The Night I Saw a Ghost

I used to be very sceptical about ghost stories until ….

A few years ago I found myself staying in the Hilton Hotel in Barbados on my own, for work. Before anybody says this was a rum induced experience half way up Mount Gay, let me assure you (and myself) that for once it wasn’t. I was half way through a month off the booze – just to prove to myself I could. I had retired to my room early as my work companions weren’t as angelic and were at the talking scribble stage, so I left them to it. I’ve never had trouble sleeping – drinking or not – I put it down to a clean mind and a clear conscience! Naturally.

So off I go to sleep. In the middle of the night I came awake with a start. I’d better explain that my room was a ground floor one in a two story wing of the main hotel which extended a long way sideways. Room 110 I’m pretty sure. I remembered that number for next time. Although the curtains were blackout ones and were drawn, the hotel grounds outside were pretty well lit and the room wasn’t that dark when your eyes got used to it.

I opened said eyes and saw there was somebody in the room, silhouetted again the curtains. The room had a sliding glass door onto a small balcony, and previous colleagues staying in this part of the hotel had had problems with break-ins, so I was very wary about moving before I had assessed the situation. The other person hadn’t moved. Was just standing there as if he’d just come in through the sliding door. Because of the history of theft, I’d made damn sure it was locked and chained before I went to bed.

So what to do? I was wide awake by now. He still stood motionless. Then I noticed something I hadn’t before. He had a strange head. He was just a dark shadow and I couldn’t see details, but he seemed to be wearing a tricorn hat of the kind that 17th & 18th century sailors wore. Apparently they got wet a lot and the hat acted as a sort of gutter and kept the rain and sea out of their eyes as they were working. Pirate? In my room? God knows there were enough of those around Barbados, but not in the 20th century, as this was at the time.

Nothing happened, so I decided to make something happen. He was still the other side of the quite large room. I worked out where the bedside light was, and after several very deep breaths, I lunged at it, turned it on and leapt out of bed shouting anything that came into my head, but very loudly. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I’m going to have that phrase put on my gravestone, I think.

The light came on and I was halfway across the room, stark naked, but I’ve never been one to worry about that sort of thing unless there’s a knife involved! There might well have been, but there was absolutely nothing. No knife; no man in a tricorn hat either.

I thought he may have slipped out the same way he had presumably come in, so I armed myself with a fairly dangerous looking fruit bowl and appraised the curtains. Strangely they were still tightly drawn. After a bit of prodding I found no lumps behind the curtains so opened them to find the sliding door still locked and chained. I couldn’t believe it. I checked by unlocking and unchaining and went onto the balcony to look around. I’m not sure what I expected to find. There were a few people around who might have been slightly surprised to see a very shaken naked bloke leaning over the balcony and looking up and down the property. A passing security guard in a peaked hat sauntered by and wished me good night. With a grin on his face. It was that sort of hotel. Things were gotten up to. Especially with my colleagues. The hotel tended to put us as far away from the normal holidaying punters as they could.

I went back in and securely locked myself in once again. I looked in the bathroom. I looked up and down the corridor outside. Apparently all my neighbours were in a rum coma because it seemed nobody had heard my blood curdling shouts. Thanks guys n’gals. I made myself a cup of tea and sat down to think about it. I decided that nothing had happened to stop me going back to bed – so I did, and mercifully slept.

Come the next day, after breakfast, I went and saw the main desk. I knew most of them. A lot had been there for years and were pretty approachable – some even liked us.

“Errrrrrr… this may sound a bit strange – but has anybody ever stayed in the north wing, and reported anything… unusual being seen in the middle of the night?”

A big Bajan grin spread across the guy’s face. I thought I was about to be accused of something to do with rum.

“What room you in?”

“110.”

“Ahhhhhhh – you seen de ghost!!”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry with relief that I wasn’t going do-lally.

No, I was far from being the first. A woman had fled the room before, also stark naked, but also screaming all the way to reception. The guy seemed to savour the memory of that.

Anyway, it turned out that the North Wing of the hotel was a later edition to the rest of it and it had extended sideways until the end rooms – including mine – intruded into what used to be the Barbados British Military Cemetery. I immediately went outside and down the road to check. Sure enough – it did. I spent ages wondering around the gravestones piecing together the lives of the soldiers and sailors buried there. The Caribbean was a death trap for Brits in those days. Disease carried off many more young men that battle did. To say nothing to the wives and children of clergymen and colonial administrators who qualified to be buried there.

So I figured my friend, for he was such by then, was a sailor who was resting there, and maybe just a bit annoyed by having his peace disturbed by 20th century idiots now above his resting place. At least I hoped he was. I have always had a problem with organised religion, and their God, but like most, I’ve always wanted to believe – if only as an insurance policy.

So now I definitely believe in ghosts. And if you believe in ghosts, I reckon you can’t not believe in a god. Stands to reason, doesn’t it?

James Leary is the pseudonym of a retired passenger jet Captain.