I was born in November 1986 in Perth, Scotland. I spent my first four years living with my Mum and Dad in a top floor flat of a block of six. The housing estate we lived in was called Fairfield and was just a little run down and rough around the edges, but it was home.
From the time I was born my maternal grandmother, who had The Gift, always insisted that I also had it. All throughout my life I have had visions of things that have passed and things that are still to happen. This gift has gotten stronger since my grandmother passed away a couple of years ago. This story, however, centers on my first four years living in 11e Hunter’s Crescent. This flat was haunted, to say the very least. My first memory, and it’s a vivid one, is seeing a demonic monk-like face staring at me through the wooden bars of my cot. I couldn’t have been older than a year and a half but the memory has always stuck with me and has left me with a slight fear of the dark. So many scary things happened in this flat over such a short period of time. One day my Auntie Angie (not my Auntie by blood, but my Mum’s best friend and my Godmother.) was walking along the street and she looked up at the living room window which looked onto the Crescent. The window was open and my Mum looking out. They caught sight of each other and my Mum called down to ask Angie up for a coffee and a chat. The door entry on the block was controlled by a buzzer system. Each flat had its own button and a corresponding handset which was situated just inside the front door of each flat. My Auntie Angie pressed the button for 11e and my Mum’s voice came over the intercom “Up you come Doll. The kettle’s on” The door opened and Angie climbed the stairs to the top of the building. She expected my Mum to be waiting at the top with the door open but she was nowhere in sight and the door was locked. She started to knock and call my Mum’s name. “Jean, It’s Angie let me in Doll.” Just at that moment Angie heard my Mum’s voice from the bottom of the stairs. “Angie is that you petal? Come and give me a hand with Graham’s pram and all these shopping bags. I’m shattered Hen.” My Auntie Angie ran down the stairs in complete shock. My mum had been out all morning shopping with me beside her in my pram. There was nobody else in the house as my Dad was out at work. Who, then, had called down to the street offering Angie a coffee in my Mum’s and then proceeded to let her in at the intercom!?
Another incident took place one night when my Uncle Jammy (My Mum’s brother, James, who was the spitting image of Patrick Swayze in his youth and was every bit the Casanova) had just broken up with one of his many girlfriends and needed a place to stay. He was put to bed a little worse for wear in the back bedroom. He fell asleep and then my parents went back to bed too. A couple of hours later my Mum was awoken by what she thought was me crying. I was just under a month old by this point and was apparently not the most vocal of babies so my Mum really paid attention to the sounds. She soon realized that the noise sounded like whispering and giggling. She thought that Jammy had invited some girl into the house and she stormed through to the back bedroom, opening the door wide only to discover that Jammy was still sound asleep. The lights were off and the windows were closed. This was mid December and the height of winter in Scotland so it was pretty chilly outside. Anyway, what my Mum saw will stick with her for the rest of her life. The thin muslin curtains were billowing as if in a breeze from an open window and my Uncle Jammy, who lay on the bed asleep and bare chested had been badly scratched and bloodied across his torso. My Mum has never been so terrified. Every time she retells this particular tale she visibly begins to shake. Across Jammy’s chest and tummy was a bloody, inverted cross. Needless to say my Uncle never stayed over night again in that flat if he’d had a lovers tiff with one of his lady friends.
While there are many more tales I could share regarding this flat I will tell only one more…
My Mum and Auntie Angie both had pet dogs. My mum had a three legged female mongrel called Lady. (Oh, the irony!) Angie had a pure bred West Highland Terrier called Snowy. While both dogs never particularly liked each other they never fought, Measures were always taken, though, should the need arise to stop them getting into a fight. My Mum and Angie were having girly chat and coffee’s, my Dad had taken me off out for the day to see his parents. I would have been around two years old by this point. They’d both been out earlier in the day walking the dogs and then had decided to go to some afternoon bingo. (How very 1980s!) They would obviously need to leave the dogs alone in the house for a while but didn’t want them fighting when nobody was around to stop it. They decided that Lady should be put into the front bedroom. (My Parent’s room.) and Snowy should be put into the back bedroom. (my bedroom by this time, and the place I’d seen the evil looking Monk-like face staring at me through the bars of my cot.) Both dogs were left with water and some dog kibble to keep them happy. Both women would only be gone a few hours and my Dad and I would be away all day. So off they went safe in the knowledge that no harm would come to either of their dogs. When they arrived back from their girly bingo game a while later, both a tad tipsy and happy that they won some money. They each went to let their dogs out of the rooms they had been kept in. My Mum opened the door to her bedroom hoping to see her faithful Lady hop out on her three legs to greet her mistress. She was very surprised to see Snowy, who bolted past her, ran into the living room and dived behind the sofa. My Auntie Angie was equally speechless when she opened the back bedroom door and out plodded Lady who, similarly, if a little more unstable on her paws also dived behind the sofa. Both dogs, from that point on, never had a single grumble at one another. Both my Mum and Angie were at a loss as to how they could explain to each other what had gone on. Neither of them had had any alcohol before going out to their bingo game and both, to this day, are adamant that the dogs they’d left in each room weren’t the dogs they then let out later in the day. The house had been empty for that few hours except for Lady and Snowy. Both bedroom doors had been firmly closed and it was later found that my Dad had forgotten his house keys and the only other set were in my Mum’s possession in her handbag. It’s a mystery we still discuss thirty years later.
So many spooky things happened at this address. The ones I’ve mentioned here are the most interesting to my mind. Other things that would happen included Poltergeist activity. Items would be hurled across the room. Ornaments would be smashed, every electrical item in the house would be found either switched on or entirely unplugged, items would go missing and when not found would be replaced only for the lost item to turn up exactly where it had last been seen. Weird sounds, voices, laughs, blowing winds, growls and snarls would be heard from all over the flat when nobody else was around.
We eventually moved out to a similarly laid out flat three streets along in the same estate. Nothing of note ever really happened in 4c Leslie Court but I’ve always heard strange voices, seen creepy visions, been more open and perceptive to the strange and usual side of things. My maternal Grandmother did always say I’d inherited her gift of second sight. My Parents, too, have always said that the spooky things in 11e Hunter’s Crescent were few and far between before I was born and only really increased in severity after November 1986.
All I can say is… I’m so glad the house I now live in with my husband, Duncan and our three Corgi’s isn’t haunted and whatever resided alongside my family and I in my first four years on earth in 11e Hunter’s Crescent didn’t attach itself to me. I do often wonder if anything has ever happened to the family that moved in after we left. Apparently they still live there to this very day.
Submitted by Graham Sillars to Weird Darkness and My Haunted Life Too
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