Ghost Stories

October's chill and darkening days bring to mind that the spookiest night of the year is close on our heels.  Plain Jane has invited everyone to share any ghost stories they may have.  She has a couple of stories herself that get the goosebumps rising on the arms, and makes you want to firmly close the cellar door!

My own ghost story involves a clock.

It also involves my dear grandmother, long dead and buried, and my mother (Violet), at the time of this story only recently passed away.

I've mentioned before that I helped my parents clear out all kinds of stuff from their country home in order to move into a house about a third of the size.

the country home

One thing that my mom was getting rid of was this little clock that was her mother's 

(my grandmother ... also named Violet).

Apparently, my grandmother was quite proud of her little clock.  She wasn't a wealthy woman, but the clock was something special.  I've never known the clock to be in working order, but at one time the clock had been sent to a clock maker for repairs. Inside is written our old address by the clock repair shop. 

My dad liked to fidget with all kinds of things, and quite frankly, he fidgeted with any special heirlooms of my mother's until they were ruined.  This clock was one such item. It used to have those nice sweeping curved wooden sides, but my dad chopped them off and put on these ugly straight sides.  I remember him in later years trying to get the clock working himself to no avail.  The convex glass of the door was missing, as were the hands. It was, as my mother often used to say "a source contention" between them. 

The clock sat on top of Mom's china cabinet all those years ... silent ... disfigured. The clock works were no longer even secured to the inside of the clock, 

but sat loose behind the little door in back.

I was rather sad when I saw the clock in a pile of things that Mom was throwing out. It showed she had given up on it ever being properly repaired. I decided to rescue it and bring it home with me.  I didn't tell Mom, and I just set it on my own bookshelf for a few more years as a little curio.

After Mom passed away and I started this blog, I decided to make something out of the clock, and brought it off the shelf and set it on the kitchen counter to have a better look at it and clean it up.

I took out the clock works and set them on the counter.  There's something old-world about clock works.  The cogs, the wheels, the springs and winders.  So complex yet all married together to mark the minutes in a carefully engineered way.  A bygone treasure.

As I was admiring the clock works, I suddenly had a strange sensation that there was a presence behind me.  I got a slightly shivery feeling across my shoulders that I was being watched ... I was not alone. Instantly I felt that behind me were Grandma and Mom, but I didn't put any more into it than that, and I didn't turn to look behind me.  And then, without warning, the clock works all started to move!  All the little cogs and wheels began to whir and spin, and I looked at it closer, quite fascinated.

It made barely a whisper as it came to life. It was beautiful with every little shiny golden wheel spinning all through the works. I watched as the springs gradually unwound on either side.  It was quite surreal as we three watched (for I'm sure two others watched with me ... perhaps with a shared smile).  It took a few minutes for the clock works to finally wind down and again be still and silent.

There was a small "key" that could be turned to wind up the clock, and although I wound the key gently, it wouldn't work again.  Once the clock wound down, I no longer had a feeling that anyone else was with me.  But I'm sure I had company moments before.  I've never felt that sensation again. It wasn't a scary thing, but a comforting thing, for I loved both of those women dearly.  Sadly, the cogs haven't spun since.

And if you were wondering what it was I wanted to do with the clock ...

I thought the clock looked very much like a little home with it's intriguing curved back door.  I had a tiny stuffed mouse that once belonged to my infant son.  I removed the clock works, and the clock has now become a secret house for a tiny mouse.

It still sits on my bookshelf, but only my son and I know what's actually inside it ;)

So there you go.  My one and only "ghost" story.  Jane has invited everyone to share and join in the fun.  If you want to read more, pop over to Plain Jane and see what other's have been saying.

Thanks for stopping by!

Wendy