The Night Death Came Calling

The Hooded Figure Stood in The Doorway

3rd January, 1986

I had just moved back home to my parent’s house, which was a three-bedroom, one-bathroom number, which meant for the seven of us living there, we kids were crammed in. And when I say crammed, I was sleeping on the couch. At the time of my return, I had gotten a job at the same pub my parents used to manage down by the seaside of our town, and I was working multiple shifts.

Having completed the shift that night and home by ten thirty, I walked into the house to find my dad watching the telly and having a coffee. We did the usual small talk, and he carried on watching his show. Next, I went and got myself a coffee in the kitchen and read the morning’s newspaper. When finished, I had a shower and got into my pj’s and got ready to sleep.

By about ten past eleven, my dad got up and said he was off to bed. We said our goodnights, and I proceeded to get my sheets and pillow ready for the couch. I walked over to the front door to turn off the light, walked back to the couch, and got comfortable.
Now our lounge room was tiny, had two sets of windows covered with a bunch of my mothers 1970’s burnt orange, netted curtains. The streetlight across the road shone through those curtains, giving the room a look of a moonlit night. So I would sleep the opposite way towards the wall and hallway opening into the lounge.

Just a rough set out of home on the night. Other furnishings were in the house but I never put them in.

When laying that way, to my right is the tv and on top of that was the video player that had a lovely bright green timer display on it. The time when I was settled was 11:15pm. It was a warm night being January in Australia, so a sheet would do, and I pulled it up so no mosquitoes would bite me. Then, finally, I started to fall asleep.

I woke with a start feeling that something was wrong in the house. Dread. I got up on my elbow and looked around the room, looking to see what was wrong because my heart was pounding. The room, as I said, was lit up by the streetlight but that night, it took on an eerie shadow that was a little darker. I quickly scanned the room to see if everything was ok, but everything looked normal. The video player beamed at me 11:25pm.

As I laid back down, closing my eyes, a warning bell was going off in my head, and it had to do with the room. I kept going over it and everything seemed in its place. And then for some reason the word Mirror popped in my head. My mother had bought this large round mirror from her expedition to an antique store and placed it right in the middle of the hallway. It reflected light into that area from the lounge, and us girls used it for putting on makeup and doing hair, which I had looked into when I came home from work that night.

I had not seen it a minute ago.

Opening my eyes, I was frozen with the most terrifying terror of the form standing before me. I wanted to and tried screaming, but it was like I was being gripped around my throat. Finally, all that came out of my mouth was a gargled whimper.

It was a hooded figure, well over 6 ft tall and slouched in the hallway doorway, its form hitting the top of the frame. I saw no face but only darkness where one would be. I couldn’t stop looking at it, and yet I wanted to look away. I could see the folds of brown material that made up the cowl, the realness to it, only a couple feet away from me. It was like we were locked in a staring contest for ages until it lifted its right hand at me, and that, my friends, is where I lost it.

I broke free of the stranglehold of fear and screamed bloody murder to the house, and my mother yelled out from her bedroom.
“What’s wrong?”
“IT’S come to get me!” I screamed
“Close your eyes and say your prayers.”
My father pipes up with one of his tsk sounds of the annoyance of being woken up.
I closed my eyes, and I said I believe in Jesus Christ over and over and then did a round of the Rosary for extra protection.

I opened my eyes finally and saw the mirror. Jumping up, I ran and turned the light on and left it on. It was on the clock now 11:32pm. I sat on the couch trembling and my heart pounding still. WTF did I just see? Was that death? Did death just come to our home and just point at me? WTF! This was so freaking scary, I could hardly close my eyes when I finally tried to sleep. I was waking up every now and then to see if it was still there waiting for me.

The following day I woke to my father’s grumbles of leaving the bloody light on and how much electricity costs. Walking through the hallway was a bit of yucky feeling, as the fear was still in the pit of my stomach. At breakfast, I needed to talk about what I had seen and do you know what? Everyone laughed and made a joke of me. I told them this was not a dream, but no one listened.

For days and days, I wondered why that thing came to our home. Was it me that was being told I was going to die? I would lay until the late hours contemplating it all, frighten. I had no one to talk to about this and it played on me for so long, making me unable to sleep for a long time afterward without sleeping with a light on.

“Because I could not stop for Death – 

He kindly stopped for me – 

The Carriage held but just Ourselves – 

And Immortality.”

Emily Dickinson

And then Death did come knocking again to collect … two weeks later on the 17th January 1986.

My sixteen-year-old brother drowned after an accident off a bridge, with friends, fishing. My mother’s heart and mental state also died that day and went with my brother.
“It should have been you!” she would scream at me after drinking herself into her oblivion.
“I was ready for you to die! Not my Boy!”

She has never regretted saying those words to me, and though she no longer drinks, she has wasted so much of her life on grief, hostility and agony, with no one else’s feelings ever taken into account that we too lost someone we loved.

Death can make the living as lifeless and as cold as those we bury. Death hit our home and took so much in our minds, in our lives, but for some of us, it didn’t erase our lives, but gave us more understanding of living it.

Yes, Death came to our door and came calling.

Dave Grohl – Storytelling Review

It was that famous joke: What’s the last thing the drummer said before he got kicked out of the band? ‘Hey, I wrote a song.’

Dave Grohl

Since I drive a lot, I have taken to listening to stories in the car. I have just finished listening to…

“Dave Grohl The Storyteller – Tales of Life & Music”.

From start to end, it was Dave & I. His voice was warm, fun, and he spoke like an old mate; no hangups, never spoke like he was more than anyone else.

His narrative on the beginnings of his music history, the people in and out of his life, who he meets on those odysseys, doesn’t set you standing on the sidelines looking in; No, it has you standing there next to him, experiencing the emotions and spirit of what he remembers.

In the book, there were a few times I let a few tears roll when he spoke of personal loss and pain or I felt the anxiety at times he was second guessing himself or felt lost. I laughed when he did the goofy voices and loved the Nurse story when his baby was born and the hilarious one about his mum’s shoe. It had me smiling at times when he would met musicians he worshipped from afar and just how things fell into place for him.

His energy is 🔌 in…always creating, but he is that kind of guy. Never one to sit still for too long, having to keep busy. It shows throughout the book.

Enjoyable to the very end.

Thank You Mr Grohl for the exceptional storytelling.


Personally, it bought back heaps of memories of the music scene during the ’80s and ’90s in Australia. For me, it was doing similar things as kids, climbing trees, listening to a transistor for the latest song on a university radio station, to growing up and trying to find where you fit in. The sounds we craved for under our militant state at the time. I suppose it goes for anywhere in the world that if you are different, you are a target.

And I have to say, at one part, when Dave was speaking of his getting Josh Homme and John Paul Jones together and start a band, I started laughing because I had not heard about Them Crooked Vultures in a donkey’s age. I even had forgotten that THEY were Them Crooked Vultures (age catching up on me), and back in 2009 or 10, I thought it was one of the most excellent collaborations put together. When I listened to that album, I heard bits of Rory Gallagher and can listen to a bit of Led Z too… it’s hard to explain, but it is an album to play at a bar, few drinks, playing pool, good company, a few more drinks and then it’s that time of the night when…

💀My Ghost Adventures

Over the years Hubby and I have come into contact when travelling with some things that I know was paranormal. Not overly scary stuff, but enough to get the heart racing, and keep you awake thinking what did I just experience.

Henry III, Wakefield Tower Fireplace, Tower of London

Fire Place Wakefield Tower

Hubby & I love to visit museums and historical places, and it keeps him out of the pubs. So on a dreary London morning, we took in the sights of the Tower of London. As we were moving through the rooms, we came upon Henry III’s room in which something drew me to the fireplace.

As I was looking at the size of it and the stonework, for some reason, I ducked my head under the mantel to look upwards to see if it was blocked off. As I held onto the mantel, I stuck my head sideways and upwards, and a great big black mist flew down at me. It frightened the poo-poo out of me, so I pulled my head out quickly. The mist came out of the chimney and turned on me, hitting me as I stood there like a swarm of bees. All I felt was icy coldness and near blacked out as it passed through me. I don’t know what it was, except that it was pissed and furious. My hubby and I were the only one’s in the room at the time, but he had walked just ahead of me to the next room, and I squealed and told him what had happened. He gave me that look of “Please don’t mention ghosts” and eyes looking around bugging out a bit. He says he doesn’t believe it, but he has seen some crazy stuff and has told me.

Nothing else happened in the place after that. I think I was too shocked at it hitting me like that.

I was wearing my thongs (flip-flops to the rest of the world), and when I got downstairs, I scrunched my toes in the grass for a bit to ground myself. One of the little ravens kept hopping near me and squeaking at me…maybe to tell me to keep off the grass. Cute wee bugger.

Bagdale Hall, Whitby, UK

Bagdale Hall, Whitby.

We travelled around the UK and had to show the Hubby Whitby, as he had never been here before. Home to the mythology of Dracula, Captain Cook, sailing in the Endeavour, and bloody good fish and chips. I booked into the Bagdale, with the only room left is the four-poster bedroom. Hubby thought the room was lovely, especially with the large fireplace, as Hubby is a carpenter and a carver. His twenty years of carpentry are of the old ways, which is a dying trade now. He studies old furniture or buildings, how created and the craftsmanship placed into the work.

Our Lovely Room at Bagdale Hall

Bagdale Hall is nearly five hundred years old and has a long history and many eras of prominent people owning it. So it has the credence to having residual energy about the place for sure.
Our room was spacious and carpeted throughout, as in the image, with the outside hall also carpeted. So first up, I took photos of the room – Hubby laying on the bed, stained glass windows, then the fireplace. But every in every image of the fireplace, I would get a mist forming in front of it. So I proceeded to wipe the lens of the camera and take another shot. Still, the image in front of the fireplace has the mist. I thought my camera had something wrong with the lens. So I would turn, take another shot around the room to see if the images were clear. I go back to the fireplace, misty. Show Hubby, and he is excited, so he does it. The same thing happens. Then it dawned on him. Could that be a spirit standing there? I said maybe and started walking over and feeling for any cold spots or the feeling of anything different, but there was none. Not dwelling on it too much, we went down for dinner.

Later that night, having pushed the thoughts of the fireplace incident to the back of our minds, we jump into bed, and it’s lights out for us. We may have gotten a couple of hours sleep before Hubby taps me awake and tells me to listen. Waking up, I laid there and listened. It was the sound of someone with boots walking heavily on timber floors – right outside our door. The sound was then of someone stomping down the wooden stairs. Then back up the stairs, and then suddenly, someone or something kicked our door. I know for myself; my heart was in my throat. I looked at my phone and checked the time. It was just after 3 am. Hubby whispered for me to check if someone was out there. I said you do it, but he wouldn’t. So I did. I snuck over to the door and quietly grabbed the handle, and opened it quickly. No one was in the hallway. I closed, and locked the thing and ran back to bed.

Out of the corner of my eye from the doorway, I saw it – A little white light anomaly. It floated through the room, past our bed, to the fireplace and then went down into the floor. Hubby says quietly did I see that? I whispered yep. Hubby turned, wrapped himself around me and stuck his head into my back. “I’m not staying two nights,” he said and went to sleep.