We didn’t stand out front the cemetery gates for long before I realized he had to go back in to Greyfriars. He had to. I certainly didn’t feel that need, but being the supportive wife I am, we went back in.
We took the same route (to avoid the scariest parts) and when we got to a certain point in the path, I was absolutely paralized with fear. I stopped in my tracks and could not continue. I took another photo. Nothing but darkness.
“What’s the problem?”
“I am not going any further, I am too scared – for real.”
If it weren’t for the fact that I would nearly kill him a few days after this incident on the ‘Cliffs of Moher’, I might have held his next statement against him for years to come.
“Ok, lets just go up to the gate, you give me the camera and when ‘it’ envelopes you, I will take a photo. That will be AWESOME!”
Add a horrified, angry look and a really long pause to this moment, and then the following;
“You have got to be fu@#ing KIDDING ME!! You want to use me as bait for Bluidy Mackenzie so you can get a photo!? After what just happened?? ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FU@#ING MIND RIGHT NOW?!!?”
I also pointed out that he was almost 10 feet behind me during the last ghastly incident, chicken style (thanks for the help!).
It was then that I snapped a photo with orbs, of the path in front of us. Being that they were absent the entire petrifying tour (until now), I took that as a sign to ‘go with my gut’ and get the (expletive) out of Greyfriars.
I turned to my Husband to tell him so and saw that the colour had literally drained from his face. Though I didn’t say a word, he replied;
“Ya, it’s time to go, we have to get the hell out of here. Now we are pushing our luck.”
We speed walked like absolute weirdos, limbs flailing, gasping and spitting our fear filled opinions at each other for the couple blocks back to our hostel.
I asked him why his attitude suddenly changed back on the path, and he replied that he had instantly been filled with a feeling of immeasurable dread, something he had never felt before. He was paralyzed by it, which indicated to him it was time run.
(Apparently it was no problem when his newlywed wife was engulfed by the succubus Mackenzie!)
It didn’t matter that the World Cup Revellers were still out, or that we had bright flourescent lights in our dingy room (that we left on until morning), we could not escape our fear that night.
I took an orb filled photo of the dismal alley before climbing the many stairs to our room, and even once we entered the dorm – in the bright light – orbs still danced all around us.
Before this moment, I had never captured a daylight/bright light orb. Not to my current recollection.
We actually slept side by side, fully clothed and entirely uncomfortable on one tiny wire-y cot, that night. Even the bright little orbs couldn’t ease our horror.
While doing some research recently to confirm my tales, I discovered this – from Wikipedia;
The Greyfriars Cemetery is reputedly haunted. One such haunt is attributed to the restless spirit of the infamous ‘Bloody’ George Mackenzie buried there in 1691.
The ‘Mackenzie Poltergeist’ is said to cause bruising, bites and cuts on those who come into contact with it and many visitors have reported feeling strange sensations.
A schoolboy, hiding in the vault to escape a beating from a master at George Heriot’s School, supposedly got trapped here and lost his mind on being confronted by the ghost.
Visitors who take a ghost tour, which has access to the Covenanters‘ Prison, have reportedly emerged with injuries they have no recollection of sustaining.
Actual deaths? BITING? OMG, I am glad we got out when we did. For some reason, the biting claim really freaks me out – just awful!
If I had been bitten, I would have died right there on the spot – and if by chance I survived, I would be so wrecked for the rest of my life, you might just want to knock me on my head right there, and save us all the trouble. Handle it, I would NOT.
Bitten – can you imagine?