A Report on a Haunting and Other Stories

By Rufus Woodward

A Report on a Haunting and Other Stories. Three new weird tales by Rufus Woodward. Three claustrophobic tales of anxiety and dread, of hidden thoughts and buried memories, and of all the monstrous things that lurk inside.

A report on a haunting at number 11 Erskine Street, Aberdeen

There are few bloodthirsty visions here, no messages from the dead, few heart-stopping terrors. In fact, and I want to be as truthful about this as I can, let me say at the outset that whatever ghosts or spirits appeared on the night I am about to describe to you, I myself did not see any of them. That may disappoint you. It certainly disappointed me.

If disappointment were all this story had to offer, though, it would make for a rather dull end to this evening. No. There is a little more to it than that. I may not have seen the ghost that appeared that night, but plenty of other people did. And here is the rub – when they saw it, the face they were staring at was mine.

Missing pages

He took a book from his briefcase and pushed it across the table towards me. “I want you to have this,” he said. “I can’t have it in the house anymore. I should probably burn it or shred it, but for some reason I suspect that might only go to make things worse. I’ve thought this through and the only way is to get it out of the house, to get it somewhere I can’t see it. Will you do that for me? Will you keep it safe for me? I don’t know for how long. Who knows, I may never want it back again. But it’s important to me that I know where it is, that I can have it back again if I need to.”

The crescent-shaped scar

“Why aren’t you dead yet?”

Sometimes they have notes, sometimes they don’t. I’ve had more than my share of bricks thrown through this window over the years and I’ve seen all possible variations on the theme. This one was a note carrier. “Why aren’t you dead yet?” in red marker pen written on lined note paper.

‘A Report on a Haunting and Other Stories’ is Chapbook number four of four volumes published by the Olgada Press.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rufus Woodward
• Release date: Jul 11, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310888892

Rufus Woodward

Rufus Woodward is based in Edinburgh, Scotland.He is the author of four volumes of weird tales published by the Olgada Press.For more information, please visit www.shorecliffhorror.com.

Book preview

A Report on a Haunting and Other Stories

Three weird tales by

Rufus Woodward

Olgada Press

Chapbook no. 4

2015

www.shorecliffhorror.com

First published in the United Kingdom in 2015 by The Olgada Press, Edinburgh, UK.

All rights reserved

Copyright Olgada 2015

The right of Olgada to be identified as the authors of this book has been asserted by them under the provisions of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form, by any means, with prior permission of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Contents

A Report on a Haunting at Number 11 Erskine Street, Aberdeen

Missing Pages

A Crescent-shaped Scar

A report on a haunting at number 11 Erskine Street, Aberdeen

It has been a long night, I know, and we’re all tired now. We’ve all taken a glass or two, maybe some of us a little more, and I’m sure I can’t be the only one who is beginning to think of the journey home ahead of me, to dream of a warm bed and a soft pillow into which I might sink my head. But be still a while, wont you? Wait a little longer before you go. Let’s find time for one last strange tale to send us out into the night. We’ve had a good few stories tonight already – weird tales, horrible tales of odd happenings and peculiar people. How about one last true story to round off the evening? A true story to wind the night down while the fire still burns and the candles still glow. Does anyone have one for us? Does anyone have a story to share? You do? Yes, thank you. Come up here beside me. Take the armchair by the fire. Make yourself comfortable, and tell us your tale.

***

This is my story. It is a ghost story and a true story – always a promising combination, I know you’ll agree. A ghost story, I say, although I fear that description will raise some expectations my little narrative will struggle to meet. There are few bloodthirsty visions here, no messages from the dead, few heart-stopping terrors. In fact, and I want to be as truthful about this as I can, let me say at the outset that whatever ghosts or spirits appeared on the night I am about to describe to you, I myself did not see any of them. That may disappoint you. It certainly disappointed me. I have had a long life so far, but this story is the closest I have ever come to a real taste of the supernatural and it aches in me that I did not actually set eyes on any of the things that others claimed to see.

If disappointment were all this story had to offer, though, it would make for a rather dull end to this evening. No. There is a little more to it than that. I may not have seen the ghost that appeared that night, but plenty of other people did. And here is the rub – when they saw it, the face they were staring at was mine.

***

I was eighteen years old when I first moved into the flat at number 11 Erskine Street. Eighteen years old and about as naïve and guileless as any man could ever claim to be. I see young people around today and I startle at how confident they seem, how sure of themselves, how safe in their own skins. I was nothing like that. I was a thin, pale, under-nourished, under-exercised, social incompetent; a clumsy, clueless wreck of a boy, only one step, one cruel word, one disappointment, one humiliation away from tears, more or less, for most hours of the day. At least, that’s the way I remember it now.

This was my second year as an undergraduate and Erskine Street was my first effort at finding a place of my own to live. My first place away from home, away from the safety net of halls of residence and I cannot emphasise too strongly just exactly how ill-prepared I was for the move. I do sometimes think back upon that time with a fond affection for the poor gangling fool I remember being, but it is impossible also to avoid cringing at the memory of those early days struggling with even the most basic requirements of adult life. Washing and cleaning, paying bills, shopping, cooking, there is no challenge you could name so simple that I could not have failed it.

The summer before moving in had been a difficult one. I’d spent weeks trawling through classified ads and accommodation listings, trying to find a room before the start of the autumn term. I must have looked at dozens of flats in that time, spoken to dozens of potential flatmates, but nothing worked out. Rooms I thought were available turned out to be taken. Arrangements I thought had been made turned out to be broken. It was a frustrating time and by the end of August I was becoming quite anxious about my chances of ever finding a place at all.

It was with some relief, then, that I seized upon the advertised room at the flat at Erskine Street. It was perfectly suited to me in practically every way, so much so that even if I’d had the opportunity I could hardly have handpicked anything better. It was on the top floor of a four storey granite tenement. Not too far from college, but within walking distance of town, it was a single room in a small flat shared with one other male student. Not only that, the advert when I saw it was posted not in the usual classified spaces or even through the University’s accommodation service. Rather, it was posted on a noticeboard in the University Library - one small A5 sheet printed in black and