DianaGhostly Encounter?......or?
March 12th 2008 20:20
For those interested, the guinea-pigs for Underbelly appear I think in the first episode and are actually pivotal to the story line. So far I have not seen the show.
But I want to tell you about something else, something creepy that happened. I have to get it off my chest, though it makes rather a long story. Sorry about that.
Last Easter I was droving alone in the forest near our property. I had to stay overnight and the following experience happened which terrified me and which I can only, looking back, think of as ghostly. A year later fear still fills me at the thought of that forest at night. A year later I am due to go back to once again to round up any stragglers for crutching.
Here is my account of what happened:
Situated on a remote stretch of the Archdale Rd near Emu in central Victoria, the historic homestead of Daleynong, built around 1830, appears aloof, smug almost, nestled in a protective cluster of trees with a backdrop of the beautiful blue Pyrenees Mountains.
It was very peaceful in the little valley that autumn afternoon. The wind, having blown ferociously for days, had finally settled down and now only a light breeze rustled the overhanging gum leaves. The sun beat steadily down and only the bleating of ewes to their lambs broke the silence.
Tired after droving sheep, I sat motionless on my horse and gazed down the long, tree-lined drive to the house. Lulled, I fell into a reverie while Belle dozed, glad of the respite.
After a while a slight movement caught my eye and I straightened up and looked closely.
The figure of a man had emerged from one of the doors of the big house and could be seen making his way to the stockyards. Now he could be seen mounting and sliding easily into a canter and heading my way.
Within minutes he had reached me. Strangely, my own horse didn’t pause from cropping the rich grass. Normally she was very alert.
I tensed as the man and horse came up and prepared to defend my apparent snooping, but to my surprise the pair did not stop but cantered noiselessly onwards. For a second my eyes met his.
Barely visible under the brim of an old hat, their dark, fathomless depths sent a shiver through me. His was a hard, unsmiling countenance.
I turned in my saddle to watch him go but he was nowhere to be seen.
Puzzled, I pulled my gorging horses head up with its bouquet of juicy grasses and also headed in the direction of the Forest, where I had planned to camp for the night.
For months the district had been in the grip of drought, indeed no rain of any significance had fallen for two years. More recently each night black clouds littered the horizon, causing residents to allow a trickle of hope to form in their minds.
Throughout the nights winds buffeted and blew and moaned around old buildings, rattled tin on sheds and scurried dust through yards. Dawn brought no relief except a cold unfriendly wind, desolate paddocks, dying sheep.
Farmers fed out hay or grain, housewives learnt to make do on mince and cheap cuts and children swallowed their need for new shoes, lusted silently for bright toys, gave up asking for treats.
That night, apparently as I slept, clouds swelled and filled as they were hustled down the Bight and across the west coast by an irritable wind. Unable to carry their burden any longer, they began dumping gallons of rain on thirsty towns, gradually creeping east.
Mount Gambier drove home from work in a deluge. Portland residents shouted across the dining table at tea time, having watched their harbour views obliterated earlier. Hamilton was lulled to sleep by heavy rain and the ancient Grampians, ravaged that summer by bushfires, turned their pitted, midnight face to the sky and drank thirstily.
The first heavy drops splattered onto the hard canvas of my swag, waking me up instantly. A sudden furious drumming made me wish I had pulled down the top as instantly my bedding was soaked.
Dragging laboriously out of the warm cocoon, shivering in the now freezing conditions I tried to consider my options. Grappling for my mobile phone reassured me, tho there was little reception here.
The night was pitch black, no stars or moon. I thought then of Belle, yarded in electric nearby. Fumbling for the Eveready, I was instantly cheered by the thick yellow light which showed her, huddled miserably, back turned to the weather, unrugged and unprotected but comfortingly there.
At the sight of light she neighed shrilly, no doubt hoping for rescue or at the very least food.
Odd behaviour of my collie dog alerted me, and I remember noticing in sudden dread how it had risen out of the damp bed and was now quivering almost in pain, whining and whistling at something in the darkness. I could actually feel the hair slowly rose on the back of my neck.
Faintly, above the roar of the wind and rain, I heard a sound. Straining my eyes till they watered, I made out a tiny prick of light, swaying in the darkness but steadily approaching. Fear ran through me then. Truth is, I was pretty stirred up by now.
Almost without warning, cattle pounded through the forest, startling me almost out of my wits.
Streaked with mud, enormous red heads soaked, they bellowed and roared and headed straight for my little camp, thirty or forty cows and calves in one huge swirling mob. Terrified and on my feet, I watched open-mouthed as they somehow missed jumping on me and pushed straight on, eyes curiously vacant, hairy bodies vast and steaming.
I strained to see what followed and saw with mounting horror the swaying light draw closer and closer. Realised with a sag of relief that it was the horse and rider from Daleynong and tried to call out for help but words stuck in my throat as he brushed past, so close I could smell sweat, horseflesh and…something else.
Then he was gone, pounding on into the darkness, lantern held high, following the stampeding cattle, immediately swallowed up in the wet blackness.
I was by now in a state of extreme upset and rang my husband, who had his mobile turned off. I remember I was crying and very distraught, but had no choice but to lie uncomfortably until dawn. The collie was a great comfort, she was also shivering but her body warmth was soothing. Luckily it had stopped raining but there was lots of blustery wind.
Once the daylight arrived of course I started to feel much better and wondered if I had imagined the whole thing.
By the time I got home I was so exhausted coherency was not my strong point and the rest of the family, intent on managing the large mobs of sheep, did not really take in what I told them.
So I decided to write it down. Now they think I must have been dreaming.
A few days later, at the pub, I mentioned something to the locals about the owner of Daleynong and how I had seen him out droving his Herefords the other day.
I’m sure I did not imagine the awkward silence and looks while one of them told me there was no new owner, the place was leased to a city investor who was never there, and there had been no Herefords on the property for about 80 years!
But I want to tell you about something else, something creepy that happened. I have to get it off my chest, though it makes rather a long story. Sorry about that.
Last Easter I was droving alone in the forest near our property. I had to stay overnight and the following experience happened which terrified me and which I can only, looking back, think of as ghostly. A year later fear still fills me at the thought of that forest at night. A year later I am due to go back to once again to round up any stragglers for crutching.
Here is my account of what happened:
Situated on a remote stretch of the Archdale Rd near Emu in central Victoria, the historic homestead of Daleynong, built around 1830, appears aloof, smug almost, nestled in a protective cluster of trees with a backdrop of the beautiful blue Pyrenees Mountains.
It was very peaceful in the little valley that autumn afternoon. The wind, having blown ferociously for days, had finally settled down and now only a light breeze rustled the overhanging gum leaves. The sun beat steadily down and only the bleating of ewes to their lambs broke the silence.
Tired after droving sheep, I sat motionless on my horse and gazed down the long, tree-lined drive to the house. Lulled, I fell into a reverie while Belle dozed, glad of the respite.
After a while a slight movement caught my eye and I straightened up and looked closely.
The figure of a man had emerged from one of the doors of the big house and could be seen making his way to the stockyards. Now he could be seen mounting and sliding easily into a canter and heading my way.
Within minutes he had reached me. Strangely, my own horse didn’t pause from cropping the rich grass. Normally she was very alert.
I tensed as the man and horse came up and prepared to defend my apparent snooping, but to my surprise the pair did not stop but cantered noiselessly onwards. For a second my eyes met his.
Barely visible under the brim of an old hat, their dark, fathomless depths sent a shiver through me. His was a hard, unsmiling countenance.
I turned in my saddle to watch him go but he was nowhere to be seen.
Puzzled, I pulled my gorging horses head up with its bouquet of juicy grasses and also headed in the direction of the Forest, where I had planned to camp for the night.
For months the district had been in the grip of drought, indeed no rain of any significance had fallen for two years. More recently each night black clouds littered the horizon, causing residents to allow a trickle of hope to form in their minds.
Throughout the nights winds buffeted and blew and moaned around old buildings, rattled tin on sheds and scurried dust through yards. Dawn brought no relief except a cold unfriendly wind, desolate paddocks, dying sheep.
Farmers fed out hay or grain, housewives learnt to make do on mince and cheap cuts and children swallowed their need for new shoes, lusted silently for bright toys, gave up asking for treats.
That night, apparently as I slept, clouds swelled and filled as they were hustled down the Bight and across the west coast by an irritable wind. Unable to carry their burden any longer, they began dumping gallons of rain on thirsty towns, gradually creeping east.
Mount Gambier drove home from work in a deluge. Portland residents shouted across the dining table at tea time, having watched their harbour views obliterated earlier. Hamilton was lulled to sleep by heavy rain and the ancient Grampians, ravaged that summer by bushfires, turned their pitted, midnight face to the sky and drank thirstily.
The first heavy drops splattered onto the hard canvas of my swag, waking me up instantly. A sudden furious drumming made me wish I had pulled down the top as instantly my bedding was soaked.
Dragging laboriously out of the warm cocoon, shivering in the now freezing conditions I tried to consider my options. Grappling for my mobile phone reassured me, tho there was little reception here.
The night was pitch black, no stars or moon. I thought then of Belle, yarded in electric nearby. Fumbling for the Eveready, I was instantly cheered by the thick yellow light which showed her, huddled miserably, back turned to the weather, unrugged and unprotected but comfortingly there.
At the sight of light she neighed shrilly, no doubt hoping for rescue or at the very least food.
Odd behaviour of my collie dog alerted me, and I remember noticing in sudden dread how it had risen out of the damp bed and was now quivering almost in pain, whining and whistling at something in the darkness. I could actually feel the hair slowly rose on the back of my neck.
Faintly, above the roar of the wind and rain, I heard a sound. Straining my eyes till they watered, I made out a tiny prick of light, swaying in the darkness but steadily approaching. Fear ran through me then. Truth is, I was pretty stirred up by now.
Almost without warning, cattle pounded through the forest, startling me almost out of my wits.
Streaked with mud, enormous red heads soaked, they bellowed and roared and headed straight for my little camp, thirty or forty cows and calves in one huge swirling mob. Terrified and on my feet, I watched open-mouthed as they somehow missed jumping on me and pushed straight on, eyes curiously vacant, hairy bodies vast and steaming.
I strained to see what followed and saw with mounting horror the swaying light draw closer and closer. Realised with a sag of relief that it was the horse and rider from Daleynong and tried to call out for help but words stuck in my throat as he brushed past, so close I could smell sweat, horseflesh and…something else.
Then he was gone, pounding on into the darkness, lantern held high, following the stampeding cattle, immediately swallowed up in the wet blackness.
I was by now in a state of extreme upset and rang my husband, who had his mobile turned off. I remember I was crying and very distraught, but had no choice but to lie uncomfortably until dawn. The collie was a great comfort, she was also shivering but her body warmth was soothing. Luckily it had stopped raining but there was lots of blustery wind.
Once the daylight arrived of course I started to feel much better and wondered if I had imagined the whole thing.
By the time I got home I was so exhausted coherency was not my strong point and the rest of the family, intent on managing the large mobs of sheep, did not really take in what I told them.
So I decided to write it down. Now they think I must have been dreaming.
A few days later, at the pub, I mentioned something to the locals about the owner of Daleynong and how I had seen him out droving his Herefords the other day.
I’m sure I did not imagine the awkward silence and looks while one of them told me there was no new owner, the place was leased to a city investor who was never there, and there had been no Herefords on the property for about 80 years!
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