#hauntedhouse — Public Fediverse posts

My childhood brushes with ghost lore

Despite writing about supernatural folklore, I rarely think about my childhood brushes with ghostly stories. I thought I might rectify that here—by reflecting on two examples of ghost lore I was exposed to in my youth.

Before I begin, I should point out that children’s folklore is just as vital and dynamic a phenomenon as its adult equivalent. Children’s Folklore: A Source Book (1999) is one example of a text that documents the folkloric creativity of children (as opposed to their passive receptivity). The book shows that wherever children come together, they form what folklorists call “folk groups.” The only criteria for the existence of such a group is that “two or more people. . . share something in common—language, occupation, religion, residence”; that they “share ‘traditions'”; and that they have the opportunity to meet face to face.

The Grey Lady

I’ll start with my childhood experience of belonging to a large “folk group” at my prep school, Tockington Manor, in South Gloucestershire. Every child in the school belonged to this folk group, because everyone, at some point, learned about the Grey Lady who haunted the manor’s halls. The boarders at the school were terrified of this lady: they said she wandered the manor at night—the spirit of a nurse who’d fallen from a skylight when the building served as a hospital during the First World War. I don’t remember much about this nighttime revenant, but she’s clearly a variant of a folkloric figure found at boarding schools everywhere: the Grey, White, Black, or Brown Lady.

In my school, older students, already initiated into the ghostly mystery, passed on stories about the drab-colored lady to the younger children, who did the same for the incoming class. I can only assume that telling stories about the Grey Lady allowed us to share anxieties in a fixed, personified form, which helped us adapt to unfamiliar surroundings. It also mythologized the building’s space, especially for boarders—those who couldn’t leave. Separated from their family homes, they created bonds and associations through the emotions that ghost stories evoke.

The story of the Grey Lady may have been one of the most memorable aspects of our folk group. But one story doesn’t create a culture. We also played games like marbles and conkers and had a shared language (words like cave—Latin for “beware”—were used to signal that a teacher was coming). Sometimes we sneaked out of school to gather in an old stone quarry, a place now dense with ivy-covered trees. The aura of this place—which we called simply “Quarry”—will forever remind me of the childhood capacity to create mythological worlds in spaces dominated by adults.

The Yellow Lady

Another example of supernatural storytelling from my childhood occurred during a trip to a Catholic boys’ camp in the summer of 1991. There too the sharing of ghostly legends created belonging among the boys. Despite sharing a tent with my brother, a cousin, and members of my cousin’s family, I felt unsettled in my new surroundings, and I remember how powerfully the nighttime telling of ghost stories allowed us to bond through fear. 

The only story I remember clearly (because it terrified me) was inspired by a local landmark. Visible from the camp was a house that glowed an eerie yellow at night. The sight of this building alone would be enough to inspire a haunted house tale. But in our case, the color became detached from the building, and we gave it to a supernatural figure who roamed the grounds at night. Apparently, a mysterious revenant called the Yellow Lady haunted that house, and she visited the meadow where we slept. Pricking up her disturbingly large ears to listen for wakeful boys, the Yellow Lady prowled the rows of tents, determined to steal a child. 

Although I remember thinking at the time that the Yellow Lady must have been a ghost, she differs in one important way from the Grey Lady mentioned earlier. While the latter was merely a scary presence that never interacted with students, the Yellow Lady was relational, embodying the discipline of the adult world (“no talking after lights out”). Her eerie color and super-sensory abilities—a result of her inhumanly large ears—suggest that she was a kind of supernatural bogeywoman, perhaps even close to a fairy.

The extreme effectiveness of this Yellow Lady legend meant that all of us had trouble sleeping that night. The next day we rushed to mass, hoping to find protection in proximity to a sacred ritual. The impulse was in keeping with much ghost lore, where holy symbols ward off supernatural threats.

Interestingly, while researching “Yellow Lady” stories (to see how commonplace they are), I came across a blog post in which the writer talks about a Yellow Lady story he learned at a camp run by monks. He then turns the tale into a literary short story—an embellishment, perhaps, of a fragmentary tale like mine. It seems to me that the writer’s camp may even have been the one I attended. Either that or the Yellow Lady haunts a number of such camps.

Haunted houses and witch houses

Besides my encounters with the Grey and Yellow Ladies, the only other ghost lore I can remember from my childhood are stories about haunted houses. These were always abandoned homes in the neighborhood, their shattered windows revealing darkness inside, the absence of family life. Repeating things we’d heard or inventing stories on the spot, we called these houses “haunted” or the former resort of “witches”—words that described the rupture in our sense of what a family home should look like. One of these houses sat at the corner of Charborough Road and Dunkeld Avenue in Filton, Bristol (I can still picture its dilapidated state). Another was on a road branching off from Charborough Road: they said that if you looked into its broken, upstairs window, you might see a witch looking back. (The latter is a vague memory that may even have been my own thought.)

Considering all this lore, it seems to me that ghosts fill the gaps where social meaning decays, whether through separation from home, abandonment of a home, or maladjustment in a place that’s not yet fully home. When I consider these crucial functions, I understand why empirical approaches to ghostly “phenomena” bore me: they arguably fail to understand ghosts at all.

Read about more ghost lore here.

My childhood brushes with ghost lore

Despite writing about supernatural folklore, I rarely think about my childhood brushes with ghostly stories. I thought I might rectify that here—by reflecting on two examples of ghost lore I was exposed to in my youth.

Before I begin, I should point out that children’s folklore is just as vital and dynamic a phenomenon as its adult equivalent. Children’s Folklore: A Source Book (1999) is one example of a text that documents the folkloric creativity of children (as opposed to their passive receptivity). The book shows that wherever children come together, they form what folklorists call “folk groups.” The only criteria for the existence of such a group is that “two or more people. . . share something in common—language, occupation, religion, residence”; that they “share ‘traditions'”; and that they have the opportunity to meet face to face.

The Grey Lady

I’ll start with my childhood experience of belonging to a large “folk group” at my prep school, Tockington Manor, in South Gloucestershire. Every child in the school belonged to this folk group, because everyone, at some point, learned about the Grey Lady who haunted the manor’s halls. The boarders at the school were terrified of this lady: they said she wandered the manor at night—the spirit of a nurse who’d fallen from a skylight when the building served as a hospital during the First World War. I don’t remember much about this nighttime revenant, but she’s clearly a variant of a folkloric figure found at boarding schools everywhere: the Grey, White, Black, or Brown Lady.

In my school, older students, already initiated into the ghostly mystery, passed on stories about the drab-colored lady to the younger children, who did the same for the incoming class. I can only assume that telling stories about the Grey Lady allowed us to share anxieties in a fixed, personified form, which helped us adapt to unfamiliar surroundings. It also mythologized the building’s space, especially for boarders—those who couldn’t leave. Separated from their family homes, they created bonds and associations through the emotions that ghost stories evoke.

The story of the Grey Lady may have been one of the most memorable aspects of our folk group. But one story doesn’t create a culture. We also played games like marbles and conkers and had a shared language (words like cave—Latin for “beware”—were used to signal that a teacher was coming). Sometimes we sneaked out of school to gather in an old stone quarry, a place now dense with ivy-covered trees. The aura of this place—which we called simply “Quarry”—will forever remind me of the childhood capacity to create mythological worlds in spaces dominated by adults.

The Yellow Lady

The second example of supernatural storytelling from my childhood occurred during a trip to a Catholic boys’ camp in the summer of 1991. There too the sharing of ghostly legends created belonging among the boys. Despite sharing a tent with my brother, a cousin, and members of my cousin’s family, I felt unsettled in my new surroundings, and I remember how powerfully the nighttime telling of ghost stories allowed us to bond through fear. 

The only story I remember clearly (because it terrified me) was inspired by a local landmark. Visible from the camp was a house that glowed an eerie yellow at night. The sight of this building alone would be enough to inspire a haunted house tale. But in our case, the color became detached from the building, and we gave it to a supernatural figure who roamed the grounds at night. Apparently, a mysterious revenant called the Yellow Lady haunted that house, and she visited the meadow where we slept. Pricking up her disturbingly large ears to listen for wakeful boys, the Yellow Lady prowled the rows of tents, determined to steal a child. 

Although I remember thinking at the time that the Yellow Lady must have been a ghost, she differs in one important way from the Grey Lady mentioned earlier. While the latter was merely a scary presence that never interacted with students, the Yellow Lady was relational, embodying the discipline of the adult world (“no talking after lights out”). Her eerie color and super-sensory abilities—a result of her inhumanly large ears—suggest that she was a kind of supernatural bogeywoman, perhaps even close to a fairy.

The extreme effectiveness of this Yellow Lady legend meant that all of us had trouble sleeping that night. The next day we rushed to mass, hoping to find protection in proximity to a sacred ritual. The impulse was in keeping with much ghost lore, where holy symbols ward off supernatural threats.

Interestingly, while researching “Yellow Lady” stories (to see how commonplace they are), I came across a blog post in which the writer talks about a Yellow Lady story he learned at a camp run by monks. He then turns the tale into a literary short story—an embellishment, perhaps, of a fragmentary tale like mine. It seems to me that the writer’s camp may even have been the one I attended. Either that or the Yellow Lady haunts a number of such camps.

Haunted houses and witch houses

Besides my encounters with the Grey and Yellow Ladies, the only other ghost lore I can remember from my childhood are stories about haunted houses. These were always abandoned homes in the neighborhood, their shattered windows revealing darkness inside, the absence of family life. Repeating things we’d heard or inventing stories on the spot, we called these houses “haunted” or the former resort of “witches”—words that described the rupture in our sense of what a home should look like. One of these houses sat at the corner of Charborough Road and Dunkeld Avenue in Filton, Bristol (I can still picture its dilapidated state). Another was on a road branching off from Charborough Road: they said that if you looked into its broken, upstairs window, you might see a witch looking back. (The latter is a vague memory that may even have been my own thought.)

Considering all this lore, it seems to me that ghosts fill the gaps where social meaning decays, whether through separation from home, abandonment of a home, or maladjustment in a place that’s not yet fully home. When I consider these crucial functions, I understand why empirical approaches to ghostly “phenomena” bore me: they arguably fail to understand ghosts at all.

Read about more ghost lore here.

My childhood brushes with ghost lore

Despite writing about supernatural folklore, I rarely think about my childhood brushes with ghostly stories. I thought I might rectify that here—by reflecting on two examples of ghost lore I was exposed to in my youth.

Before I begin, I should point out that children’s folklore is just as vital and dynamic a phenomenon as its adult equivalent. Children’s Folklore: A Source Book (1999) is one example of a text that documents the folkloric creativity of children (as opposed to their passive receptivity). The book shows that wherever children come together, they form what folklorists call “folk groups.” The only criteria for the existence of such a group is that “two or more people. . . share something in common—language, occupation, religion, residence”; that they “share ‘traditions'”; and that they have the opportunity to meet face to face.

The Grey Lady

I’ll start with my childhood experience of belonging to a large “folk group” at my prep school, Tockington Manor, in South Gloucestershire. Every child in the school belonged to this folk group, because everyone, at some point, learned about the Grey Lady who haunted the manor’s halls. The boarders at the school were terrified of this lady: they said she wandered the manor at night—the spirit of a nurse who’d fallen from a skylight when the building served as a hospital during the First World War. I don’t remember much about this nighttime revenant, but she’s clearly a variant of a folkloric figure found at boarding schools everywhere: the Grey, White, Black, or Brown Lady.

In my school, older students, already initiated into the ghostly mystery, passed on stories about the drab-colored lady to the younger children, who did the same for the incoming class. I can only assume that telling stories about the Grey Lady allowed us to share anxieties in a fixed, personified form, which helped us adapt to unfamiliar surroundings. It also mythologized the building’s space, especially for boarders—those who couldn’t leave. Separated from their family homes, they created bonds and associations through the emotions that ghost stories evoke.

The story of the Grey Lady may have been one of the most memorable aspects of our folk group. But one story doesn’t create a culture. We also played games like marbles and conkers and had a shared language (words like cave—Latin for “beware”—were used to signal that a teacher was coming). Sometimes we sneaked out of school to gather in an old stone quarry, a place now dense with ivy-covered trees. The aura of this place—which we called simply “Quarry”—will forever remind me of the childhood capacity to create mythological worlds in spaces dominated by adults.

The Yellow Lady

The second example of supernatural storytelling from my childhood occurred during a trip to a Catholic boys’ camp in the summer of 1991. There too the sharing of ghostly legends created belonging among the boys. Despite sharing a tent with my brother, a cousin, and members of my cousin’s family, I felt unsettled in my new surroundings, and I remember how powerfully the nighttime telling of ghost stories allowed us to bond through fear. 

The only story I remember clearly (because it terrified me) was inspired by a local landmark. Visible from the camp was a house that glowed an eerie yellow at night. The sight of this building alone would be enough to inspire a haunted house tale. But in our case, the color became detached from the building, and we gave it to a supernatural figure who roamed the grounds at night. Apparently, a mysterious revenant called the Yellow Lady haunted that house, and she visited the meadow where we slept. Pricking up her disturbingly large ears to listen for wakeful boys, the Yellow Lady prowled the rows of tents, determined to steal a child. 

Although I remember thinking at the time that the Yellow Lady must have been a ghost, she differs in one important way from the Grey Lady mentioned earlier. While the latter was merely a scary presence that never interacted with students, the Yellow Lady was relational, embodying the discipline of the adult world (“no talking after lights out”). Her eerie color and super-sensory abilities—a result of her inhumanly large ears—suggest that she was a kind of supernatural bogeywoman, perhaps even close to a fairy.

The extreme effectiveness of this Yellow Lady legend meant that all of us had trouble sleeping that night. The next day we rushed to mass, hoping to find protection in proximity to a sacred ritual. The impulse was in keeping with much ghost lore, where holy symbols ward off supernatural threats.

Interestingly, while researching “Yellow Lady” stories (to see how commonplace they are), I came across a blog post in which the writer talks about a Yellow Lady story he learned at a camp run by monks. He then turns the tale into a literary short story—an embellishment, perhaps, of a fragmentary tale like mine. It seems to me that the writer’s camp may even have been the one I attended. Either that or the Yellow Lady haunts a number of such camps.

Haunted houses and witch houses

Besides my encounters with the Grey and Yellow Ladies, the only other ghost lore I can remember from my childhood are stories about haunted houses. These were always abandoned homes in the neighborhood, their shattered windows revealing darkness inside, the absence of family life. Repeating things we’d heard or inventing stories on the spot, we called these houses “haunted” or the former resort of “witches”—words that described the rupture in our sense of what a home should look like. One of these houses sat at the corner of Charborough Road and Dunkeld Avenue in Filton, Bristol (I can still picture its dilapidated state). Another was on a road branching off from Charborough Road: they said that if you looked into its broken, upstairs window, you might see a witch looking back. (The latter is a vague memory that may even have been my own thought.)

Considering all this lore, it seems to me that ghosts fill the gaps where social meaning decays, whether through separation from home, abandonment of a home, or maladjustment in a place that’s not yet fully home. When I consider these crucial functions, I understand why empirical approaches to ghostly “phenomena” bore me: they arguably fail to understand ghosts at all.

Read about more ghost lore here.

My childhood brushes with ghost lore

Despite writing about supernatural folklore, I rarely think about my childhood brushes with ghostly stories. I thought I might rectify that here—by reflecting on two examples of ghost lore I was exposed to in my youth.

Before I begin, I should point out that children’s folklore is just as vital and dynamic a phenomenon as its adult equivalent. Children’s Folklore: A Source Book (1999) is one example of a text that documents the folkloric creativity of children (as opposed to their passive receptivity). The book shows that wherever children come together, they form what folklorists call “folk groups.” The only criteria for the existence of such a group is that “two or more people. . . share something in common—language, occupation, religion, residence”; that they “share ‘traditions'”; and that they have the opportunity to meet face to face.

The Grey Lady

I’ll start with my childhood experience of belonging to a large “folk group” at my prep school, Tockington Manor, in South Gloucestershire. Every child in the school belonged to this folk group, because everyone, at some point, learned about the Grey Lady who haunted the manor’s halls. The boarders at the school were terrified of this lady: they said she wandered the manor at night—the spirit of a nurse who’d fallen from a skylight when the building served as a hospital during the First World War. I don’t remember much about this nighttime revenant, but she’s clearly a variant of a folkloric figure found at boarding schools everywhere: the Grey, White, Black, or Brown Lady.

In my school, older students, already initiated into the ghostly mystery, passed on stories about the drab-colored lady to the younger children, who did the same for the incoming class. I can only assume that telling stories about the Grey Lady allowed us to share anxieties in a fixed, personified form, which helped us adapt to unfamiliar surroundings. It also mythologized the building’s space, especially for boarders—those who couldn’t leave. Separated from their family homes, they created bonds and associations through the emotions that ghost stories evoke.

The story of the Grey Lady may have been one of the most memorable aspects of our folk group. But one story doesn’t create a culture. We also played games like marbles and conkers and had a shared language (words like cave—Latin for “beware”—were used to signal that a teacher was coming). Sometimes we sneaked out of school to gather in an old stone quarry, a place now dense with ivy-covered trees. The aura of this place—which we called simply “Quarry”—will forever remind me of the childhood capacity to create mythological worlds in spaces dominated by adults.

The Yellow Lady

Another example of supernatural storytelling from my childhood occurred during a trip to a Catholic boys’ camp in the summer of 1991. There too the sharing of ghostly legends created belonging among the boys. Despite sharing a tent with my brother, a cousin, and members of my cousin’s family, I felt unsettled in my new surroundings, and I remember how powerfully the nighttime telling of ghost stories allowed us to bond through fear. 

The only story I remember clearly (because it terrified me) was inspired by a local landmark. Visible from the camp was a house that glowed an eerie yellow at night. The sight of this building alone would be enough to inspire a haunted house tale. But in our case, the color became detached from the building, and we gave it to a supernatural figure who roamed the grounds at night. Apparently, a mysterious revenant called the Yellow Lady haunted that house, and she visited the meadow where we slept. Pricking up her disturbingly large ears to listen for wakeful boys, the Yellow Lady prowled the rows of tents, determined to steal a child. 

Although I remember thinking at the time that the Yellow Lady must have been a ghost, she differs in one important way from the Grey Lady mentioned earlier. While the latter was merely a scary presence that never interacted with students, the Yellow Lady was relational, embodying the discipline of the adult world (“no talking after lights out”). Her eerie color and super-sensory abilities—a result of her inhumanly large ears—suggest that she was a kind of supernatural bogeywoman, perhaps even close to a fairy.

The extreme effectiveness of this Yellow Lady legend meant that all of us had trouble sleeping that night. The next day we rushed to mass, hoping to find protection in proximity to a sacred ritual. The impulse was in keeping with much ghost lore, where holy symbols ward off supernatural threats.

Interestingly, while researching “Yellow Lady” stories (to see how commonplace they are), I came across a blog post in which the writer talks about a Yellow Lady story he learned at a camp run by monks. He then turns the tale into a literary short story—an embellishment, perhaps, of a fragmentary tale like mine. It seems to me that the writer’s camp may even have been the one I attended. Either that or the Yellow Lady haunts a number of such camps.

Haunted houses and witch houses

Besides my encounters with the Grey and Yellow Ladies, the only other ghost lore I can remember from my childhood are stories about haunted houses. These were always abandoned homes in the neighborhood, their shattered windows revealing darkness inside, the absence of family life. Repeating things we’d heard or inventing stories on the spot, we called these houses “haunted” or the former resort of “witches”—words that described the rupture in our sense of what a family home should look like. One of these houses sat at the corner of Charborough Road and Dunkeld Avenue in Filton, Bristol (I can still picture its dilapidated state). Another was on a road branching off from Charborough Road: they said that if you looked into its broken, upstairs window, you might see a witch looking back. (The latter is a vague memory that may even have been my own thought.)

Considering all this lore, it seems to me that ghosts fill the gaps where social meaning decays, whether through separation from home, abandonment of a home, or maladjustment in a place that’s not yet fully home. When I consider these crucial functions, I understand why empirical approaches to ghostly “phenomena” bore me: they arguably fail to understand ghosts at all.

Read about more ghost lore here.

My childhood brushes with ghost lore

Despite writing about supernatural folklore, I rarely think about my childhood brushes with ghostly stories. I thought I might rectify that here—by reflecting on two examples of ghost lore I was exposed to in my youth.

Before I begin, I should point out that children’s folklore is just as vital and dynamic a phenomenon as its adult equivalent. Children’s Folklore: A Source Book (1999) is one example of a text that documents the folkloric creativity of children (as opposed to their passive receptivity). The book shows that wherever children come together, they form what folklorists call “folk groups.” The only criteria for the existence of such a group is that “two or more people. . . share something in common—language, occupation, religion, residence”; that they “share ‘traditions'”; and that they have the opportunity to meet face to face.

The Grey Lady

I’ll start with my childhood experience of belonging to a large “folk group” at my prep school, Tockington Manor, in South Gloucestershire. Every child in the school belonged to this folk group, because everyone, at some point, learned about the Grey Lady who haunted the manor’s halls. The boarders at the school were terrified of this lady: they said she wandered the manor at night—the spirit of a nurse who’d fallen from a skylight when the building served as a hospital during the First World War. I don’t remember much about this nighttime revenant, but she’s clearly a variant of a folkloric figure found at boarding schools everywhere: the Grey, White, Black, or Brown Lady.

In my school, older students, already initiated into the ghostly mystery, passed on stories about the drab-colored lady to the younger children, who did the same for the incoming class. I can only assume that telling stories about the Grey Lady allowed us to share anxieties in a fixed, personified form, which helped us adapt to unfamiliar surroundings. It also mythologized the building’s space, especially for boarders—those who couldn’t leave. Separated from their family homes, they created bonds and associations through the emotions that ghost stories evoke.

The story of the Grey Lady may have been one of the most memorable aspects of our folk group. But one story doesn’t create a culture. We also played games like marbles and conkers and had a shared language (words like cave—Latin for “beware”—were used to signal that a teacher was coming). Sometimes we sneaked out of school to gather in an old stone quarry, a place now dense with ivy-covered trees. The aura of this place—which we called simply “Quarry”—will forever remind me of the childhood capacity to create mythological worlds in spaces dominated by adults.

The Yellow Lady

The second example of supernatural storytelling from my childhood occurred during a trip to a Catholic boys’ camp in the summer of 1991. There too the sharing of ghostly legends created belonging among the boys. Despite sharing a tent with my brother, a cousin, and members of my cousin’s family, I felt unsettled in my new surroundings, and I remember how powerfully the nighttime telling of ghost stories allowed us to bond through fear. 

The only story I remember clearly (because it terrified me) was inspired by a local landmark. Visible from the camp was a house that glowed an eerie yellow at night. The sight of this building alone would be enough to inspire a haunted house tale. But in our case, the color became detached from the building, and we gave it to a supernatural figure who roamed the grounds at night. Apparently, a mysterious revenant called the Yellow Lady haunted that house, and she visited the meadow where we slept. Pricking up her disturbingly large ears to listen for wakeful boys, the Yellow Lady prowled the rows of tents, determined to steal a child. 

Although I remember thinking at the time that the Yellow Lady must have been a ghost, she differs in one important way from the Grey Lady mentioned earlier. While the latter was merely a scary presence that never interacted with students, the Yellow Lady was relational, embodying the discipline of the adult world (“no talking after lights out”). Her eerie color and super-sensory abilities—a result of her inhumanly large ears—suggest that she was a kind of supernatural bogeywoman, perhaps even close to a fairy.

The extreme effectiveness of this Yellow Lady legend meant that all of us had trouble sleeping that night. The next day we rushed to mass, hoping to find protection in proximity to a sacred ritual. The impulse was in keeping with much ghost lore, where holy symbols ward off supernatural threats.

Interestingly, while researching “Yellow Lady” stories (to see how commonplace they are), I came across a blog post in which the writer talks about a Yellow Lady story he learned at a camp run by monks. He then turns the tale into a literary short story—an embellishment, perhaps, of a fragmentary tale like mine. It seems to me that the writer’s camp may even have been the one I attended. Either that or the Yellow Lady haunts a number of such camps.

Haunted houses and witch houses

Besides my encounters with the Grey and Yellow Ladies, the only other ghost lore I can remember from my childhood are stories about haunted houses. These were always abandoned homes in the neighborhood, their shattered windows revealing darkness inside, the absence of family life. Repeating things we’d heard or inventing stories on the spot, we called these houses “haunted” or the former resort of “witches”—words that described the rupture in our sense of what a home should look like. One of these houses sat at the corner of Charborough Road and Dunkeld Avenue in Filton, Bristol (I can still picture its dilapidated state). Another was on a road branching off from Charborough Road: they said that if you looked into its broken, upstairs window, you might see a witch looking back. (The latter is a vague memory that may even have been my own thought.)

Considering all this lore, it seems to me that ghosts fill the gaps where social meaning decays, whether through separation from home, abandonment of a home, or maladjustment in a place that’s not yet fully home. When I consider these crucial functions, I understand why empirical approaches to ghostly “phenomena” bore me: they arguably fail to understand ghosts at all.

Read about more ghost lore here.

Today the ghosts are playing hide and seek with my socks. #HauntedHouse

Today the ghosts are playing hide and seek with my socks. #HauntedHouse

Today the ghosts are playing hide and seek with my socks. #HauntedHouse

Today the ghosts are playing hide and seek with my socks. #HauntedHouse

Today the ghosts are playing hide and seek with my socks. #HauntedHouse

Discusses the connection between haunted houses and environmental factors, particularly mold. It suggests that toxic mold, commonly found in older buildings, can produce mycotoxins that lead to hallucinations and feelings of dread. #mold #hauntedhouse https://connectparanormal.net/2026/04/13/why-haunted-houses-may-be-full-of-mold-the-science-explained/

Discusses the connection between haunted houses and environmental factors, particularly mold. It suggests that toxic mold, commonly found in older buildings, can produce mycotoxins that lead to hallucinations and feelings of dread. #mold #hauntedhouse https://connectparanormal.net/2026/04/13/why-haunted-houses-may-be-full-of-mold-the-science-explained/

Discusses the connection between haunted houses and environmental factors, particularly mold. It suggests that toxic mold, commonly found in older buildings, can produce mycotoxins that lead to hallucinations and feelings of dread. #mold #hauntedhouse https://connectparanormal.net/2026/04/13/why-haunted-houses-may-be-full-of-mold-the-science-explained/

Book Review: The Haunted: One Family’s Nightmare by Robert Curran

Hi everyone! I hope you’re all well. Today is Friday, and it’s time for another review. Today I’m sharing my review of Robert Curran’s The Haunted One Family’s Nightmare.

The Haunted: One Family’s Nightmare was published in 1988 by St. Martin’s Press and is 275 pages long.

What It’s About
The book recounts the alleged ‘true’ account of one of the more infamous hauntings in the United States, taking place in West Pittston, Pennsylvania, in a 92-year-old duplex inhabited by the Smurl family.

Strange noises, apparitions, physical attacks, and demonic manifestations become part of the family’s daily life. Eventually, paranormal investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren are called in to investigate the phenomena.

Characters
Jack and Janet Smurl
Jack is the husband/father, Janet the wife/mother. They are portrayed as ordinary, well-meaning, devout Catholics, whose faith becomes both their anchor and their source of vulnerability. They are the ones under direct and indirect attack by the various supernatural phenomena.

The children
The couple’s children also experience the strange occurrences, although to a lesser extent than their parents.

Jack’s Parents
Jack’s parents live next door and also experience some of the phenomena, which at first causes a little tension between the two households.

Ed & Lorraine Warren
Ed and Lorraine Warren are well-known paranormal ‘investigators’, who, in this book, are sought out by the family. They arrive at the Smurls’ home and begin an investigation, trying to help them make sense of what is happening.

Writing Style
Curran adopts a journalistic style while documenting the Smurls’ supposed haunting, using interviews and recorded testimonies to flesh out their story.

The plot is not strictly linear. There are many digressions, including backstories, neighbourhood accounts, third-party witnesses, and religious discussions, which make the narrative feel a bit episodic. This isn’t a bad thing; it’s just not what I was expecting.

I wanted to read this book because the film The Conjuring: Last Rites, which is based on this case, was recently released, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. I thought the book would be just as atmospheric and spooky—but it wasn’t.

I’ve mentioned before that while I don’t believe in the paranormal, I do enjoy reading books and watching documentaries on the subject because I appreciate a good spine tingle. However, there was little to no atmospheric buildup in the book, which is, I’ve found, such an essential part of these ‘true’ accounts.

Speaking of which, the book lacks any real credibility; the author doesn’t question the fact that these strange events happened to the family, nor does he offer any alternative explanations, either natural or psychological, which is frustrating for a sceptic like me.

Something I did enjoy was the relatively short chapters, which often switched between the Smurls’ own experiences and outside witnesses, preventing the book from becoming wholly boring.

Final Thoughts
Overall, The Haunted: One Family’s Nightmare is worthwhile if you like “paranormal true story” books or are interested in the Warrens or their famous cases.

However, if you come expecting a polished horror narrative, full of literary flair or tight storytelling, you will feel disappointed. My advice would be to read this one as though it were a novel, and ultimately suspend your disbelief.

I am giving this one a 2/10.

Have you read The Haunted? What did you think? Are you a believer? Let me know!

Thank you, as ever, for reading my review.

Until next time,

George

© 2026 GLT

Book Review: The Haunted: One Family’s Nightmare by Robert Curran

Hi everyone! I hope you’re all well. Today is Friday, and it’s time for another review. Today I’m sharing my review of Robert Curran’s The Haunted One Family’s Nightmare.

The Haunted: One Family’s Nightmare was published in 1988 by St. Martin’s Press and is 275 pages long.

What It’s About
The book recounts the alleged ‘true’ account of one of the more infamous hauntings in the United States, taking place in West Pittston, Pennsylvania, in a 92-year-old duplex inhabited by the Smurl family.

Strange noises, apparitions, physical attacks, and demonic manifestations become part of the family’s daily life. Eventually, paranormal investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren are called in to investigate the phenomena.

Characters
Jack and Janet Smurl
Jack is the husband/father, Janet the wife/mother. They are portrayed as ordinary, well-meaning, devout Catholics, whose faith becomes both their anchor and their source of vulnerability. They are the ones under direct and indirect attack by the various supernatural phenomena.

The children
The couple’s children also experience the strange occurrences, although to a lesser extent than their parents.

Jack’s Parents
Jack’s parents live next door and also experience some of the phenomena, which at first causes a little tension between the two households.

Ed & Lorraine Warren
Ed and Lorraine Warren are well-known paranormal ‘investigators’, who, in this book, are sought out by the family. They arrive at the Smurls’ home and begin an investigation, trying to help them make sense of what is happening.

Writing Style
Curran adopts a journalistic style while documenting the Smurls’ supposed haunting, using interviews and recorded testimonies to flesh out their story.

The plot is not strictly linear. There are many digressions, including backstories, neighbourhood accounts, third-party witnesses, and religious discussions, which make the narrative feel a bit episodic. This isn’t a bad thing; it’s just not what I was expecting.

I wanted to read this book because the film The Conjuring: Last Rites, which is based on this case, was recently released, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. I thought the book would be just as atmospheric and spooky—but it wasn’t.

I’ve mentioned before that while I don’t believe in the paranormal, I do enjoy reading books and watching documentaries on the subject because I appreciate a good spine tingle. However, there was little to no atmospheric buildup in the book, which is, I’ve found, such an essential part of these ‘true’ accounts.

Speaking of which, the book lacks any real credibility; the author doesn’t question the fact that these strange events happened to the family, nor does he offer any alternative explanations, either natural or psychological, which is frustrating for a sceptic like me.

Something I did enjoy was the relatively short chapters, which often switched between the Smurls’ own experiences and outside witnesses, preventing the book from becoming wholly boring.

Final Thoughts
Overall, The Haunted: One Family’s Nightmare is worthwhile if you like “paranormal true story” books or are interested in the Warrens or their famous cases.

However, if you come expecting a polished horror narrative, full of literary flair or tight storytelling, you will feel disappointed. My advice would be to read this one as though it were a novel, and ultimately suspend your disbelief.

I am giving this one a 2/10.

Have you read The Haunted? What did you think? Are you a believer? Let me know!

Thank you, as ever, for reading my review.

Until next time,

George

© 2026 GLT

Book Review: The Haunted: One Family’s Nightmare by Robert Curran

Hi everyone! I hope you’re all well. Today is Friday, and it’s time for another review. Today I’m sharing my review of Robert Curran’s The Haunted One Family’s Nightmare.

The Haunted: One Family’s Nightmare was published in 1988 by St. Martin’s Press and is 275 pages long.

What It’s About
The book recounts the alleged ‘true’ account of one of the more infamous hauntings in the United States, taking place in West Pittston, Pennsylvania, in a 92-year-old duplex inhabited by the Smurl family.

Strange noises, apparitions, physical attacks, and demonic manifestations become part of the family’s daily life. Eventually, paranormal investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren are called in to investigate the phenomena.

Characters
Jack and Janet Smurl
Jack is the husband/father, Janet the wife/mother. They are portrayed as ordinary, well-meaning, devout Catholics, whose faith becomes both their anchor and their source of vulnerability. They are the ones under direct and indirect attack by the various supernatural phenomena.

The children
The couple’s children also experience the strange occurrences, although to a lesser extent than their parents.

Jack’s Parents
Jack’s parents live next door and also experience some of the phenomena, which at first causes a little tension between the two households.

Ed & Lorraine Warren
Ed and Lorraine Warren are well-known paranormal ‘investigators’, who, in this book, are sought out by the family. They arrive at the Smurls’ home and begin an investigation, trying to help them make sense of what is happening.

Writing Style
Curran adopts a journalistic style while documenting the Smurls’ supposed haunting, using interviews and recorded testimonies to flesh out their story.

The plot is not strictly linear. There are many digressions, including backstories, neighbourhood accounts, third-party witnesses, and religious discussions, which make the narrative feel a bit episodic. This isn’t a bad thing; it’s just not what I was expecting.

I wanted to read this book because the film The Conjuring: Last Rites, which is based on this case, was recently released, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. I thought the book would be just as atmospheric and spooky—but it wasn’t.

I’ve mentioned before that while I don’t believe in the paranormal, I do enjoy reading books and watching documentaries on the subject because I appreciate a good spine tingle. However, there was little to no atmospheric buildup in the book, which is, I’ve found, such an essential part of these ‘true’ accounts.

Speaking of which, the book lacks any real credibility; the author doesn’t question the fact that these strange events happened to the family, nor does he offer any alternative explanations, either natural or psychological, which is frustrating for a sceptic like me.

Something I did enjoy was the relatively short chapters, which often switched between the Smurls’ own experiences and outside witnesses, preventing the book from becoming wholly boring.

Final Thoughts
Overall, The Haunted: One Family’s Nightmare is worthwhile if you like “paranormal true story” books or are interested in the Warrens or their famous cases.

However, if you come expecting a polished horror narrative, full of literary flair or tight storytelling, you will feel disappointed. My advice would be to read this one as though it were a novel, and ultimately suspend your disbelief.

I am giving this one a 2/10.

Have you read The Haunted? What did you think? Are you a believer? Let me know!

Thank you, as ever, for reading my review.

Until next time,

George

© 2026 GLT

Book Review: The Haunted: One Family’s Nightmare by Robert Curran

Hi everyone! I hope you’re all well. Today is Friday, and it’s time for another review. Today I’m sharing my review of Robert Curran’s The Haunted One Family’s Nightmare.

The Haunted: One Family’s Nightmare was published in 1988 by St. Martin’s Press and is 275 pages long.

What It’s About
The book recounts the alleged ‘true’ account of one of the more infamous hauntings in the United States, taking place in West Pittston, Pennsylvania, in a 92-year-old duplex inhabited by the Smurl family.

Strange noises, apparitions, physical attacks, and demonic manifestations become part of the family’s daily life. Eventually, paranormal investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren are called in to investigate the phenomena.

Characters
Jack and Janet Smurl
Jack is the husband/father, Janet the wife/mother. They are portrayed as ordinary, well-meaning, devout Catholics, whose faith becomes both their anchor and their source of vulnerability. They are the ones under direct and indirect attack by the various supernatural phenomena.

The children
The couple’s children also experience the strange occurrences, although to a lesser extent than their parents.

Jack’s Parents
Jack’s parents live next door and also experience some of the phenomena, which at first causes a little tension between the two households.

Ed & Lorraine Warren
Ed and Lorraine Warren are well-known paranormal ‘investigators’, who, in this book, are sought out by the family. They arrive at the Smurls’ home and begin an investigation, trying to help them make sense of what is happening.

Writing Style
Curran adopts a journalistic style while documenting the Smurls’ supposed haunting, using interviews and recorded testimonies to flesh out their story.

The plot is not strictly linear. There are many digressions, including backstories, neighbourhood accounts, third-party witnesses, and religious discussions, which make the narrative feel a bit episodic. This isn’t a bad thing; it’s just not what I was expecting.

I wanted to read this book because the film The Conjuring: Last Rites, which is based on this case, was recently released, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. I thought the book would be just as atmospheric and spooky—but it wasn’t.

I’ve mentioned before that while I don’t believe in the paranormal, I do enjoy reading books and watching documentaries on the subject because I appreciate a good spine tingle. However, there was little to no atmospheric buildup in the book, which is, I’ve found, such an essential part of these ‘true’ accounts.

Speaking of which, the book lacks any real credibility; the author doesn’t question the fact that these strange events happened to the family, nor does he offer any alternative explanations, either natural or psychological, which is frustrating for a sceptic like me.

Something I did enjoy was the relatively short chapters, which often switched between the Smurls’ own experiences and outside witnesses, preventing the book from becoming wholly boring.

Final Thoughts
Overall, The Haunted: One Family’s Nightmare is worthwhile if you like “paranormal true story” books or are interested in the Warrens or their famous cases.

However, if you come expecting a polished horror narrative, full of literary flair or tight storytelling, you will feel disappointed. My advice would be to read this one as though it were a novel, and ultimately suspend your disbelief.

I am giving this one a 2/10.

Have you read The Haunted? What did you think? Are you a believer? Let me know!

Thank you, as ever, for reading my review.

Until next time,

George

© 2026 GLT

Book Review: The Haunted: One Family’s Nightmare by Robert Curran

Hi everyone! I hope you’re all well. Today is Friday, and it’s time for another review. Today I’m sharing my review of Robert Curran’s The Haunted One Family’s Nightmare.

The Haunted: One Family’s Nightmare was published in 1988 by St. Martin’s Press and is 275 pages long.

What It’s About
The book recounts the alleged ‘true’ account of one of the more infamous hauntings in the United States, taking place in West Pittston, Pennsylvania, in a 92-year-old duplex inhabited by the Smurl family.

Strange noises, apparitions, physical attacks, and demonic manifestations become part of the family’s daily life. Eventually, paranormal investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren are called in to investigate the phenomena.

Characters
Jack and Janet Smurl
Jack is the husband/father, Janet the wife/mother. They are portrayed as ordinary, well-meaning, devout Catholics, whose faith becomes both their anchor and their source of vulnerability. They are the ones under direct and indirect attack by the various supernatural phenomena.

The children
The couple’s children also experience the strange occurrences, although to a lesser extent than their parents.

Jack’s Parents
Jack’s parents live next door and also experience some of the phenomena, which at first causes a little tension between the two households.

Ed & Lorraine Warren
Ed and Lorraine Warren are well-known paranormal ‘investigators’, who, in this book, are sought out by the family. They arrive at the Smurls’ home and begin an investigation, trying to help them make sense of what is happening.

Writing Style
Curran adopts a journalistic style while documenting the Smurls’ supposed haunting, using interviews and recorded testimonies to flesh out their story.

The plot is not strictly linear. There are many digressions, including backstories, neighbourhood accounts, third-party witnesses, and religious discussions, which make the narrative feel a bit episodic. This isn’t a bad thing; it’s just not what I was expecting.

I wanted to read this book because the film The Conjuring: Last Rites, which is based on this case, was recently released, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. I thought the book would be just as atmospheric and spooky—but it wasn’t.

I’ve mentioned before that while I don’t believe in the paranormal, I do enjoy reading books and watching documentaries on the subject because I appreciate a good spine tingle. However, there was little to no atmospheric buildup in the book, which is, I’ve found, such an essential part of these ‘true’ accounts.

Speaking of which, the book lacks any real credibility; the author doesn’t question the fact that these strange events happened to the family, nor does he offer any alternative explanations, either natural or psychological, which is frustrating for a sceptic like me.

Something I did enjoy was the relatively short chapters, which often switched between the Smurls’ own experiences and outside witnesses, preventing the book from becoming wholly boring.

Final Thoughts
Overall, The Haunted: One Family’s Nightmare is worthwhile if you like “paranormal true story” books or are interested in the Warrens or their famous cases.

However, if you come expecting a polished horror narrative, full of literary flair or tight storytelling, you will feel disappointed. My advice would be to read this one as though it were a novel, and ultimately suspend your disbelief.

I am giving this one a 2/10.

Have you read The Haunted? What did you think? Are you a believer? Let me know!

Thank you, as ever, for reading my review.

Until next time,

George

© 2026 GLT

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got a ghost in my house, he was gone ~3-4 years but he was heavily active during the pandemic playing little snippets of horns or trumpets... I *thought* he left but...

past couple weeks he's been playing w/ the back porch lights & during the thunderstorm last night he went nuts turning it back on whenever i turned it off

SIGH

how do you guys handle this???

i realize there are many ghosts in the NOLA area who never really go away but... it's annoying!

#paranormal #ghost #HauntedHouse

got a ghost in my house, he was gone ~3-4 years but he was heavily active during the pandemic playing little snippets of horns or trumpets... I *thought* he left but...

past couple weeks he's been playing w/ the back porch lights & during the thunderstorm last night he went nuts turning it back on whenever i turned it off

SIGH

how do you guys handle this???

i realize there are many ghosts in the NOLA area who never really go away but... it's annoying!

#paranormal #ghost #HauntedHouse

got a ghost in my house, he was gone ~3-4 years but he was heavily active during the pandemic playing little snippets of horns or trumpets... I *thought* he left but...

past couple weeks he's been playing w/ the back porch lights & during the thunderstorm last night he went nuts turning it back on whenever i turned it off

SIGH

how do you guys handle this???

i realize there are many ghosts in the NOLA area who never really go away but... it's annoying!

#paranormal #ghost #HauntedHouse

got a ghost in my house, he was gone ~3-4 years but he was heavily active during the pandemic playing little snippets of horns or trumpets... I *thought* he left but...

past couple weeks he's been playing w/ the back porch lights & during the thunderstorm last night he went nuts turning it back on whenever i turned it off

SIGH

how do you guys handle this???

i realize there are many ghosts in the NOLA area who never really go away but... it's annoying!

#paranormal #ghost #HauntedHouse

got a ghost in my house, he was gone ~3-4 years but he was heavily active during the pandemic playing little snippets of horns or trumpets... I *thought* he left but...

past couple weeks he's been playing w/ the back porch lights & during the thunderstorm last night he went nuts turning it back on whenever i turned it off

SIGH

how do you guys handle this???

i realize there are many ghosts in the NOLA area who never really go away but... it's annoying!

#paranormal #ghost #HauntedHouse

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NEW EPISODE: Jim has REALLY been enjoying the work of Stephen Graham Jones this year. Here's his next read from the post 2020 works, The Babysitter Lives. See why this one might be worth your time! #SFF #horror #hauntedhouse #StephenGrahamJones @sgj.bsky.social https://youtu.be/sOc96b9EqIg

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NEW EPISODE: Jim has REALLY been enjoying the work of Stephen Graham Jones this year. Here's his next read from the post 2020 works, The Babysitter Lives. See why this one might be worth your time! #SFF #horror #hauntedhouse #StephenGrahamJones @sgj.bsky.social https://youtu.be/sOc96b9EqIg

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