Catherine Cavendish visits Me!

I’m super excited to say I’ve got the fantastic Catherine Cavendish on my site today. Thanks so much, Cat!

There Are More Things In Heaven and Earth…

Thank you Dianne, for allowing me to guest on your blog today. It’s great to be here.

As a writer of (mainly) paranormal fiction, I have long held a fascination for the inexplicable and have heard many a strange tale over the years. What follows is an episode from my misspent youth and I present it as it happened:

            Sitting around a blazing fire one winter’s evening in 1976, six of us workmates, all young women, were persuaded—no doubt courtesy of a few glasses of Litre Vin—to share the strangest experiences each of us had ever had.

            One by one, we trotted out tales of times we had correctly predicted what another person was going to say before they said it; objects which had apparently zapped themselves into the Twilight Zone never to be seen again; and I seem to recall, I told of  the time I was sure I had seen someone standing on the stairs, only to find there was no one there.

            Then it was Sandra’s turn. She was a quiet girl. In her early twenties like the rest of us, but more studious and inclined to be shy. At first she was reluctant, but there was something in her eyes that made me certain something quite momentous had happened to her, if only we could persuade her to share.

            Jill opened another bottle of wine and poured her a glass, filling it pretty much to the brim.

            Sandra took a deep swig and shook her head vigorously. “You’ll all think I’m mad,” she said.

            Now I was certain. This was going to be the best of the night. “Oh, please tell us, San,” I said with, I’m sure, my most imploring expression.

            The minutes ticked by until, worn down by our constant insistence, Sandra set her empty glass down on the table, took a deep breath and began.

            What follows is my best recollection of what she shared with us that night:

            “I was eleven years old,” she began, “staying with my cousin inLiverpoolduring the school summer holidays. They lived in a big Georgian houses near the Cathedral. All the streets around there had these old streetlamps and it was really atmospheric.  At night it was quiet and my bedroom overlooked the road.

            “This one night, it was stiflingly hot and I had my window open to let in some air. I lay there, tossing and turning but still couldn’t get off to sleep.

             “Then I heard the sound of some horses trotting along the road. Thinking it was probably police—they  patrolled on horseback around there sometimes in those days—I thought nothing of it and turned over yet again.

            “Then I heard more sounds of a horse’s hooves clip-clopping along the street, then another, and another.

            “Curiosity got the better of me and I pushed the covers off, got up and went over to the window. What I saw then, I’ll never be able to explain and will never forget to my dying day. Furthermore, I swear it’s true and I wasn’t dreaming.”

            You can imagine that, by now, five pairs of eyes were riveted to her and each one of us was sitting on the edge of our seats.

            Sandra looked as if she was about to change her mind and stop right there, but no way would we let her, so she took another deep breath and carried on:

            “I pulled the curtain aside and the first thing I noticed was the streetlamp. It was basically the same lamp but it wasn’t electric as I’d thought. It was one of those old gas lamps, straight from the nineteenth century. I couldn’t think how I’d missed that before. My room was on the second floor so I had a good view of it.

            “But the biggest shock came when I looked down. It was dark and the streetlamps only cast a dim glow, but instead of parked cars and brightly lit house windows, were a couple of hansom cabs, a couple dressed in Victorian clothes walking slowly up the street and, in some of the windows, flickering lights that I guessed came from candles.”

            Gasps and looks of incredulous looks greeted this. Surely, any minute now, she would tell us she was having a laugh at our expense. But no.

            One of us, I think it was Jill, asked her if they had been filming there for some historical drama.Liverpool’s Georgian streets have been used as an authentic backdrop more than once.

            She insisted that there had been no filming. So what had happened next?

            “I stood there, mesmerised, for ages. I don’t know how long but I do remember that it was starting to get light when I crawled back into bed. I fell asleep to the sound of horses’ hooves and woke up to a motorbike revving its engine. I leapt out of bed and rushed to the window. The first thing I checked was the streetlamp and it was, of course, electric. Down in the street were the usual parked cars and people in modern dress going about their business. I never dared tell my cousin because, at that moment, I was firmly convinced they would think I was mad. In fact, you’re the first people I’ve ever told.”

            And, thanks to our sceptical reactions, we were probably the last she told too!

            Poor Sandra. I’ve always felt guilty about how we treated her, insisting she must have been dreaming when she was so adamant she wasn’t. She never again came out with us and got a new job soon after. From then on,  I never saw her again.

            So, was she telling the truth?

            You have to decide for yourself of course but I will never forget the sincerity in her eyes as she told her strange story. Was there some kind of timeslip on that hot July night? And did she ever go back there and experience it again?

Thirty-six years on,  I’ll almost certainly never know.

Catherine Cavendish’s latest paranormal horror novella, ‘The Demons of Cambian Street’ is published by Etopia Press and available from:  Barnes and Noble  Kobo  Sony and other online retailers.

Sometimes evil wears a beautiful face…After her illness, the quiet backwater of Priory St Michael seemed the ideal place for Stella to recuperate. But in the peaceful little town, something evil is slumbering, waiting for its chance to possess what it desires. When Stella and her husband move into the long-empty apartment, they’re unaware of what exists in the cupboard upstairs, the entrance to an evil that will threaten both their lives…

 You can connect with Catherine on her blog: Catherine Cavendish and on

Facebook  Twitter


About diannehartsock

Author of paranormal/suspense, fantasy/adventure, m/m romance and anything else that comes to mind. Oh, and a floral designer.
This entry was posted in book quotes, life, ramblings and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

12 Responses to Catherine Cavendish visits Me!

  1. Elin Gregory says:

    What a terrific story! I’ve always loved those types of tales. Like the one about the chap who ‘saw’ a Roman legion marching knee deep across a pub cellar and so helped them locate the gate of Eboracum. 🙂 Useful things ghostly visitations.

  2. Thanks for stopping by, Cat!

  3. Great story. I hope it’s true ( I mean, what she saw 😉 )

    • Morning, Tris! In cases like this one, I think that a psychic impression was left behind that Sandra was able to pick up on. Of course, that’s only one of many theories!

  4. Thank you for hosting me Dianne. Thanks to everyone for your kind comments. Tris – I have pondered on this many times over the years and, on balance, scary though it must have been, I hope she did too. We really shouldn’t have scoffed so much! Elin – I heard that story too and apparently, they still march through there…

  5. sueroebuck says:

    I believe it! I wonder what would have happened if she’d ventured outside. Did you lose touch with her, Cat? (She’s probably a famous writer of horror nowadays LOL)

  6. Keith says:

    Great story. I just know I’d have run outside in the night, probably spoiling everything but just maybe startling a horse.

  7. Sheila Deeth says:

    Cool story. I wonder if anyone else saw it.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s