My spooky encounter with RAF Davidstow Moor, in Cornwall
~ Spooky October #1 ~
I dreamed of being inside an empty building. It was small inside, constructed entirely of concrete, and had a sad, abandoned feeling. I kicked my way through dried grass and leaves on the floor, walked up narrow concrete stairs and found myself in a long, thin room with one side open. It overlooked a flat plain of grass, with a road cutting straight through it. It reminded me of a 1960’s construction concrete multi-storey carpark, but I had no other frame of reference for it then. To add to the strangeness of the dream, there were wild ponies gathered around the entrance.
The dream stayed with me, as they sometimes do, but it was lots of years later while on holiday in Cornwall, that I actually found the building. We were exploring one day and stumbled onto a disused World War 2 airfield – RAF Davidstow Moor. And there was an abandoned control tower. I didn’t recognise it at first – remember, I dreamed about being inside – but I knew I had to get closer, to find a way in. Hubby thought I was crazy, but short of locking the car doors and driving away at high speed, he couldn’t stop me.
I knew the minute I stepped inside. The dream flooded back in vivid detail and I made my way upstairs to what was actually the viewing gallery, overlooking what had been the runway. Everything was as I’d dreamed it. To say it sent shivers down my spine was an understatement. The only thing missing was the ponies. Really? Ponies in a control tower. Laughing to myself at the absurdity of the morning, I went back downstairs and out to the sunshine, walking around the other side of the tower… and stopping dead when I saw the dozen or so wild ponies sheltering there from the wind.
Images copyright of Flickr Hive Mind http://flickrhivemind.net/Tags/davidstow/Timeline
I finally wrote this fantastic setting into one of my dark paranormal romances, CRAVING (currently on offer for $0.99). Although it’s part of the Talisman series, it can be read as a standalone.
CRAVING (Talisman #2)
A deal with a demon, a biker psychic and the girl who might just be his salvation… if the demon doesn’t get to her first.
Dante isn’t your typical medium. With his leather jacket, tattoos and piercings, he looks more at home on his motorbike than he does holding a séance and Katherine has no intention of getting involved with him. He’s the complete opposite of the kind of man she wants and represents everything she’s tried to leave behind, but she needs a medium and he’s the best one around.
Dante’s never allowed himself to get close to anyone for fear of putting them in danger. His craving for Katherine is about to bring his worst nightmares to life.
Even as I contemplated the impossibility of finding another medium at such short notice, I realized something had changed. I recognized the music instantly. Glen Miller’s Moonlight Serenade. Surely Melissa wasn’t listening to it outside? When the temperature dropped, I felt an icy trickle down my spine. Like an idiot, I held tighter on both sides, Dante and Tristan. Dante’s hand was warm against mine, his palm slightly calloused. The hand of a man who worked for a living. Tristan’s in comparison was smooth and cool.
Dante was speaking, but I didn’t pay any attention. There, flickering in the doorway, like a hologram on a bubble gum card, stood a man in uniform. A Royal Air Force uniform. Oh. My. God. I’d help to set up the room—there was no hidden projection unit, just our own equipment. I hoped to God it all worked. I could see the airman clearly. He was transparent in places, yet parts of him looked solid. I shivered, my breath hanging in front of my face. How could it be so cold, so quickly? I tightened my grip on Dante, excitement coursing through me, the breath catching in my throat.
Tristan stared, his mouth open. Dante’s girl looked mildly interested. Lucy and Chaz, the remaining members of our party gazed with wide eyes, leaning fractionally closer together.
“I thank you for joining us. Please tell us your name.” Dante’s voice, a calming presence, broke through the fear gripping me.
The image shimmered as he took a step closer, tugging off his cap and twisting it in his hands. He frowned, his bushy eyebrows almost meeting in the middle. “I can’t find Emma. Where’s Emma?” His voice was clear and well-spoken, just a hint of a Scottish burr in his accent.
Anticipation bubbled. This was real, tangible proof of the paranormal. Not just a disembodied voice, but a walking and talking apparition. I could never have hoped for such a fantastic success—and in our first session.
Dante spoke, his voice calm and reassuring. “I’m sorry, Emma’s not here. Could you please tell us your name?”
“Sergeant Jackson. Six-one-two Squadron.” He sounded distracted, his eyes darting left and right. He didn’t seem to see us. “Emma said she’d be here for the dance. I know I’m late. Please don’t tell me she’s already left?” His features were blurred: short dark hair, a pale face and dark eyes. I squinted, but he stayed resolutely fuzzy.
“Where are you from, Sergeant Jackson?”
Rubbing the back of his neck, the airman’s mouth twisted. “I need to find her.” Our eyes met. I blinked, turning away, unable to face any more of his pain.
The lamps flickered—I looked back up, but he was gone. Snuffed out as though a light had been turned off. At the same instant, the temperature surged, rose back to normal, and the music stopped. I sucked in an excited breath. Gazing round the table, I looked at Dante and felt a ripple of uncertainty. His head was bowed, shoulders strained, and he was panting—his lungs whistling with each ragged breath. With the damp circles of perspiration on his back, he looked as though he’d run a marathon.
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