Do you believe in ghosts?
I do, but I'm not here to convince you. Belief, be it in ghosts and spirits, religion or faith, is an intensely personal matter. So the stories I'll tell here are my experiences from my own point of view. Make of them what you will.
So where to start? My earliest memories of a spirit would make sense. Since I'm thirty-mumbles incoherently now we're going back almost four decades, so some of my recollections may be a little fuzzy.
I don't remember exactly when I first met Beastie, although I was certainly very young. He was (and is) a small child with dark hair and serious eyes, always barefoot, dressed in a striped t-shirt and jeans. I'd guess he looks about four years old. I remember him being something like an imaginary friend to me. Except I'm pretty sure he wasn't (and isn't) imaginary since I'm not the only person to have seen him.
Growing up I had problems with my hearing. I guess that made me a strange, insular child, happier in the company of animals or just keeping to myself, and the years haven't changed me overly much.
I guess that's why Beastie came to me - we were a couple of loners banding together. There may also be a familial connection; my eldest brother was stillborn and my mother has always taken comfort in the thought that Beastie could be him. I'm also willing to admit that I may have made him up (an imaginary friend in all truth), but if that is the case he soon took on a life of his own. I doubt that I will ever know for certain and I can't say that it bothers me overmuch. Beastie is, and that is enough to satisfy my curiosity.
Unlike most imaginary friends Beastie didn't disappear as I grew older. In fact he was most active when I was in my twenties (shades of Drop Dead Fred, although Beastie was never as obnoxious as Rik Mayall). All my friends knew about Beastie, some of them saw him and practically all of them heard him at one time or another. The noise he makes is quite distinctive; somewhere between the tone of a test-card transmission and feedback from speakers, a high-pitched, unwavering hum. We could track his progress around the room by following that sound. One friend was so unnerved by it that he wouldn't stay in my house on his own!
Most often Beastie would make his presence felt when I was angry or upset. He was coming to my defence. Maybe powerful emotions gave him the strength to manifest? Again, the whyfores don't matter all that much to me. I do know that his company brought me a great deal of comfort.
He brought comfort to others, too.
I worked at Madame Tussauds for several years. It is, in my opinion, one of the most haunted sites in London. Even the hardened skeptics on the crew had some kind of paranormal experience that they couldn't quite rationalise. A few of us collected these stories and were considered 'experts', the one-eyed men in the kingdom of the blind. So when a new lad had a spooky experience he was sent to me.
We'll just call him D. He went on to a career in the police force and might not appreciate it if this tale is traced back to him.
So D had been working in the Planetarium theatre. It was a slow day with less than half the seats filled. D was sat at the front of the auditaurium (about as far from the public as possible, naturally) so he was pretty much alone in the darkness.
Dim light reflected from the domed screen, revealing a young child in the seat beside him. D was certain the boy hadn't been there a moment before and he didn't seem to be accompanied by an adult. All the other seats nearby were empty. When he looked back the child had gone.
Guess who the child was? I described Beastie to D and it had definitely been him; the dark hair, striped shirt, bare feet, those serious eyes (thinking back my daughter had the same solemn mein as a child. Perhaps more evidence to a familial link?). It was all a bit of a shock for D who was something of a skeptic, albeit one with an open mind. This wasn't proof, he told me, but an element of doubt.
A few days later D's grandmother died. I strongly believe that Beastie manifested for D to show that there is more to life than our mortal span, that the spirit lives on. And even if he never saw that visit as proof I think it gave D a glimmer of hope in his time of grief. Or maybe I just have a romantic view of the world and a storyteller's desire for everything to fall neatly into place.
As the years passed I saw less and less of Beastie. I'm married now, have a wider circle of friends, a far cry from the lonely child I was. Oh, Beastie still visits from time to time and I know he visits my parents too. Mother often tells me that she has heard him around the house or that he has hidden her things.
Why call him Beastie? I think it was just a childish nickname for a friend without a name. I have considered calling him Mark, the name my parents would have given their stillborn boybut it doesn't seem right, not without knowing for certain that they are one and the same.
