Location: Walthamstow, London, England
Summary: Two early family ghost stories told by my parents, involving my grandmother Doris Morris, who passed away just sixteen days before I was born.
The Story
I have no memory of these stories beyond what my parents told me, but I played a central role in both. They involve me as a baby and my grandmother, Doris Morris née Daniels, who died sixteen days before I was born.
Story 1: The Cowbell
My first ghost story took place when I was only a few days old. My mum and dad swore it was true. In their home in Walthamstow, they had a heavy brass cowbell hanging on the wall. There was no fireplace, no open windows or doors, and no way for a draught to move it.
I was asleep in my mum’s arms while she sat talking with my dad. She mentioned how sad it was that his mum hadn’t lived long enough to see her first grandson. At that moment, the cowbell began to swing like a pendulum, not a small movement, but a slow, deliberate 90‑degree swing to one side, pausing, then a full swing to the other side. It repeated several times, as if my grandma were in the room, signalling that she could see her grandson.
Story 2: The Old Lady at the Cot
The second story happened when I was about two years old. My mum heard me awake in my cot, talking as though I were having a full conversation. She came into the room and asked who I was talking to. I told her I was speaking to the old lady at the end of my bed.
When she asked who the old lady was, I pointed and said, “That old lady — she’s smiling at me.” Mum asked me to describe her, and I described my grandma perfectly, including her black glasses. My grandma had been registered blind due to diabetes and wore dark glasses in her later years. There were only a few photos of her wearing them, and none were in the house. It would have been impossible for me to know that detail.
I then said goodbye to my grandma because she was going. My mum told me I spoke as if it were completely normal. I don’t remember if she ever visited me again, but even now, as I finish writing this story, I feel a brief chill — a reminder that she’s always been with me.
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