Fireside Stories
I love ghost stories. The unnatural, the uncommon, the unexplicable, has always fascinated me. Spain does not have much of a history of literary ghost stories, however, because the Catholic Church preaches that a soul that does not go to Heaven or Hell goes to Purgatory to await redemption for its sins. So, officially, earth-bound entities cannot exist. It was a different case in other countries, such as England. For Protestants, there is no Purgatory. Logically, an earth-bound entity can exist and be written about. Hence the legion of ghost story writers, with M.R. James and Sheridan LeFanu at their head.
But the common people in Spain have always had strange encounters, especially in rural areas, and especially before electricity was introduced fifty years ago. Even twenty years ago, streetlights had only recently been placed on our road. Before that, we could step outdoors and see the Milky Way above us. There were less cars and people walked almost everywhere, including at night. I remember being nine years old on vacation and walking back with my parents from the local festival. The only light was the moon, and for some reason, my polyester pants glowed in its light. It was easy to mistake shadows for ghosts, and many did.
My mother once told me some stories. Her mother had told her that my great-grandmother became a young widow with small children to raise (My grandmother was born in 1899.). She told my mother that her mother would sit many nights by the fire and cry. Apparently, my great-grandfather was coming home one night when he was punched about and thrown in the local stream. Only there was no one there. He died shortly thereafter. I remember telling my mother that had a simple explanation. Probably he had drunk too much, fell in the river coming home and invented the story. My mother admitted the possibility.
Another story concerned my grandmother. Back then, in the 1950's, no one visited a doctor unless there was an obvious problem that impeded them from working. My grandmother had been suffering from hypertension and no one knew it until she suffered a stroke in her fifties. Back then there was also no physiotherapy, and she became bedridden. Apparently, she suffered another stroke later and went downhill from there. My mother was living in a little house in the middle of the village then, but went up to her mother every day. One day, she met a neighbor at the base of the path leading up to the house. The neighbor marvelled that my grandmother was feeling better. She had seen her walking down the path the day before, with her shawl covering her head and wrapped around her midriff like always. My mother was surprised. Her mother couldn't get up. When she told the neighbor that, the neighbor made the sign of the Cross, and said she was sorry. She had seen an aparecido, a sign that my grandmother was about to die. Which she did, a few days later.
My mother also told me a cheerful "ghost" story. She had a sense of humor, and I only wish she had let it rip more often. Back then, the washing was done at the stream where some flat stones were set up to scrub clothes. Then, the whites, underwear, sheets, and towels, were set out on the grass in the sun to bleach. One evening, my mother went down to pick up a sheet she had left there. Coming back, she saw in the distance a neighbor who was going to his girlfriend's house to sit with her in the doorway and pass the time. That was the essence of a date back then. It was twilight, with that fuzzy light where you're not too sure if you're seeing a dog go by or a fox. My mother put the sheet over her head and went to where the neighbor would pass by. When he approached, she stepped out and stood there, a white shadow in the path. He gave a yelp, turned around, and ran back to his house as if a pack of wolves were after him. Let's say his girlfriend didn't see him that evening.
I think just about every family has a ghost or fright story. Because, though the Church may say one thing, imaginations fed by the shadows and moonlit paths and byways said another. Who's to say what your own eyes see isn't true?
But the common people in Spain have always had strange encounters, especially in rural areas, and especially before electricity was introduced fifty years ago. Even twenty years ago, streetlights had only recently been placed on our road. Before that, we could step outdoors and see the Milky Way above us. There were less cars and people walked almost everywhere, including at night. I remember being nine years old on vacation and walking back with my parents from the local festival. The only light was the moon, and for some reason, my polyester pants glowed in its light. It was easy to mistake shadows for ghosts, and many did.
My mother once told me some stories. Her mother had told her that my great-grandmother became a young widow with small children to raise (My grandmother was born in 1899.). She told my mother that her mother would sit many nights by the fire and cry. Apparently, my great-grandfather was coming home one night when he was punched about and thrown in the local stream. Only there was no one there. He died shortly thereafter. I remember telling my mother that had a simple explanation. Probably he had drunk too much, fell in the river coming home and invented the story. My mother admitted the possibility.
Another story concerned my grandmother. Back then, in the 1950's, no one visited a doctor unless there was an obvious problem that impeded them from working. My grandmother had been suffering from hypertension and no one knew it until she suffered a stroke in her fifties. Back then there was also no physiotherapy, and she became bedridden. Apparently, she suffered another stroke later and went downhill from there. My mother was living in a little house in the middle of the village then, but went up to her mother every day. One day, she met a neighbor at the base of the path leading up to the house. The neighbor marvelled that my grandmother was feeling better. She had seen her walking down the path the day before, with her shawl covering her head and wrapped around her midriff like always. My mother was surprised. Her mother couldn't get up. When she told the neighbor that, the neighbor made the sign of the Cross, and said she was sorry. She had seen an aparecido, a sign that my grandmother was about to die. Which she did, a few days later.
My mother also told me a cheerful "ghost" story. She had a sense of humor, and I only wish she had let it rip more often. Back then, the washing was done at the stream where some flat stones were set up to scrub clothes. Then, the whites, underwear, sheets, and towels, were set out on the grass in the sun to bleach. One evening, my mother went down to pick up a sheet she had left there. Coming back, she saw in the distance a neighbor who was going to his girlfriend's house to sit with her in the doorway and pass the time. That was the essence of a date back then. It was twilight, with that fuzzy light where you're not too sure if you're seeing a dog go by or a fox. My mother put the sheet over her head and went to where the neighbor would pass by. When he approached, she stepped out and stood there, a white shadow in the path. He gave a yelp, turned around, and ran back to his house as if a pack of wolves were after him. Let's say his girlfriend didn't see him that evening.
I think just about every family has a ghost or fright story. Because, though the Church may say one thing, imaginations fed by the shadows and moonlit paths and byways said another. Who's to say what your own eyes see isn't true?
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