It is October, the month of Halloween and fading light and the dying of the year. My favourite season, being the miserable sod that I am. I jest, of course: I’m only miserable 98% of the time.
We are also entering the season of ghost stories, one of my obsessions. Here, then, is a short tale from the monk of Byland Abbey, written down in 1400:
“Concerning another ghost that followed William of Bradeforth and cried “ How, how, how,” thrice on three occasions. It happened that on the fourth night about midnight he went back to the New Place from the village of Ampleforth, and as he was returning by the road he heard a terrible voice shouting far behind him, and as it were on the hill side; and a little after it cried again in like manner but nearer, and the third time it screamed at the cross-roads ahead of him; and at last he saw a pale horse and his dog barked a little, but then hid itself in great fear between the legs of the said William. Whereupon he commanded the spirit in the name of the Lord and in virtue of the blood of Jesus Christ to depart and not to block his path. And when he heard this he withdrew like a revolving piece of canvas with four corners and kept on turning. So that it seems that he was a ghost that mightily desired to be conjured and to receive effective help.”
As usual in these Byland tales, the ghost is dispelled or tamed (conjured) by invoking Christ. I find this very creepy, reminiscent of MR James: the indefinable, weird, flapping thing stalking William down the road, making screaming noises. What the hell is it, exactly? What does it want? Like every good writer of ghost stories, the monk left plenty to the imagination.
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