The weekend before last I had a friend over for the weekend and, as usual when she and I get together, we end up in places we didn't intend to go to (diverted by gods and all that) and get presented with unexpected situations.

One of the ones we experienced that weekend was as a result of my taking her to the town in Herefordshire which possesses the most famous ghost story in the county. Back during the Wars of the Roses the local squire, from a family which owned a large part of the Marches, was killed in battle (in his sixties!). The ghost story has it that he plagued the town at market time, goaded the horses, and invaded the church in the shape of a bull. Eventually 12 priests tried to exorcise his spirit and it was confined by one priest addicted to the booze in a snuffbox, which was consigned to the bottom of the pool on the family manor. The resting place of his and his wife's body is in the local church. This is also probably the origin of Conan Doyle's "Hound of the Baskervilles", as a large black ghostly dog comes into the story and the family was married into by a lesser family - the Baskervilles - living in the area.

Friend and I went out there and took pictures of what remains of the manor, which is undoubtedly a little atmospheric. Photos had to be taken from the road, as visits are by appointment only, with the new owners. Then we trotted into town to eat. Now, I've never been comfortable with that town, but have put it down to it being a very dull Welsh border town - anyone living in Northern Ireland will be familiar with the gloomy architecture, which is often to be seen in the small towns over there. OH also had a strange experience, 30 years ago, when he tried to buy a house in the town and the seller went back on the sale without explanation, except that OH wasn't 'local'.

After lunch, we wandered up to the church to view the final resting place, and that's where it got odd. Neither of us are the sort to get spooked, and there were workmen in the church, in one corner. Also, I used to be a churchwarden, and immediately observed the church was well kept and, from signs around the place, had an enthusiastic and wealthy congregation.

Friend didn't want to shut the church door. We found out from a church pamphlet that the memorial tomb of the squire and his lady had been moved several times to different places in the church, over the centuries. When we left the church the beautifully kept grounds felt... odd. There was no yew tree I could see, which is unusual for a church of that age, and no birds sang in the trees, though they did nearby, from outside the churchyard. once we were out we felt we could talk freely and wondered if there had been a black dog in the church.

Now, when I first heard of the moving of the ornate alabaster memorial I thought: "Bet he didn't like that!". But then, we both thought: "Wonder why they felt the need to keep moving it?"

As to why the town feels 'wrong' to me: now I wonder if he still roams the streets.

anyone else ever experienced anything like this?

Well... nothing so interesting but we just got back from a few days away in the West Country and while there we visited the ruins of an ancient village in the hills above Penzance. We were there, listening to the grasshoppers and I was getting echos of the inhabitants, their love of the place, family rows, that sort of thing but it was all very much in the past. We wandered around the houses a bit but when we got to one house in particular I was about to walk over the threshold when it just completely rejected me, like this powerful feeling of opposition which was very much still current and there. T wasn't getting it, so it could be imagination but when he was walking around inside it I got increasingly uncomfortable and had to ask him to stop it and come back outside it's walls. Once he did, the feelings faded right back and all was normal again.