Fortean Times: It Happened to Me vol.1 Page 10

  Chris Kershaw, by email, 2007

  I can see you!

  SEEING A PIXIE?

  At about 3.30 on a late autumn day, my wife and I were out walking the dog near Stourport on Severn. As the light was fading, we decided to take a shortcut home along a disused rail track, overgrown with silver birch. Suddenly my wife looked to her left and said “S--t, what the hell was that!?” I caught a glimpse of an upright two-legged creature about 3-4ft (90-120cm) tall running across the path about 12ft (3.3m) away and disappearing into the trees. It had the appearance of a child, but its head was too large for its body. It moved as fast as a cat running at speed.

  I had an overwhelming urge to get as far away as possible, a feeling that I wasn’t supposed to bear witness to what I had seen. I legged it, calling to my wife, “Just keep running!” The sketch of the creature below is an accurate image burned into my memory.

  Amos, Stourport on Severn, Hereford and Worcester 1998

  THE MINIGOLFERS

  One evening during May 1994, I was walking home from Askham Bog nature reserve, across Pike Hills golf course, near York. The sun was still shining behind me, so visibility was reasonably good. My attention was drawn to some figures roughly 100 yards (90m) ahead of me, apparently putting a ball around on an otherwise deserted golf course. There were five or six very small figures, which I presumed to be children, quite engrossed in their game. When I was about 50 yards (45m) away, they appeared to become aware of me and I could see that they were not children but very small adults, about 4ft (1m) tall. At this moment one of them appeared to prepare to strike the ball hard in my direction. I ducked behind a nearby tree for a few seconds. When I looked again, the green and fairway were empty. They couldn’t have run away in so short a time and my search of the nearby area revealed no sign of them.

  J Bardet, by email, 2002

  CUPBOARD DANCERS

  One night when I was about nine, I was lying in bed with the lights off, wide awake with my bedroom door open and the landing light shining directly on to my bedroom built-in wardrobes. The landing light had a solid glass, translucent, non-patterned shade. A movement on the top cupboard of the right wardrobe caught my eye and when I looked I saw the shadows of four very thin, small people dancing. They were like stick men but one of them had a bushy hair-do. I was fascinated, not scared, and thought it was funny. I must have watched for about 10 minutes as they did what looked like dances from the 1950s. Then curiosity got the better of me, so I got out of bed and had a look out my bedroom door to see what was going on. The landing didn’t have any windows as it was a terraced house; it was just walls, the stair banister and the light and there was nothing out there which could explain the shadows. When I looked back at the cupboard the dancers had gone and I never saw them again, but it did seem as though they had had a good time on my cupboard.

  SW, Sydney, Australia, 2003

  PICCADILLY ELF

  I saw an ‘elf’ in broad daylight and in a crowded, public place. He was of average height and looked solid and physical enough; he certainly didn’t have to be coaxed out of the twilight by the exercise of night vision.

  It was in September 2000 and I was on a First Aid training course in Bolton. A small number of us were determined to make the most of a week’s break from the nine-to-five and we were enjoying ourselves. On the Thursday, however, I started to realise that, for me, something other than ordinary high spirits had started to prevail. I began to experience the kind of manic euphoria that in the past had acted as a precursor to odd events. I managed to keep a lid on things during the day, but the optimistic, immensely expansive frame of mind reasserted itself during the journey home. It persisted as I changed trains at Manchester Piccadilly and boarded one bound for Stockport.

  As I sat idly gazing out of the window, a train pulled in on the opposite platform, and three young men got off. They were dressed in the usual student attire, and were in no way remarkable, except that, as I suddenly realised, one of them had pointed ears. This was an absolute certainty: the ears were far larger than normal, their tops slanting upward and backward to an unmistakable point.

  Although accustomed to having the occasional odd experience, I still doubted the evidence of my senses. I glanced surreptitiously at the woman facing me, who was also looking in their direction, but saw no reaction on her part. It was the evening rush hour and the platform was crowded, but the sight failed to evince any kind of response from passers-by.

  I then wondered if it could be a practical joke of some kind; but if it was, there was none of the smirking or nudging you might have expected from the lads themselves. They seemed to be deep in conversation, oblivious of anyone around them. The only feeling I had about them was that they had travelled a long way and still had a long way to go.

  The event had all the hallmarks of strangeness, incongruity and apparent inconsequentiality that I have come to associate with experiences of this kind. There is never any explanation: to label them may satisfy our need to account for anomalies and dispose of them tidily, but achieves little apart from providing a bogus sense of security.

  However, it has made me wonder why it is that elves, fairies, goblins, aliens, etc are so frequently depicted with pointed ears. According to the writer Stan Gooch, the original ‘Little People’ were our Neanderthal ancestors (or cousins). He suggests that these earlier, ‘alternative’ humans were mostly nocturnal; their large (and, Gooch argues, possibly pointed) ears a natural adaptation to the environment. A template still much in use - witness its recent reappearance in the Ring Trilogy - may thus represent the vestigial memory of an ancient physical type. The ‘nature spirit’ explanation fails to answer the question of why certain physical elvish characteristics should persist in this way. Presumably, purely spiritual creatures wouldn’t need ears at all - not even to listen to the bagpipes.

  Doreen Greenwood, Stockport, Greater Manchester, 2004

  FLYING BARBIE

  As we drove home after visiting my in-laws in Hannastown, Greensburg, Pennsylvania, one day in the summer of 1998, something flew in front of our van. It was dark, after 9pm, and I was using the high beams so I could see any deer if they tried to cross the road. A few bugs could be seen heading toward the headlights of our mini van, then my wife and I saw what appeared to be a Barbie doll with insect wings. We had a good look at it for two to three seconds before it disappeared in front of the van. We were travelling about 50 mph (80km/h) so there was not much we could do but wait for the thud of it hitting the grill - but the sound never came. I pulled over and checked the grill, but found nothing. I looked at my wife and joked, “I think we just ran over Tinkerbell”.

  I have seen many a locust in my time and I don’t believe this was one; neither do I think it was a grasshopper. It had florescent wings that were oddly coloured. It was maybe just smaller than a Barbie. I have two girls so I know what a Barbie looks like.

  Martin Garcia, by email, 2000

  Down the line

  For the layman, technological advances can be indistinguishable from magic - and indeed the telephone network sometimes appears to have a life of its own, connecting us to those whom we need to speak to or playing strange tricks on us. What’s more, we can see no reason why poltergeists and the whole fiendish crew of a parallel universe can’t make use of our mundane technology...

  Freaky phone calls

  NO WIFE, NO FIRE

  One day in the year 2000, I was alone in my New York apartment with my cat Polly when the telephone rang. An unfamiliar voice told me that “my wife” had just called to report that there was a “fire in my oven”. I told the “doorman” that I had no wife and there was no fire in my oven. (Spookily, however, there had been a fire in my electric oven a week previously.)

  Shortly after he hung up, there was a knock at my door. It was two white men in their thirties. They were in plain clothes and didn’t offer any identification. They said they were from building security, even though I knew that all building security guards
wear uniform. One of the men was very calm as he told me that “my wife” had called in to report a fire in my oven. I explained once again that I had no wife and no fire in my oven. The other man seemed to be in a violent rage and told the calm man that he was “going in”, no matter what. His rage was very frightening.

  Suddenly, Polly jumped up on a chair in plain view of the doorway. As soon as the calm one saw the cat, he grabbed the angry one by the shoulder and pulled him away. There was no question that seeing my cat had some sort of effect on the calm one. A few moments later, an authentic building security guard, with uniform and badge, appeared at my door, once again saying that “my wife” had called to report “the fire” in my oven. I denied both wife and fire, he shrugged his shoulders and left.

  Who were these two men, one so relaxed, the other so furious? What was it about seeing the cat that caused them to retreat so suddenly? Who was the woman pretending to be my wife?

  Ronald Rosenblatt, New York, 2002

  PARALLEL UNIVERSE

  I live in a converted warehouse in east London with a video entryphone by the front door. The camera has a fixed point of view and shows visitors against a background of the adjacent Victorian warehouse. The tiny TV entryphone unit in my flat hadn’t shown a picture for a while, although the buzzer and intercom were working normally. The system was serviced - at the camera end rather than at my end - and to my amazement when the doorbell rang I could clearly see my visitor on the screen as intended, but against the background of a row of Edwardian terraced houses that I’d never seen before.

  Is someone in that unidentified street seeing our warehouses on their video entry phone? Has a time-space portal been unwittingly opened? Is this a ghost in the machine that throws into doubt the veracity of modern surveillance equipment? I subsequently learnt that a neighbour has had this illogical view on his entryphone for months. The repair company suggests that he has a second-hand monitor with its last view burned into the screen; he says he bought it as a new unit; and of course this doesn’t explain why my monitor has only recently taken to depicting my visitors in a parallel universe (though some of them definitely are). If anyone has unwanted warehouses on their video entryphone maybe they would consider an exchange.

  Alex Brattell, by email, 1995

  IT’S NOT FOR YOU-HOO

  I work for a government body in electronic engineering, specifically concerning equipment like fax machines. In 1989 I was paged over the building public address to go to my office as there was a call waiting. The conversation went as follows:

  “Mr Haines?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s about the order for teleprinter paper you placed at the exhibition.”

  “No I didn’t. I wasn’t there.”

  “That is Mr D.A. Haines, spelt H.A.I.N.E.S.?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, it’s your name on the order.”

  “It can’t be. I don’t deal with teleprinters, only fax machines.”

  “Your telephone number is 708 2399 extension 35?”

  “Yes, that’s my number alright.”

  “And you are Mr Dave Haines?”

  “No, it’s Dale, actually.”

  “Well, it looks like Dave. Anyway that’s what it says here, 10 boxes of paper for British Telecom Stores.”

  “I don’t work for BT, I work for ––– –––.”

  “Oh! It says BT in the order, Birmingham depot.”

  “Where?”

  “Birmingham.”

  “What number did you dial?”

  “021 708 2399 extension 35.”

  “You’ve got 01 708 2399 extension 35. This is south London, not Birmingham. You dropped the 2 from the number.”

  “Oh, sorry. Goodbye.”

  Click, buzz, whirr.

  DA Haines, Bromley, Kent, 1992

  CROSSED LINES

  After my husband, Major General Sir Roy Redgrave, retired, I worked in London as a freelance negotiator with an estate agent in Chelsea. One of my colleagues, Claire Townley, was to marry an Italian/American banker, Jay Runneowitsch, whom she had met in the course of her work.

  One afternoon during the spring of 1985, some time after Claire had left the company, the telephone on my desk rang, and I answered it with the usual “Carlyle and Co. May I help you?” The voice then replied, “Sorry, we seem to have a crossed line. I thought I was receiving an incoming call, but since you are Carlyle and Co, may I speak to Lady Redgrave?” It was Jay Runneowitsch. He then explained to me that the telephone had, in fact, rung on his desk, that he had not made an outgoing call and had picked it up only to hear my voice.

  While he and I were chatting and remarking on how unusual it must be to get a crossed line with someone one knew and what a coincidence it was, I noticed a Range Rover pulling up outside the office. “Hang on a moment,” I said to Jay, as in walked none other than Claire, whom I had not seen for several months. She was absolutely stunned to be told that her husband-to-be was on the line. What had happened, Claire Townley explained, was that driving along the Fulham Road she had had a sudden urge to visit her former office and decided then and there to drop in, on the spur of the moment.

  Valerie Redgrave, London, 2001

  A few years ago, I answered the telephone to a shy voice saying, “It’s Sue here. Could I speak to Chris?” I was pleased, because my brother Chris had mentioned recently meeting a delightful girl called Sue. I called him to the phone. A merry conversation ensued, during the course of which it dawned on them both that this Sue was a stranger who had rung the wrong number trying to contact a different Chris. However, they got on so well that one thing led to another, and now they are married. That other Sue and Chris are gratefully remembered for the catalytic part they played in this story.

  Mrs M Carroll, Stopham, West Sussex, 2001

  PHONE HOME

  Earlier this year I paid a visit to Amsterdam with a friend. My mobile phone wouldn’t work over there, but my friend’s phone did, albeit infrequently. Late on the night that we arrived there, my friend’s phone rang but stopped ringing before he could answer it. Checking the unanswered calls facility revealed that the number that had just rung was that of my flat. I live on my own and the only people apart from me who have keys for the flat would have had no way of knowing my friend’s number. Amsterdam is an environment rather conducive to paranoia at the best of times but I’d bet I was by far the most paranoid person there that night.

  Alun Cureton, Telford, Shropshire, 2001

  Distress calls

  HOME ALONE

  In 1991 I was 19 and studying at art college in Ireland. With the help of my college I obtained a temporary work visa for the US and travelled to California to look for work. I lived with a college mate who had made the journey with me and I enjoyed nothing more than the rare times that I had the house to myself. One evening at around seven o’clock I was in the house alone when the phone rang. The caller appeared to be a little girl in distress. She told me that her mummy was gone and that she was at home alone. There was something about what she said that made me suspicious (I think it was something about my location but I can’t remember what exactly). Though it really sounded like a child, I thought that it could also be a woman doing an excellent impression of a child. Not wanting to take the chance that it wasn’t a child left alone, I instructed her not to leave the house and that if her mummy didn’t return by the time it got dark, then she was to telephone the police and tell them where she was. After making sure that she understood my instructions but still a little suspicious, I said goodbye and hung up. It was a strange experience - if it wasn’t a child, why would someone do that? And if it was a scam, what was the payoff?

  I thought nothing more of the incident until back in Ireland about a year and a half later I was walking along with my best friend who had travelled to Canada the summer after I had been in the States. I told him about my weird phone call, which prompted him to tell me about a weird phone call he had received whilst livin
g in Vancouver during the summer of 1992. Alone in the house he was living in, he took a call from a little girl whose mummy had left her in the house alone. He thought there was something suspicious about her due to something she said (he couldn’t remember either). He thought that she could be an adult doing an impression of a child, but gave her pretty much the same advice that I had given a year previously and hung up.

  If this is an example of some sort of Munchausen’s syndrome or telephone scam then my friend and I are the only people I know who have experienced it, a year apart and in separate countries. People have suggested that it was a wind-up by a friend. I’m sure with a little effort, friends back home could have obtained our numbers in the States and Canada - but if it was a joke it wasn’t particularly funny and no one has come forward to claim responsibility. Perhaps it was part of some larger scale fraud or medical condition that I am unaware of.

  Francis Lowe, Nottingham, 2004

  THE LITTLE VOICE

  In 1996 I was living in Highgate, London, and spending long periods alone immersed in writing. Late one weekday afternoon I received a phone call from a little girl who said she was alone and didn’t know where her mummy was. Like Francis Lowe, I listened closely for signs that an adult was making the call as I talked to her for at least five minutes, but I never really thought that she could have been more than five years old. By the end of the conversation I think the girl had become quite calm. At no time was she ever in great distress; she was scared but not hysterical. I asked her name but cannot recall her answer; I also asked where she lived, to which she gave a ‘don’t know’-type response. It was as if the conversation could not move forward beyond the premise of ‘I’m alone, I’m scared’. I did ask her if she wanted me to call the police, but again this led nowhere.