Candlelight Stories

by Andrzej Galicki

  "Grandma has equipped me with everything," she said softly. "Furniture, home furnishings, all her belongings. Nothing has changed. Every object is in the same spot where she had left it. It gives me the illusion that she is still present here, that she never left her old house."

  An involuntary shiver went through my spine and I could say the same happened to everyone. If Barbara was deliberately trying to build an atmosphere of mystery and anxiety at today's meeting, she had managed to do it perfectly well. Meanwhile, she began to light the candles on the table. Six yellow flames lit up the dark interior of the lounge filled with old-fashioned furniture and the ancient trinkets of Barbara’s Grandma.

  Then Barbara asked Karl to fill the glasses, the red wine shimmering under the glow of the candlelight, which bounced off the crystal and sent ruby lights into the darkness of the room, illuminating the wallpaper as well our pale faces.

  Barbara asked us to move our chairs near the table and we obeyed. Before each of us stood a glass of red wine, followed by a lit white candle, the combination of which created quite an unusual mood of romantic mystery.

  "Let's begin our meeting today. First, let me thank you all for coming. I'm really glad that I have such friends." Barbara raised her glass. "To your health."

  We each drank a sip of dry wine, and our hostess continued.

  "I have to admit to you that this evening is not on my side so completely selfless. Of course, I wanted to introduce to you Karl, my friend from Munich. Also, I'm going to use you today. As you know, of course, I am just starting to write my master's thesis. As a subject, I chose parapsychology. You probably do not really know what it is about or what it entails. And no wonder since it is still under discussion whether parapsychology is a science or a pseudoscience, whether it has any rational applications in life or it is just a useless invention of those who believe in the supernatural."

  "Will we call out ghosts? Great!" Halinka got excited.

  Nina also showed an unhealthy agitation.

  "Not at all," Barbara calmed them down sternly. "This really is not about having fun, but for my master's thesis."

  "And what do we have in common with ghosts?" Piotrek inquired anxiously. "We are all still alive, aren’t we?"

  "Give it a rest with these spirits," said Barbara. "Although, you know what? Now I remember as Grandma told me that it was in this living room that they used to entertain themselves with a spinning saucer. Before the war, it was supposedly a fashionable form of entertainment. But this time, we are not going to do that. This is about something else. Apparently, in the life of every human being, regardless of whether he believes in this kind of phenomenon or not, there occurs some events that cannot be logically explained. I would like to ask you to recall here such a kind of event, which you have by chance encountered in person. At the same time, I reserve the right to use this material in my work, of course without giving names. I have not told you before what this meeting is about, so you would not have time to invent stories. No. The events must be true, events you experienced in person, and not just some exciting fairy tales you’ve heard of."

  Silence fell over the room, so profound you could almost hear the wheels in our heads turning, but try as we might, no one could conjure such a phenomenon from memory.

  "I see that I have to take the first step to make the task easier," Barbara said finally. "I'll tell you what happened to me during my visit to Munich."

  She took a deep breath as we all strained our ears to listen.

  "I was alone in the heart of the city, on Marienplatze," Barbara began. "After drinking a cup of coffee at one of the cafes, I wandered around the surrounding streets, looking at the facades of old houses and shop windows. It was a beautiful, sunny afternoon. The old town had so much charm that even for a moment, I was not bored. I also did not feel lonely. I simply had a gorgeous time that was until something strange happened. After passing one of the blocks, I heard the voice of my grandmother who was already dead then. I froze. Grandma pronounced only one word: Angel. That was all. She said it as clearly as if she was standing right next to me. I looked around. There was a gift shop nearby and on its display window; I saw the small figure of an angel made of something like alabaster. It sat quietly on a rock on which was inscribed “Munich”, the usual souvenir made in China.

  Then another thing happened that I absolutely couldn't explain. The angel looked straight into my eyes and nodded gravely. I was so shocked that I couldn’t move from the spot where I was standing. Then all of a sudden, I heard a loud bang.

  A great piece of stone cornice fell on the sidewalk just a few feet ahead of me, smashing to smithereens. I froze in terror. After all, I was walking in that direction and if I had not stopped, I probably would have been crushed. The next thing I knew, he was standing next to me. Karl."

  She looked at him.

  "He asked how I was doing and he was so caring and nice that I told him everything. He looked at the angel, too, and explained that it was battery operated and that it would really nod its head from time to time. I took a closer look. Indeed, it was just as he said. But why did it nod just at the moment when my grandmother said "Angel"? I could not come up with an explanation. All I knew was that they both saved my life. I presumed this event was an accident, which could not be explained in a rational way, and so I finally decided on parapsychology as the topic for my thesis. I hope that maybe I will be able to explore this issue a bit and understand what has happened and why."

  "And Karl? What happened with Karl?" someone inquired.

  "He invited me to have a coffee with him, which I really needed to calm my nerves. And of course, we became friends. Karl lives in Munich, where he was born, but his mother is Polish, so his Polish is not bad. He came here just to visit me and you know what he brought me as a gift? Look at the chest of drawers."

  Everyone looked at once in the indicated direction. In the middle of the commode innocently sat a small angel perched on a piece of rock. Under him, in the light of candles could be seen the inscription “Munich”. Satisfied with the impression, which he had made, the angel nodded and then froze again thoughtfully.

  "Interesting story," said Piotrek. "Well, in the presence of such a witness... " he nodded to the angel "we have to believe it."

  "I also remembered something," Halinka said quickly, as if she feared that someone could interrupt her. Indeed, at the end of Barbara’s story, we also began to remember some strange stories. Suddenly, each of us could not wait to tell it.

  "When I was a child," Halinka started her story. "I spent the holidays every year with my sister in the countryside, with our grandparents. My sister was older and calmer. She often regarded me an eternal nuisance. I would act like a country urchin, climbing over the fences and up the trees, as a result always scraping my knees and getting plenty of bruises on my skin. What interested me the most though, were the horses.

  There were two of them - a big, strong chestnut and a smaller, gentle bay mare. This mare I was allowed to ride when I reached my thirteenth year. Initially, I rode bareback in circles around the yard, and of course under the watchful eye of my grandfather. The next year, however, I could ride on a saddle and also ride the horse alone. During my third vacation, I could take the horse without any questions and we would wander wherever our eyes lured us, through meadows and fields, along the dirt roads. How we both enjoyed those walks tremendously. There was one only condition: I was not allowed to take the horse when it just finished working in the field the previous day. A well-deserved rest was more important to her than our escapades.

  Now, there was a deep ravine near the village and this ravine plays a role in my story. One of the dirt roads leading to the neighboring village eventually ended in a wooden bridge spanning over the ravine. I rode that way with my Bay many times. I liked to listen to my horse’s hooves banging over the planks of the bridge.

  Then one day - listen closely to what happened - my mare rebelled. She stopped in front of the bridge and fr
oze. There was no way to make her move ahead. She did not want to step on the board. No requests or threats helped. She became stubborn like a donkey. I tried one last time. We moved back for a good hundred meters, then I broke her up a little bit faster, kicking my heels into her sides just to give her more enthusiasm, but having reached the bridge again, she suddenly stopped in her tracks. And she whinnied.

  And it was not a normal whinny, I tell you. She whinnied in such a marvelous way that you could almost say it was human. It was almost as if she was saying: "Nay... ay... ay... ay..."

  It shocked me so much that immediately, we turned back towards the house and I escorted Bay to the stables. In the evening, we learned that the bridge collapsed just under one motorcycle rider. It turned out that the wooden beams supporting it were already rotten and finally gave way under the weight of the motorcycle. The horse would not have had a chance since it is much heavier. The motorcyclist survived, but landed in the hospital. If it had been me, I don’t know what would have happened. It may have been the end of me. Anyway, I felt that on that day, Bay saved both our lives."

  Halinka fell silent, and we also spent a few moments in silence, contemplating the strange story. Indeed, Halinka’s story was something extraordinary. I was grateful to Bay for saving my Halinka. Whom would I love if she had died? She had never told me about this event before.

  "A talking horse, huh?" Jacek broke the silence, "It seems to me that there was a TV series about it. The horse's name was Ed, or something."

  "Yes, but that was in America, and over there, many impossible things happen," replied Barbara. "Anyway, Halinka, that was a touching story. The behavior of your horse could, of course, be explained by the animal’s instincts. Animals are able to sense danger which humans cannot, probably because our brains are too busy with logical thinking. But the fact that Halinka heard in this horse neigh a human "Nay", and I completely believe she did, can be possibly classified as a paranormal event. Thank you, Halinka, for this story. It will certainly be useful in my work."

  Barbara asked Karl to refill our glasses and asked if anyone else had something to say. Piotrek, who had been shifting uneasily in his chair for some time, spoke the next.

  "First, allow me to say that I originally did not believe in such things. I thought these were invented stories, or mere coincidences made more sensational by crafty storytellers to generate interest and induce the unhealthy excitement of the listeners. But I changed my mind after some events I witnessed, also during the summer holidays. As you all know, I am an avid motorcyclist. As soon as I got my first bike as a gift from my parents, I spent all my free time on it. It was a Hungarian Pannonia motorcycle. Not very high-performance, but a foreign bike anyway. I spent a lot of time blowing and blowing on it, rubbing all the chrome parts with a clean cloth so that they always shone like new. Of course, neither you guys nor anyone who has never had a new motorcycle can understand this.

  Once, I drove from Sopot to Warsaw. The girl who I was on vacation with allowed herself to be picked up from the “Non-Stop” disco by one sucker, just because he had a car. She preferred to return home on four wheels rather than just two, so I was traveling alone. The rain caught me on the way. It was already close to Warsaw, but it was raining so terribly and dusk was already falling, so I decided to spend the night somewhere along the road. I knocked on the doors of some cottages on the outskirts of Jablonna, I guess. Finally, I found a host who allowed me to spend the night with my Pannonia in his barn. He didn’t even ask for money, just asked me not to smoke inside the barn. It was not a problem to me since a lot of my money was spent on gas, there was none left for cigarettes, and so we immediately hopped from the rain to this dry barn. It was quite a large barn with stacks of hay on both sides and at its center stood a black hearse. I was a bit surprised. Normally, I probably would have looked for another accommodation but it was raining too hard and I was too tired to sulk. I found some strength to wipe the chrome motorcycle parts dry, closed the gate of the barn and threw myself on the hay. Then something happened, which to this day, I cannot explain.

  The feeling that something strange was happening awakened me. I opened my eyes and got up on one elbow to see a pale light inside the barn. It came from this old style hearse, the kind pulled by horses, with glass all around the cabin. The rear door opened noiselessly and someone came out. The figure was pale and dressed in white, like a real ghost. But it was not a ghost. The guy was wearing a white linen dress, and on his head, he had a white, cloth hat, not the airy garments that ghosts like to wear. I thought it was someone from my host’s family. Either that or I was seeing things because of my weariness. Meanwhile, the guy did not pay any attention to me. He headed for the exit and disappeared into the downpour, leaving the gate open. I collapsed again into a deep sleep and slept like a baby until dawn.

  As soon as I woke up, I went through the still open gate to the yard and when I saw my host bustling around, I asked him of course about the night visitor. He was astonished beyond measure, and as soon as I described the appearance of my night encounter, the host stiffened suddenly, his face going white as chalk.

  "Come with me," he invited and threw himself on his WFM motorcycle.

  Along the way, he shouted to me that he was working part-time as a municipal pallbearer and that last night, he had just buried his brother in law, who was a baker by profession. In the blink of an eye, we arrived at the priest’s house. After hearing my story, the priest got in his Syrena car and we drove to the cemetery, picking up a gravedigger and the wife of the deceased along the way. We followed the priest and after us, half the village ran like crazy on foot. As soon as we got to the cemetery, they all began to dig up the grave frantically.

  At last, we saw him, the same person I had seen the night before. Though he was supposed to be dead already, he started to choke, and his eyes were wide with terror. He told everyone that he had a dream that he woke up in a closed coffin. What a dream it was… The village quack did not recognize the lethargy and signed the death certificate. He had to change his profession after this incident because no one wanted to be his patient anymore.

  The funeral party previously prepared for and postponed because of the storm took place now of course. If not, the vodka could get spoiled. I was stranded in the village, since right after the "resurrectionist" I was the highlight of the village meeting and had to endlessly recount my encounter with the spirit. After each glass, I was doing better and better. Finally, I was able to leave a few days later, but I have never forgotten the incident. Since then, as you would have guessed, I have looked at supernatural things a little differently."

  "Now, that story is really out of this world," remarked Barbara. "If only I could believe it is true. As we all know, Piotrek likes to fantasize a lot."

  At that moment, Piotrek stood up, and with a solemn face, pulled out of his wallet a folded piece of newspaper.

  "For all of you who doubt me, read this. This is the only time in my life I have ever been described in the paper. I always carry it with me."

  The half page of the "Evening Express" folded in four parts wandered around the table. The unusual case of our colleague was described there exactly like he said, although more briefly. It was just a small column, in fact, but it all made sense. We looked at Piotrek with more respect. He was in the paper, in the company of famous people, the people who mattered. Admittedly, Express provided only the first name and the initial of Piotrek, but we all knew it was he the article was referring to. Any doubts about the authenticity of his story had been dispelled.

  "What about you, Nina?" Barbara asked. "Have you ever had such an experience in your life?"

  Nina, who in her life had all kinds of experiences, was somewhat reluctant to answer.

  "I'm not quite sure if what once had happened to me was supernatural," she began carefully. "Maybe it was a pretty ordinary event, but listen."

  My grandfather was a taxi driver when I was a kid. He had an old type of a Warszawa car, th
e one called hunchback, I think. An old model. The new one had not yet been produced and he was immensely proud of his vehicle. Well, once, he drove us after a Christmas family reunion from Pruszkow, where he and my grandmother both lived, back to our apartment in Mokotow. The weather was awful, the rain seemingly mixed with the snow. I sat next to my grandfather in the front seat and felt very important because I had to watch the road carefully. My parents and my younger sister sat on the back "couch" of the car.

  It is not far from Pruszkow to Mokotow, but the roads were worse then than they are now, and visibility in such weather was minimal. Grandfather specifically chose me to have the front seat. As he said, he needed a pair of young eyes next to him.

  In my father, who of course, had a few glasses of vodka inside, he had not too much confidence.

  The road was narrow. The yellow headlights of our car bounced off the falling snow while the wipers worked diligently to keep the windshield clear. Even so, I had to strain my eyes so I could not accidentally overlook a stray dog crossing the road as many of them wandered around then.

  After riding a few miles, it seemed to me suddenly that I saw a shadow, something moving on the road, but it disappeared as quickly as it had showed up. I said nothing because I could not even describe what it was. My grandfather also kept silent. But after a while, I saw it again, so I called out to my grandfather that I had seen something.

  "What did you see?" asked Grandpa. "I did not see anything."

  "Someone was probably on the road waving a handkerchief as if he wanted us to stop," I tried to explain what I had just seen but the road ahead was empty again.

  "E... you must have seen an illusion," said my grandfather, but I noticed that he started staring more attentively at the streaks of rain and wet snow illuminated by the headlights. At one moment, we both saw the shadowy figure waving something in front of us stubbornly. It disappeared after a few seconds to appear once again, desperately waving in front of us. The third time, my grandfather could not stand it and stopped the car. Three of us went out - my grandfather, father and I, despite the warnings of my mother that I should stay inside. I wanted to go out. It was me who saw this thing, whatever it was, after all, and I thought that I had the greatest right to see up close who was barring our path. But to my disappointment, no one was nearby. The side of the road was empty. In contrast, across the road lay a huge bough broken off from a tree under the weight of icy snow.