On a late Somerset Summer’s evening in 1977, my friend Bruce Wallace and I were stumbling back to the farm from the village pub.
Towering hedgerows are a feature of England's Arcadian south-west, so the narrow lane was shaded as dusk. Before the road curved toward the farmyard, there was a gap in the hedge, looking across to gentle river and the little stone bridge.
Sunlight hit us through the gap, and we both turned our heads toward it, where we saw a tall uniformed man, standing by the bridge.
As the hedgerows returned, we lost sight of the man, who was gone before we crossed the bridge ourselves.
It was an entirely unremarkable encounter. Doubtless the farmer and his wife had taken in more guests. The farm was listed in several guide books, so later, when the new arrival failed to turn up for dinner, I asked John the farmer who he was.
John turned his tanned creased handsome face to me.
“By the bridge was he?”
“Yes, in some kind of army uniform.”
“Ah, that’d be my granddad. He likes to stand by the bridge.”
“No, couldn’t be him. This bloke was youngish, in his 20s I’d say.”
Flicking his pitch black fringe out of his eyes, his deep Somerset accent betrayed nothing but nonchalance.
“Flat hat?”
“Yep.”
"Arr, that’d be him. Went off to the Somme. Tends to pop up around this time of year. Always loved standing by that bridge. More spuds?”
Hunching our shoulders, staring wide-eyed across the table, Bruce and I made stupid faces and went “Bleeeeeaaaayyyyaaarrr!” at each other, allowing comical shivers to run through our bodies.
To our hosts, raised and steeped in folklore and mysticism, it all seemed perfectly reasonable. In the memorable words of Dr. Who, it was nought but a “...timey wimey jumbly wumbly thing.”
A proud atheist-pantheist mutant, I accept wholeheartedly that there is much to the universe we cannot see. We sense so little compared to other animals, it’s clear there’s more to life and death than we can perceive.
One encounter truly spooked me. 20 years ago I was living in a fine old North Mayo farmhouse.
When you live alone, in a house off the road, deep in the countryside, you simply cannot allow yourself to feel in any way spooked out.
So when friends told me about the warm and friendly vibe they felt in my home, I felt slightly less worried about the arm that came through the bathroom window.
There was no point mentioning it to anyone. Why would I scare others?
Talking about it might make it more real in my head too, that long male arm, clad in a red-checked shirt, reaching through the window behind me, as I sat vulnerable on the loo.
The hairy wrist, the forearm that tried to strangle me as it pulled on my throat…
Just my imagination, running away with me.
Sing it, Charlie.
Forget the horror.
Think of the song.
I successfully ignored the recurring apparition for years, mentoning it to nobody, until my friend from Canada came to stay.
As he walked into the living room after a visit to the loo, he turned to me.
“What’s the deal with the arm thing, dude?”
“What arm thing?”
“The arm, man! The red chequered shirt, hairy wrist thing that just tried to strangle me in the bathroom.”
Oh poop. Buggeroo and buggeration. That’s torn it.
“Oh that arm!” I said, as nonchalantly as possible. “Yeh, I don’t know. I decided that I’d just invented it. I mean, there might be ghosts in this house, it’s old enough, but the bathroom and kitchen are brand new builds, so I can’t see how there’d be a ghost there. And anyway, there’s way too big a gap between the window and the loo. Nobody could have arms that long.”
“Sure they could. Before I came in here I walked round the house and checked and hey, from outside you can reach anything sitting on that toilet!”
“No! No you can’t! Even if you can, I have to believe you can’t, just so I can live here in peace.”
“Sorry dude."
Silence fell upon us, as I desperately tried to come up with a solution that would allow me to live a terror-free life in my home. Thankfully my friend was ahead of me.
“Hey, man, I got it! Look at my shirt. It’s the same damn shirt on that arm that came in the window! I think what you saw was just a manifestation of me trying it out just now, and I picked up on the scary vibe you created, and thought I was being strangled by… by…by my own goddamn arm! Now that’s spooky You must have some powerful creativity, man!”
“Either me or you!” I retorted, as the two of us sat, avoiding eye contact, each knowing that the truth lay elsewhere.
The wonders of the Cosmos are truly awesome, as in ‘worthy of awe’, rather than ‘awesome frappaccino.’
Good luck over Halloween and remember: your brain is the scariest weapon in the universe!
©Charlie Adley
31.10.2024
