I'm so happy to be part of this Blog Hop. Who doesn't enjoy being a little bit frightened by ghostly tales of ghosts, vampires and things of the night? A huge thanks to Nancy Gideon for organising this blog tour.Leave a comment and follow this blog (if you're already following that's fine, just leave a comment) and I will draw one winner at the end of the 'hop' to win a $6 Amazon Gift Card(Or £5 if in the UK)
I thought I'd share with you some of the myths and legends of home homeland, Wales. Wales is a land legends and folklore, and has its fair share of ghosts. Here are just a few tales of hauntings from various pars of the Principality.
THE GHOST OF LLANDEGLA
It
not is not known why Ffrith farm was troubled by a ghost, but when the
servants were busily engaged in cheese making the Spirit would suddenly
throw earth or sand into the milk, and thus spoil the curds. The
dairy was also visited by the ghost, and there he played havoc with the
milk and dishes. He sent the pans, one after the other, around the
room, and dashed them to pieces. The terrible doings of the ghost was a
topic of general conversation in those parts.
The
farmer offered a reward of five pounds to anyone who would lay the
Spirit. One Sunday afternoon, an aged priest visited the farm yard,
and in the presence of a crowd of spectators
exorcised the ghost, but without effect.
The farmer then sent for Griffiths, an Independent minister at Llanarmon, who enticed the ghost to
the barn. The ghost then changed its appearance to the form of a lion, but could not touch Griffiths, because he stood in the centre of a circle, over which the lion could not pass. Griffiths tricked the ghost into appearing in a less formidable shape, and it changed into a mastiff, but Griffiths demanded that it change to something smaller. At last, the ghost appeared as a fly, which was captured by Griffiths and secured in his tobacco box, This box he buried under a large stone in the river, just below the bridge, near the Llandegla Mills, and there the Spirit is forced to remain until a certain tree, which grows by the bridge, reaches the height of the parapet. When this takes place, the Spirit shall have power to regain his liberty. To prevent this tree from growing, the school children, even to this day, nip the upper branches to limit its upward growth.
exorcised the ghost, but without effect.
The farmer then sent for Griffiths, an Independent minister at Llanarmon, who enticed the ghost to
the barn. The ghost then changed its appearance to the form of a lion, but could not touch Griffiths, because he stood in the centre of a circle, over which the lion could not pass. Griffiths tricked the ghost into appearing in a less formidable shape, and it changed into a mastiff, but Griffiths demanded that it change to something smaller. At last, the ghost appeared as a fly, which was captured by Griffiths and secured in his tobacco box, This box he buried under a large stone in the river, just below the bridge, near the Llandegla Mills, and there the Spirit is forced to remain until a certain tree, which grows by the bridge, reaches the height of the parapet. When this takes place, the Spirit shall have power to regain his liberty. To prevent this tree from growing, the school children, even to this day, nip the upper branches to limit its upward growth.
There
is a picturesque glen between Corwen and Cerrig-y-Drudion, down which
rushes a mountain stream, and over this stream is a bridge, called
Pont-y-Glyn. On the left hand side, a few yards from the bridge, on
the Corwen side, is a yawning chasm, through which the river bounds.
Here people who have travelled by night affirm that they have seen
ghosts—the ghosts of those who have been murdered in this secluded
glen. A man who was a servant at Garth Meilio, said that one night, when
he was returning home late from Corwen, he saw before him, seated on a
heap of stones, a female dressed in Welsh costume. He wished her good
night, but she returned him no answer. She, got up and grew to
gigantic proportions as she continued down the road which she filled,
so great were her increased dimensions. Other Spirits are said to have
made their homes in the hills not far from Pont-y-Glyn.
THE GHOST OF TY FELIN
An
exciseman, overtaken by night, went to a house called Ty Felin,
(Yellow House) in the parish of Llanynys, and asked for lodgings.
Unfortunately the house was a very small one, containing only two
bedrooms, and one of these was haunted; consequently no one dared sleep
in it. After a while, however, the stranger induced the master to
allow him to sleep in this haunted room. He had not been there long
before a ghost entered the room in the shape of a travelling Jew and
walked around the room. The exciseman tried to catch him and gave chase, but he lost sight of the Jew in the yard. He had scarcely entered the room, a second time, when he again saw the ghost. He chased him once more and lost sight of him in the same place. The third time he followed the ghost, he made a mark on the yard where the ghost vanished and went to rest, and was not disturbed again.
The next day, the exciseman got up early and went away, but, before long, he returned to Ty Felin accompanied by a policeman, whom he requested to dig in the place where his mark was. This was done and underneath a superficial covering, a deep well was discovered, and in it a corpse.
Under interrogation, the tenant of the house, confessed that a travelling Jew, selling jewelry and such items, once lodged with him, and that he had murdered him and cast his body in the well.
BLACK DOGS AND ARTHUR'S SEAT
In Welsh mythology and folklore, Cŵn Annwn" hounds
of Annwn") were the spectral hounds of Annwn, the otherworld of Welsh
myth. They were associated with a form of the Wild Hunt, presided over
by Gwynn ap Nudd. Christians came to dub these mythical creatures as
"The Hounds of Hell" or "Dogs of Hell" and theorised they were
therefore owned by Satan. However, the Annwn of medieval Welsh
tradition is an otherworldly paradise and not a hell, or abode of dead
souls.They were associated with migrating geese, supposedly because their honking in the night is reminiscent of barking dogs
The Cŵn Annwn also came to be regarded as the escorts of souls on their journey to the Otherworld.
The
hounds are sometimes accompanied by a fearsome hag called Mallt-y-Nos,
"Matilda of the Night". An alternative name in Welsh folklore is Cŵn
Mamau ("Hounds of the Mothers").Hunting grounds for the Cŵn Annwn are said to include the mountain of Cadair Idris, where it is believed "the howling of these huge dogs foretold death to anyone who heard them.The locals claim that the mountain is haunted, and that anyone who spends the night on top of Cadair Idris will wake up either a madman or a poet. Different legends surround the mountain and one of the earliest claims that the giant Idris lived there. Three large stones rest at the foot of the mountain, and legend says that Idris got angry once and kicked them, sending them rolling down the mountainside.
Other Welsh legends state, however, that King Arthur made his kingdom there, hence the name Cadair Idris: or the Seat of Idris.(Arthur)
Pwll-y-Wrach, the Witches Pool.
There
is a pool hidden from the road among a copse on the top of Flint
Mountain, in Flint North Wales. The pool is so small that travellers
from Flint to Northop would not give it a second glance. But this was
not always so. In days gone by Flint Mountain was a bare and desolate
place and the pool was known as Pwll-y-Wrach, the Hag's Pool or the
Witches Pool, the place where the ellyllon (as the Welsh call goblins)
would congregate, and thus a place where humans would stay well clear
of, especially after dark.In 1852 John Roberts a farm labourer paid an unexpected visit to Pwll-y-Wrach. It was a cold winter's morning and John was setting out to work when he found a youth blocking his path. With a harmless gesture he made to pass the youth but all of a sudden a force propelled him through the air. He landed face down above Pwll-y-Wrach, and the force held him there despite John's best efforts to free himself. He struggled for what seemed a lifetime, but in fact was just a few short minutes, until at the sound of a cock crow he was released. The ellyll, still disguised as a youth, stood astride him and warned. " When the cuckoo sings its first note on Flint Mountain I shall come again to fetch you". John got to his feet and stumbled back home, shaken but otherwise unhurt.
The following May, John Roberts died. He had been repairing a wall at Pen-y-glyn on Flint Mountain when it collapsed and crushed him. A lady who witnessed the accident said a cuckoo had come to land on a nearby tree just as it happened. And as the body of John Roberts was being returned to his home the cuckoo followed, singing from tree to tree all the way to the front door.
And since I am looking forward to the release of 'Beloved Enemy', the third in the Destiny Trilogy, I thought I'd be indulgent and share an excerpt from my the first book in the trilogy, 'Starquest', which I think has a really 'spooky' feel to it, although it's SF romance rather than witches or vampires! My
heroine is stranded on an uninhabited planet with her companion who has
been badly wounded. She keeps guard during the night, watching over him
and trying to tend to his wounds, but has a feeling they are not alone. Then tiny, dancing pinpoints of light appear...
EXCERPT FROM STARQUEST
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After a while I decided it was just marsh gas, but as I watched I became aware that the 'flames' were orderly. They moved in groups of threes and fours, gliding in straight lines and then circling to retrace their steps in what seemed to be a methodical fashion, as no Will o' the Wisp ever did. I began to feel I was in the presence of something malevolent...evil. Then I heard the voices. Strange, unearthly voices, which had nothing to do with flesh and blood.
"Take the male," they hissed, "while he yet lives. Before the life-force within him dies and is of no use to us."
"Wait. The female is stronger," came another voice. "Stay until she sleeps. Then will be our chance, and we can take them both."
I reached for my blaster, by now fully charged, and fired a steady beam in the direction of the 'flames.' When I laid down the gun there was nothing, only the darkness. Had the voices been in my imagination, or was it a dream? But I knew I had not slept. Trying to recall the experience, as I record this, I realise they did not speak in words at all. Yet I had understood... I've always loved the night, the beauty of the darkened, star-filled skies. Here, however, on this forsaken and perilous planet, it is menacing, with the sense of something lurking, lying in wait.
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