weasil if he would stay at the old place one night to make sure it was secure—secure from what I have no idea.
But Weasil, being a camper and adventurer as you well know, jumped at the opportunity to stay, saving him the long drive from the closest village, some kilometres away. Well, it ended up being a lonely day and into the night the Weas was looking forward to a rainy, windy night of howling winds, and rain lashing the shingled roof above (which he had just finished repairing that very day), and all was ripe for a good night's sleep! Yes, it was, or so he thought.
Well, all happened as Weasil thought it might, the wind howled, the rain lashed, and he slept fitfully until the devil's hour of 3:30 a.m. He was restless, and no matter what, he couldn't fall back asleep. He lit one candle and got out his mobile phone, as remote as he was, he did have some reception, spotty that it was, but enough, he could read his email. When he was done, he played a few games on his cell and then bored, he decided to download an app or two. Well, none would download and as he sat cursing, he thought he heard the "woo woo woo" sound that goes without saying that the Weasil was not alone but in the presence of a spirit!
For some unexplained reason, his ears tingled and felt hot. He thought he felt a tug on his left ear but wasn't sure it was some muscle spasm from how he was lying in the bed. I tell ya a muscle spasm in one's ear? Come on, really?
Weas was able to Google the history of the place he was lying in by candlelight for a very short few minutes.
Now legend said that the former occupant of said ruins was a mighty and bloodthirsty warrior knight of the William Wallace era who cut off men's ears and ate them for breakfast. He drank their blood because he thought it would give him more power, so the tale goes. Neither the new owner nor the Weas would typically be phased by such stories. Still, late at night, with wind and rain, sleep becoming elusive, and nothing much to do, one's mind might just start to conjure up the old imagination and convince oneself that perhaps the stories were true?
What would someone like Weasil do in a case like this? Look at the ghost-busting apps to download to his mobile phone, that's what. And that is exactly what the laddie did. He found one app that, after several attempts, he downloaded. Now, that in itself might tell you spirit was guiding that one app for one ungodly purpose, but Weasil was not thinking, which is usually the case, and so he was happy to have the download.
Thrilled to the nines, the Weasil set up his new ghost proggie as he called it, and settled back in his cushy sheets and goose-down comforter to track the ghost. The app came with sound effects I might add and those did unnerve our Weasil to which he turned that off and let the ghost warning which was a pong sound, be the only one besides that of the howling wind and rain outside to invade his delicate hearing.
He didn't have long to wait, for within a minute a PONG sounded and on the small phone screen there appeared a ghost floating across the screen and disappearing through the opposite wall. I would think that would raise the hairs on one's neck if the sound accompanied it. Now, when you pointed your phone to the right, the image on the screen of a square box room would zoom to the right, and at first, nothing. But when Weas zoomed to the left, BINGO, a loud PONG sounded, and there was a ghost coming out of the wall. Yes, and Weasil was thrilled. He tracked the image as it floated up to his ceiling and down to the left and then to the right, and as the rain and wind howled, the Weasil's attention was rapt on the image, his eye lit up with satisfaction that yes there was a ghost in his room!
For about thirty minutes, the Weasil was thus occupied until another pong sounded, and a second ghost came into the room. Well, it was wonderful to track not one but two ghosts and speculate who the second might be. An earless victim of the first ghost? He thought so until the third, fourth, and fifth ghost drifted in, and well, after ten minutes, the Weasil was surrounded by too many ghosts to count!
The novelty had worn off as the wind and rain got more substantial, the pong sounds more frequent and the Weasil steadily lost his nerve and vigour as the spiritual visitors increased. Another five minutes and the Weasil had enough, but instead of shutting the programme off, he went into the other room and closed the door. Fumbling with his phone, he got the torch app to come on, found a candle or two or three, and lit those. Yet, the storm sounds permeated the kitchen area, making him uneasy. As he had not mortared that room, the wind came blasting through (which made the relighting and repositioning of candles a real challenge, not to mention that splashes of rain came with the wind making for a rather damp Weasil).
Stupid is as stupid does. He flicked on the ghost app, and the four corners of the kitchen flashed up, but it was ghostless. Feeling better, the laddie took some cold mutton from the ice chest and some leftover wine and made himself a feel better repast. After the second bite, though, a pong sounded from his phone he left across the room. Weasil froze and debated as he sat, not chewing, food getting soggy in his chops, whether he should cross the room and take a peek.
Usually, nothing frightens the Weasil as I said before, but this situation did for some reason. Curiosity getting the best of the laddie, he began slowly chewing and finding it hard to swallow from the lump in his throat, BUT the Weasil rose and walked unsteadily towards his mobile. He looked down and floating behind him was a rather large ghost. Was this THE ghost, the one that cut off ears, ate them and washed them down with his victim's blood? Holy ghosties Batman, but Weasil was outta there like he'd be launched off a missile pad. Candles left burning, sannie half eaten, wine on the table, wind and rain splashing in and no Weasil in sight.
Weasil told me later that the Google history on the castle placed the victims being relieved of their ears in the bedroom and the eater of the ears would wait to be served in what he and his friend were using as a kitchen. That explains a lot, he said.
The next day, when the owner arrived, he found the wind had blown over the candlesticks, the rain had put the fire out, and mice had eaten the leftover food. He was perplexed as to what had happened to the Weasil, and realising the Weasil's vehicle was not at the footpath entrance, he realised that something must have spooked the Weasil for him to take flight and almost burn down the man's new abode.
Well, Weasil has yet to tell his friend the truth because he says he's embarrassed. That's a first in my book because as we know from experience nothing embarrasses that lad.
I asked him if he was returning there, and he said no way, Jose. That he'd rather be lashed to the main mast of Captain Jack's ship in a raging monsoon. Could it be that Weasil be really afraid of the spirit world? Who knew?
Gabe
Copyright © 2015 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
Weasil told me that recently a friend of his bought an old ruin of a castle in Scotland. The price was minimal, and 3/4 of the castle walls were rubble on the ground. However, in the half-standing tower, I was told one could look over hills and dales and even a lough where the water rippled in the strong winds of the Highlands, and it was as black as night. No, not Loch Ness, but some other lough, loch, lake. I understand there are some sea serpents in that lough, but it is ominous to look out at the black water without getting a shiver creeping up one's spine.
There was one wall and an enclosure still standing. And, if you got up on the half-open tower (where the breeze will blow you about with no mercy) and stood upon the crumbling stone stairs, it would be like one is experiencing a hurricane! There was a doorway up there that had been shored up, and the new owner broke open to find two rooms inside the wall that were still intact. Messy, full of bird droppings, leaves, broken stonework, and such, the laddie spent a week clearing it out. He got a friend, and they used mortar to restore where they could. They basically got the two rooms into some order.
One room was made into a makeshift kitchen (because they had to have their food) and the other, a bedroom of sorts. Well, the black lough (oh, forgive me Irish, LOCH in Scottish), in the distance and the high winds had so unnerved the other fellow he decided he was going back to Glasgow, he was done. He told the new owner that he felt like he was being watched as he worked and that something dreadful would happen if he stayed. Besides which, as he worked, he had the distinct feeling his ears were being pulled, but there was nothing there! The new owner felt none of this and told his friend he understood (which he did not) and this is how the Weas got the call to come take the helper's place.
As you know the Weas be an enthusiastic sort he is, and it would be just up his alley to be on top of a ridge looking down at the minions below (of which there were none), a black lake would not be a bother and as you also know, nothing scares the Weasil. I will say often the Weasil has frightened the bejayus out of me, but that is neither here nor there.
It came to pass that for two weeks, the two laboured on these two rooms, and the owner moved in, without electricity, a working water closet, heat, or much at all but a lovely renaissance-style bed and a few family tapestries placed strategically on the old stone walls to shut out what wind they couldn't mortar out.
A large assortment of medieval candle holders were obtained from somewhere, and so, at night at least, there were two blazing rooms in the old ruin that could be seen from far away. With the aid of so much light, the owner drew up his renovation plans. He had to go to Inverness, which was some distance south, and so he asked Weasil if he would stay at the old place one night to make sure it was secure—secure from what I have no idea.
But Weasil, being a camper and adventurer as you well know, jumped at the opportunity to stay, saving him the long drive from the closest village, some kilometres away. Well, it ended up being a lonely day and into the night the Weas was looking forward to a rainy, windy night of howling winds, and rain lashing the shingled roof above (which he had just finished repairing that very day), and all was ripe for a good night's sleep! Yes, it was, or so he thought.
Well, all happened as Weasil thought it might, the wind howled, the rain lashed, and he slept fitfully until the devil's hour of 3:30 a.m. He was restless, and no matter what, he couldn't fall back asleep. He lit one candle and got out his mobile phone, as remote as he was, he did have some reception, spotty that it was, but enough, he could read his email. When he was done, he played a few games on his cell and then bored, he decided to download an app or two. Well, none would download and as he sat cursing, he thought he heard the "woo woo woo" sound that goes without saying that the Weasil was not alone but in the presence of a spirit!
For some unexplained reason, his ears tingled and felt hot. He thought he felt a tug on his left ear but wasn't sure it was some muscle spasm from how he was lying in the bed. I tell ya a muscle spasm in one's ear? Come on, really?
Weas was able to Google the history of the place he was lying in by candlelight for a very short few minutes.
Now legend said that the former occupant of said ruins was a mighty and bloodthirsty warrior knight of the William Wallace era who cut off men's ears and ate them for breakfast. He drank their blood because he thought it would give him more power, so the tale goes. Neither the new owner nor the Weas would typically be phased by such stories. Still, late at night, with wind and rain, sleep becoming elusive, and nothing much to do, one's mind might just start to conjure up the old imagination and convince oneself that perhaps the stories were true?
What would someone like Weasil do in a case like this? Look at the ghost-busting apps to download to his mobile phone, that's what. And that is exactly what the laddie did. He found one app that, after several attempts, he downloaded. Now, that in itself might tell you spirit was guiding that one app for one ungodly purpose, but Weasil was not thinking, which is usually the case, and so he was happy to have the download.
Thrilled to the nines, the Weasil set up his new ghost proggie as he called it, and settled back in his cushy sheets and goose-down comforter to track the ghost. The app came with sound effects I might add and those did unnerve our Weasil to which he turned that off and let the ghost warning which was a pong sound, be the only one besides that of the howling wind and rain outside to invade his delicate hearing.
He didn't have long to wait, for within a minute a PONG sounded and on the small phone screen there appeared a ghost floating across the screen and disappearing through the opposite wall. I would think that would raise the hairs on one's neck if the sound accompanied it. Now, when you pointed your phone to the right, the image on the screen of a square box room would zoom to the right, and at first, nothing. But when Weas zoomed to the left, BINGO, a loud PONG sounded, and there was a ghost coming out of the wall. Yes, and Weasil was thrilled. He tracked the image as it floated up to his ceiling and down to the left and then to the right, and as the rain and wind howled, the Weasil's attention was rapt on the image, his eye lit up with satisfaction that yes there was a ghost in his room!
For about thirty minutes, the Weasil was thus occupied until another pong sounded, and a second ghost came into the room. Well, it was wonderful to track not one but two ghosts and speculate who the second might be. An earless victim of the first ghost? He thought so until the third, fourth, and fifth ghost drifted in, and well, after ten minutes, the Weasil was surrounded by too many ghosts to count!
The novelty had worn off as the wind and rain got more substantial, the pong sounds more frequent and the Weasil steadily lost his nerve and vigour as the spiritual visitors increased. Another five minutes and the Weasil had enough, but instead of shutting the programme off, he went into the other room and closed the door. Fumbling with his phone, he got the torch app to come on, found a candle or two or three, and lit those. Yet, the storm sounds permeated the kitchen area, making him uneasy. As he had not mortared that room, the wind came blasting through (which made the relighting and repositioning of candles a real challenge, not to mention that splashes of rain came with the wind making for a rather damp Weasil).
Stupid is as stupid does. He flicked on the ghost app, and the four corners of the kitchen flashed up, but it was ghostless. Feeling better, the laddie took some cold mutton from the ice chest and some leftover wine and made himself a feel better repast. After the second bite, though, a pong sounded from his phone he left across the room. Weasil froze and debated as he sat, not chewing, food getting soggy in his chops, whether he should cross the room and take a peek.
Usually, nothing frightens the Weasil as I said before, but this situation did for some reason. Curiosity getting the best of the laddie, he began slowly chewing and finding it hard to swallow from the lump in his throat, BUT the Weasil rose and walked unsteadily towards his mobile. He looked down and floating behind him was a rather large ghost. Was this THE ghost, the one that cut off ears, ate them and washed them down with his victim's blood? Holy ghosties Batman, but Weasil was outta there like he'd be launched off a missile pad. Candles left burning, sannie half eaten, wine on the table, wind and rain splashing in and no Weasil in sight.
Weasil told me later that the Google history on the castle placed the victims being relieved of their ears in the bedroom and the eater of the ears would wait to be served in what he and his friend were using as a kitchen. That explains a lot, he said.
The next day, when the owner arrived, he found the wind had blown over the candlesticks, the rain had put the fire out, and mice had eaten the leftover food. He was perplexed as to what had happened to the Weasil, and realising the Weasil's vehicle was not at the footpath entrance, he realised that something must have spooked the Weasil for him to take flight and almost burn down the man's new abode.
Well, Weasil has yet to tell his friend the truth because he says he's embarrassed. That's a first in my book because as we know from experience nothing embarrasses that lad.
I asked him if he was returning there, and he said no way, Jose. That he'd rather be lashed to the main mast of Captain Jack's ship in a raging monsoon. Could it be that Weasil be really afraid of the spirit world? Who knew?
Gabe
Copyright © 2015 All rights reserved
he grew up in a castle and i'm sure it was haunted too! what a tool. i think he's pulling your leg on this one gabe.
ReplyDeleteIt weren't no castle Fionnuler it were a manor housie.
DeleteGit yer facties straightie. Hee hee.
Ah to the manor born but what happened to the lordly spelling?
DeleteHe did? Would never know to listen to the swabby he had any education, mate.
DeleteThis man/boy has enough education for FIVE people!
DeleteI LOVE ghost stories!
ReplyDeleteWhen I first heard about the latest Weasil adventure, I was not believing anyone in their right mind would pull up a ghost programme in a known haunted place. But then I remembered, Weasil has no right mind, so . . . figures.
ReplyDeleteLOL Wolf
DeleteGoodly thingee I haz a thick skinnie unlike da girlies in here hee hee
ReplyDelete