| A true ghost story Story by Graeme Monaghan.
I am not really accident prone although
my face, like most in my age group, does bear the marks
of a lifetime of minor misadventures.
Like the time I was about five or six
years old and was trying to learn to ride my
sister’s bicycle and, in what was undoubtedly a
youthful burst of over-confidence, tried to take a corner
too fast. The wheels went from beneath me and my face
came into smart contact with the pavement. When my mother
had washed away as much of the blood as she could, it was
revealed that my nose was no longer in pristine
condition, and remains that way to this day.
I also managed to survive a lifetime of
fairly vigorous sporting activity and was able to play
cricket at a reasonable level. Capable enough to have
done battle, on occasion, with the great Dennis Lillee
and other bowlers almost as fearsome, without overmuch
body or facial damage, and the bruises and pain disappear
after a time anyway.
There was one incident in which I did
not fare so well though. I was fielding close to the
wicket one day when some uncaring batsman slammed a
full-blooded drive in my direction. I managed to prevent
it from going to the boundary by allowing it to hit me
just above the left eye. This required six fairly large
stitches and left a scar still clearly visible thirty
years on.
Again, I received a disfigurement of
sorts playing Australia Rules football in western
Australia when an opposition player raked his fingernails
along my right cheek leaving two white parallel scars not
unlike a red Indian’s war paint. But these have
faded in the intervening decades, leaving just the normal
wear and tear that fifty-nine years puts on practically
everyone and, whilst never likely to be eagerly sought
after by Hollywood talent scouts, my face has weathered
the years fairly well.
Fairly well, that is, until I invoked
the wrath of the ghost.
Now though you may, or may not, believe
in ghosts, let me tell you in Thailand everybody believes
in ghosts and ‘tis well they do, for a spirit who is
not treated with all due care and respect can cause
considerable trouble and discomfort for the living.
As you will find out.
My story really began when I was
invited to a party, at the bar / restaurant, which I tend
to inhabit on a daily basis, by the very beautiful Na,
who owns the place.
The occasion was the fourth birthday of
her nephew who, apart from the mandatory photographic
session and candle blowing, took no further part in
proceedings.
I was ushered into the back room with
the five or six other guests and had a glass thrust into
my hand.
During the course of a conversation
with Na she told me a tale not uncommon in Thailand
"Last night," she began,
"I had a dream in which the spirit of the restaurant
spoke to me and said he was not being treated properly,
so tomorrow we will put up a new spirit house for him and
give him offerings of food and drink to keep him
happy."
This is a perfectly normal conversation
in Thailand and I listened with due attention and
respect.
"Do you believe in ghosts,
Graeme?" asked Na..
"I certainly do," I replied
in all honesty, and let me tell you now that anyone who
has lived in this part of the world for long enough,
believes in them also.
"Have you ever seen a ghost,
Graeme?" was her next question and this is where I
made my first big mistake.
"Yes," I replied.
As I said earlier, everybody here
believes in the spirits but not everybody has actually
seen one and to have done so is to be held in much awe
and esteem, so I told what I thought was a harmless white
lie.
Now, in Buddhist doctrine, it is quite
proper to tell the odd untruth or two provided that it
harms no one or makes someone feel better.
Rather like telling your wife she looks
ravishing in her new dress when, in reality, it looks
like a potato sack. This not only serves to make your
wife feel better but there is a real chance that, had you
told the truth, you may well have ended up wearing a very
fat lip.
On this occasion, however, I was not
lying outright, but bending the facts just a little, or,
to be even more precise, I was bragging.
You see, I grew up in Melbourne and we
lived in an old tow-storey house in Camberwell that we
undoubtedly shared with a ghost, and many times I heard
strange footsteps wandering around the place at the odd
times when ghosts are supposed to wander around, but one
experience stands out above the rest.
I guess I was in my early twenties at
the time and was alone in the house. I had switched off
the light and climbed into bed when I heard the back door
slam shut. That will be my brother Robert coming home, I
thought and listened more. Half way along the passageway
leading to the foot of the stairs was a loose floorboard
which I assiduously avoided treading on whenever I came
home late, or drunk (or both), to avoid waking my
parents.
My brother, being much younger and less
guileful at that age, took no such precautions and the
floorboard duly creaked, as did the fourth stair riser,
which was also avoided whenever necessary.
I heard the footsteps climb the stairs
until they reached the first landing then stop. I was
puzzled. Why on earth would he want to be standing half
way up the stairs I thought? When there was no further
movement some minutes later got out of bed and switched
on the light to the stairway . . . .
and there was no one there.
All these years later, I can still feel
the chill that ran through my body that night.
Another incident of spiritual encounter
was when I was visiting my friend, Louise. She had
confided to me some weeks earlier there was a ghost in
her home. Her eight year old daughter had seen him
clearly and told her mother of the ‘man’ in her
room. Louise also saw him once although, oddly enough,
only from the waist up as he appeared to possess no
’lower half’ and she had felt his presence many
times.
We were sitting in her lounge on a hot
afternoon when I suddenly felt an icy blast of wind
against my left arm. This was odd indeed on a hot day and
I looked about to see if the door was open to discover
the source of the phenomenon. It was shut.
At the same moment Louise looked at me
and said, "My ghost is here, I can feel him."
"Me too," I gulped.
So you see, I was not actually lying
when I told Na I had seen a ghost but, as I said before,
I was bragging, stretching the truth, and should not have
done so. To make maters worse, having already trodden the
wrong path, added, "Many times," then began
detailing my encounters with one of these visitations.
I hate myself when I do things like
this, but I guess it has something to do with being a
writer and not letting the facts get in the way of a good
story, so they say. Or maybe it was the spirits I had
swallowed before my arrival that made me do it.
Then came the big question; "Are
you afraid of ghosts, Graeme?" and this is where I
really bombed out.
"No way," I answered
confidently and, like the man putting his head in the
lion’s mouth, added, "I don’t think ghosts
ever do anybody much harm."
There was no doubt whatsoever my
stories and my boasting impressed Na greatly, but they
obviously did not impress the ghost and he wanted revenge
for my lack of deference and cavalier behaviour.
And he got it.
Not ten minutes later I took a bite
from a delicious Thai dish with the enchanting name of
yum grob grob (fried pork rind with spicy salad) when
snap. I put my hand to my mouth and withdrew from it what
had once been a very fine tooth, the one next to the
front ones.
An examination in the mirror revealed
it had snapped off at a forty five degree angle and now I
was a candidate for the Hollywood scouts as I
looked something like a cross between bugs bunny and
Dracula when I smiled. Something I seldom do these days.
In spite of my previous indiscretions,
I did not immediately relate the incident to my offending
the resident spirit and, for the time being anyway, put
it down to just one of those things. No problem, I will
get it fixed and be my old self in no time and that will
be that.
It was not until two nights later when
I realised the depth of my offence and the lengths the
ghost would go to extract retribution.
I had visited the toilet which was at
the rear of the building and decided to return to the bar
through the room in which I had lost my tooth. It was
quite dark going that way, but I did not bother to switch
on the light as I knew the route so well
Then whack!!!!.
Something struck me in the dark hard
enough to send me to my knees, and when I put my hand to
my face I knew the moisture I felt was certainly not
perspiration.
When I again rose to my feel to see who
my assailant was, the full realisation of my misdeed
dawned, for I had walked, full speed ahead, smack into
the brand new spirit house.
I now have a deep, one inch gash on my
left cheekbone which will undoubtedly leave a scar l
shall carry for the rest of my days as a permanent
reminder not to cause offence to resident ghosts.
I hereby wish to publicly apologise to
the ghost for my misbehaviour, in writing.
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