Hello my ethereal beings,
In a slight change of pace, I’ve been thinking about scary stories shared between family and friends. Usually it’s friends around a fire, roasting marshmallows…Or, if you didn’t grow up in a book, like me, then it was sitting in a circle on your bedroom floor, with the lights off and a single candle burning in the middle (on a plate of course, because my mum would have gone sick at me if I’d burnt the carpet) as you shared spooky stories and urban myths.
Some stories were great, others may have been great but the storyteller lacked the skill to do them justice. After all, who’s going to listen to or read a story that builds no atmosphere? And it reminded me of one of, many, times my dad told me a story. You have to understand, I was a daddy’s girl through and through, which meant I was naive and believed pretty much anything he told me (even that he used to sleep in a drawer and was so small as a child, that he could sit on a curb and swing his legs) But when he told me stories, I could see everything clearly in my mind. And one day he told me a story that had been passed from his Grandad, to his dad and eventually him. So allow me, albeit nowhere near as well as my dad could, tell you the same story.
Are you comfortable? Have you got a nice, warm drink to keep the chill at bay?…Good, I’ll begin.
It was a clear night in Yorkshire, and already you could feel the cold icy fingers of Winter, reaching out to claim it’s hold on the world. It was the kind of cold that was biting leaving red noses and ruddy cheeks. My Great Grandfather blew into his hands and rubbed them together as he pushed open the door to his local pub…Well as local as you could get in Yorkshire at that time, a 5 mile walk each way. He didn’t mind though, it kept him young, kept his mind sharp.
As he closed the door behind him, already he could feel the edges of himself warming up. The cold dissolving from him, leaving invisibles pools of ice on the floor. He approached the bar and saw the familiar face of John the landlord. He nodded his head in a welcome gesture and reached for the glass. Being his local, John knew what he liked to drink.
After getting his drink he headed over to some of his friends, who were sat by the fireplace. It enveloped them in a circle of orange light, as his eyes come to land on an unfamiliar face. The man was slender and pale, it made him stand out against the weathered faces of his friends. His brows pulled into a frown as the man seemed to sense his gaze and locked eyes with him. My Great Grandfather recalls feeling a feeling of unease wash through him and it made his blood run cold.
He was broken out of the spell as he was called over to the table by one of his friends. Looking back, he wished he had declined their invitation, but before he realised his feet had brought him to the table and he was taking a seat. He placed his beer on the round table covered in a red tablecloth and watched as the condensation pooled at the base of the glass, spreading out. It made my Great Grandfather think of blood, and once again he frowned at the sense of unsease that washed over him.
His friends introduced him to the man, they must have said his name more than once, but he never could recall what it was. The stranger was just a business man, travelling through, he’d be leaving in a few hours, and they were playing poker, would he like to join them?
My Great Grandfather didn’t have many vices and he wasn’t much of a gambler, already there was small pile of money on the table in front of the stranger. So he shook his head but, as friends do, they cajoled him into playing a hand or two. And he, reluctantly, agreed.
But he could barely focus on the game, there was something about the stranger that made him uncomfortable. His facial hair was…strange. Not really what the men were sporting at the time, but more than that his eyes, were almost black. And when the man looked into his eyes he was filled with a sense of dread, like his body was urging to him to hide, but his mind and head was in a vice that kept him there, holding the strangers gaze.
After a few moments, my Great Grandfather realised he was shaking, and as he took a breath to steady his nerves, a few of his cards slid to the floor. He sighed and bent down to reach for them, but felt the breath catch in his throat as he saw four sets of legs beneath the table, three were normal but the strangers legs, were coated with a matted rust coloured fur ending in two black cloven hoofs. He left the cards, stood up and walked away, ignoring the shouts of his friends. When he reached the door, he glanced back once and he saw that the stranger was watching him, with a wide wicked smile on his face.
And that’s the story about how my Great Grandfather played cards with the devil…
I’d love to hear about any spooky/ghost stories you may have been told as a child, so please feel free to comment below, I’d love to read them.
A sprinkle of salt along doorways or windows will protect you from any negative energies coming inside.
Stay spooky!
👻LWG👻
☽ SpookyGee ☾ 