Shadows of a ghost

We found ourselves in the Romanian - Slovakian town of Alesd in the region of Bihor in the Eastern part of Romania. 200 years after the Otommon empire killed off Romanian men, there were meadows and fields, so in 1821 when the empire had significantly weakened, they called on Slovakians and Chech people to come and work and live there in the country. So during the Austro - Hungarian empire, coming to Romania meant a much better life as everything was there for them.

The rain had held off so far, on this warm, but grey Sunday morning in the mountainous region of Bihor, but the smell of rain suggested a downpour was on the way. Catholic Romanian - Slovakian Priests were complete dressed in white robes, adorned with some patches of pink and light blue. 

They were the epitome of sixteenth century Priests still alive in the modern day. Some were huge men, very tall, broad chested and big bellies the mark of good eating and drinking. Other Priests were skinny and completely bold on top in the middle, like Moses' the parting of seas. Our friend and host Priest Peter was dressed in a striking black cloak and always wore an 15th century priests' hat that were worn by Slovakian important religious figures, and it was as black as his cloak, a square cap with three or four peaks and was completed with a small tuft on top. It was called the 'Biretta' - a symbol of priesthood and power.

From time to time, while knowing Peter, he would burst into song and he was as carefree of the darkness of the world as Tom Bombadil from J.R.R Tolkien's Lord of the Rings - content and happy.

Out new friend had gone inside and when he came out he held a wooden chair in his arms and quietly handed it to the young priest who was standing at the far end - Peter didn't forget about a single person. Not one.

People began to gather in the hilly forest behind the little Catholic Church. It overlooked a road and the valley beyond and had cute silver spirals. While families young and old quickly filled the make shift wooden benches in the thin forest, two nuns in traditional black repeatedly hummed a passage from the bible from a microphone speaker.

After the ceremony, the downpour began. Every person either rushed home or ran to safety off the small church, masks and specks of mud flying everywhere in their wake, except for the men in ties and white cotton shirts, who quickly lifted the bigger benches back into the dryness of the chapel. 

When it finally began to subside we rushed to a little house kept by Peter in the middle of an old miners commune in the valley. The house was over 100 years old and felt unkempt without a woman's touch; houses all used by the workers during the 1930s until the industry ran dry and they all left for Hungary or Germany. 

To some this was a desolate place now, but to us it was a sanctuary away from the city for a few hours. We began to enjoy a feast of chicken and peas and rice and drinks and sausages, hams and cheeses and delicious cakes as the wine and coffee flowed. By mid afternoon we were so stuffed we couldn't move and had to rest for a bit while Peter left to tend to something, as he always seemed to do. If ever there was ever a man who lived life to the full, then it was Peter.

As a child I was never encouraged to face my fears.

Peter showed us the place we would stay in that night back down into the valley in the village of Alesd. It was as if a switch was suddenly pushed on. That same feeling I felt as a 12 year old boy, suddenly came back. I don't know why, but I couldn't help stop myself from trembling in my raggedy flat and wet shoes, as if an old deep wound had opened up again. 

As we entered, we could see strange hospital beds positioned in front of a series of thin mahogany book cases from the 1950s, judging by their old fashioned style. The room obviously hadn't seen a broom for years, great swaths of cobwebs and dusty floorboards - while a big stack of firewood lay suspiciously untouched in the centre of the room - and the stuffy air tasted old on the tip of the tongue. 

The book case dominated the room against dirty walls, and was filled to the brim with coffee stained brown aged books with yellowed pages that were given as a donation from Zilina library, city in Slovakia and they were now packed tightly together untidily on the creaking wood shelves.

'Mostly Slovakian' said Jana, peering from a distance through the dusty glass panes, 'from Zilina library given for the Romanian - Slovakian locals who still live here in the village.'

'Aaah Alesd...' I thought 'What a beautiful place...' but as I looked around I didn't want to think about spending one night here in the small village, in this room. Not a minute even. 

The beds had an unpleasant whiff about them. While the high standing bed in the far corner utterly repelled me. I had been forced to charge my laptop over it at the only socket in the room. Such distain had I for this bed, an unspoken repugnance unaccounted for, that I felt great distaste to go anywhere near it. I wouldn't even touch it, let alone sit on it. 

To stay there even a minute longer felt like risking death. There was something ghastly hidden here, unseen, but easily sensed by the sixth sense, as if we were being watched. 

I slunk uneasily down on the only furniture I was willing to go near, the sofa, but I dared not look over my shoulder. It felt like there was a presence there studying us. The corners of the unclean ceiling were stained and dampness exuded from them, while the rest of the walls were covered with portrait images of tiny clowns, who's strange little eyes seemed to follow us around the room as if they had a life force of their own. 

'What a place!' I muttered.

I considered taking all of my most important possessions with me as my girlfriend stood over me, just as uneasy looking, with her raincoat still on and bag tightly slung across her body. 

'Not staying?' I asked sarcastically, looking up to Jana.

'What a sight you look with that background! If only I had my camera!' said Jana laughing, but the laughter seemed hollow and cold and its positive intention quickly stifled out by the damp grey walls. There hadn't been laughter here for a very long time.

We were to join Peter for an evening stroll in half an hour. 

I held my pendant tightly in my hand. It was a gold Quartz stone pendant, hand made, which I had bought using my bit of spare money at the time, and that was a year ago to the day. I had bought it from a travelling stranger named Tim, who claimed he had found the Quartz in Athens, Greece, and had been walking the world for the past 21 years. For a long while we chatted at the foot of the Tor one thundery summer day in Glastonbury. This pendant would protect me now perhaps. Oh how that had felt like such a long time ago now. Did it still possess its power?

'What should we do?' whispered Jana after a long forced silence, 'we can't sleep here!' I also felt a need to talk quietly and responded softly to her. 'Okay. We'll push one of the beds through the door there and into this smaller room by the front door. It's also by the bathroom.' I suggested. 'Okay. Let's try it. It does feel a bit better here.' Jana said, looking doubtful. The dark of night had started to creep in, a bit sooner than expected at the end of August. 'Let's hope it will fit through.'

Without thinking, we leapt into action, but for a ghastly second I feared we wouldn't manage it as the wooden legs of the one normal looking beds scrapped floor and came stuck between the pile of firewood and one of the hospital beds. While Jana struggled to push it through I pulled the other end. In the end we managed, and her womanly strength to fully lift the bed had surprised me. As soon as we were in the other room I rushed back in and collected all my items and shut the door firmly behind me. We were out, at last.

I breathed a deep deep sigh of relief.

Once we were out, I could reflect that the night time was definitely coming earlier with the summer drawing ever nearer to a close, but it was still pleasantly warm outside as we met Priest Peter outside his ancient Catholic Church. 

At the rusty entrance gate to the overgrown garden, we were halted by a small, almost hairless smallish black dog that started to bark at us aggressively from inside. I tried to calm it, but its eyes told me I shouldn't dare. It was adamant it would cast its ear piercing screech for as long as it could see us. We greeted Petr who ignored the beast and he indicated for us to step into his dark green skoda, so that he could take us to the place before night's fall.

At the top of mountain we all stood there overlooking the still country and rolling hills in the growing darkness as thick blankets of mist gathered about the peaks. I closed my eyes and listened to the beautiful harmony of the crickets which sang in fine tune as the land embraced night. Stars shone and few lights shone dully from the remote houses out into the Romanian countryside. Except for the crickets all was silent. 'This is enough.' I murmured to myself, 'God's creation.'

Back at the church we were invited in by Peter who had some more food and coffee ready for us to munch on as we talked deep into the night. But before long Petr bid us farewell. He had a funeral to attend to early the next morning so we wouldn't see him before our long walk to catch the last train back to Cluj Napoca.

Before we got back to the dreaded place a realisation hit me; I'd lost my pendant. After hopelessly looking for it I lay down on the small bed where we huddled together. I lay still and strained my good ear for any noises in the other room. We had kept the light on in the porch outside and all was still. I had given up all hope about my finding my pendant.

Strange gurgling sounds woke us up that seemed to come from deep within the very walls. I checked at the back of the bathroom and realised it was just the boiler we had forgotten to turn off! A while later I couldn't go back to sleep and so I continued to listen. Was there the sound of a small movement from one of the hospital beds? Was there a shadow of something moving in the light outside? My imagination was playing tricks on me...until...then I leapt from the bed and shouted in alarm. A natural reaction. Shock even.

'A man! A man is outside! He's trying to get in!' I shouted.

My girlfriend turned over moodily. 'You make such a drama out of nothing!' She said annoyed. 'You love fear! This has been the worse night's sleep ever.' 

'But look! Did you not see him?' I retorted frantically, now sitting bolt up with my legs off the bed. The man was tall and thin. 

'Couldn't have been Peter even though he was tall. Within seconds the shape had disappeared.' Thoughts raced through my mind. I lost it.

'Seriously, there was a man there AND he was trying to get in.' I repeated angrily.

Suddenly realisation dawned on her. 'Ooohh, okay, oh my, was there? I didn't realise? I just thought you were over-reacting again!'

'No really there was man there! I said.

The door was locked.

Later that morning, before our 6km walk to the train station, we were sitting talking quietly about the night's events. Who was the man and what had he wanted? Was he a squatter looking for a place to sleep, a druggie, a psycho? Our imagination took us to many places.

I had given up hope about finding my pendant. It was nowhere to be found. I even looked in the dreaded room, before deciding to let it go. 

'Are you ok?'

'Yes. Except for the damn pen...' before I could finish the sentence Jana had closed the front door and there it was: my gold pendant, hung up on the door's handle. by Peter who had found it in his car.