On Saturday night I attended a ghost hunt.
Ah - was that for the content?
No - you cynical, cynical people. It was not.
I have always had an interest in the supernatural, the spooky and the downright uncanny.
At University, in the midst of what was the very epitome of a 'liberal arts degree'. I happily explored the world of hauntings, UFO sightings and witchcraft with the disappointing conclusion that most were the result of very human causes.
Most UFOs are weather balloons, military aircraft, or in one sensational report someone looking at a very bright moon.
But.
Some are not. Seasoned pilots and military experts cannot be sure what they were seeing.
Aliens? Evidence of little green men? Probably not, but there is a tantalising possibility – and it is in that gap between the known and the mysterious that lies the real fun.
Mass hysteria has been the explanation for everything from Bigfoot sightings to the Salem Witch Trials (in the latter we can also include petty revenge and old-fashioned misogyny.)
Ghosts are not nearly so easy to explain.
There is no evidence to speak of, apart from eye-witness statements (and we all know how unreliable they can be) but some testimonies seem to defy explanation.
I am not quite ready to believe that these are the remnants of the deceased, but I do think that simply disregarding genuine experiences out of hand is arrogant.
The Haunted Mill
It was with this mindset that I ventured with my wife to Chirk Mill near Wrexham (a town in North Wales that has recently become globally famous).
Chirk is a rather lovely spot. The town sits on the River Ceirog which provides the border between England and Wales; which boasts a castle, an aqueduct, a number of excellent looking public houses and one haunted Mill. It really was very inviting in the early summer sun.
We arrived early and took the opportunity to sneak in a drink at the local pub. We were duly reminded why we do not do this very often when we parted with almost £15 for two drinks (the cheek).
On arriving at the Mill, we were greeted like long-lost friends by the couple who run these events. They could not have been more welcoming as they showed us where to get drinks and snacks while we waited for our fellow ghost-hunters to arrive.
The seasoned seekers of the supernatural came in dribs and drabs and knew each other well. We were pretty much the only newbies.
Typically, this would signal a bad night - with the two of us co-dependently clinging to one another in the chill of an indifferent crowd. Not so that night.
These were rather wonderful people and were keen that we get the best from the evening.
Whistles, hoots and hollers
We began in the basement of the old mill (and it is most certainly old - with the earliest parts dating back to the 12th century), and we stood hand-in-hand in a circle, and we called out to anyone who was there.
So far, so traditional.
The organiser, Nic, began a game of asking the 'spirits' to engage in banging and whistling to show their presence.
We stood in silence as Nic gave a simple two-tone whistle as if calling a dog to heel.
"wee woo"
There was silence for a moment as we keened our ears for a response. Then it came:
"wee woo"
It was soft, almost on the edge of hearing: more like an echo than a solid whistle back. Slightly ethereal, but none-the-less definitely there.
Okay, so this was a one-off - we were primed and wanted to hear something - but it happened again and again. We laughed and clapped and jabbered excitedly. Contact.
Tradition be damned. Standing in reverent silence was not their style. We chatted and sang and laughed some more.
Building energy was the stated reason but that did not matter. This was not just about contacting the dead - not for me. Our social life had taken a hit - parental duties, family illness and a host of other calls upon our money meant that we had got into a rut:
Work, dinner, television, bed, repeat.
Not that night.
There were real people, fun and giggling.
It. Was. Brilliant.
Viral Dances and Wish-Keanu
Something of a personal highlight was accidentally wandering into some of the group who were broadcasting live on TikTok - to a small but enthusiastic following watching on at home.
"Do you mind being on a live?"
"No, that's fine."
"Oh ... one of our followers said you looked like Keanu Reeves."
"Glasses." I replied. "I can recommend glasses."
"Keanu Reeves if you order him from Wish" came a voice in the darkness that turned out, inevitably, to be from my wife.
I'll fucking take that!
Previously I have been compared with Rolly from Grange Hill (a niche reference for British Gen Xers) and Nick Frost - so it is a definite improvement.
At breaks we chatted with the group, slowly discovering each other’s stories over a hot cup of tea and a biscuit. These people had found each other through a mutual desire to find out what lay beyond our mortal lives, but it was a more human connection that had formed the bonds of friendship. That stuff is precious and if there is a reason that we exist then I think that might just be it.
Finally, as night became early morning and we were ready to bring the night's fun to an end, we engaged in what seems to have become de rigueur for these types of nights: viral TikTok dances. Cue yet more laughter as we tried to emulate those more suited to choreographed routines.
Did we prove life after death?
No.
But I did find out there was life out there, and that we could be a part of it . And that—on a night of whistles and wish-Keanus—was proof enough for me.
👻 We didn’t find definitive proof of ghosts… but we did find laughter, strangers who felt like friends, and overpriced drinks. Hit subscribe if you’re chasing the same kind of spirits 👇
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