Derek Acorah: Extreme Psychic
Derek Acorah
The UK's number one TV psychic is back as you've never seen him before. Derek shares stories of his scariest, most bloodcurdling encounters with the other side.From possession by demons, violent spirits that have thrown him bodily across the room and encounters with dead serial killers, to ghosts that have made him fear for his very life, here is a collection of shocking experiences that have made Derek stare into the darkest places of the spirit world.Warning: this is not for the faint-hearted. Read it, if you dare.
DEREK ACORAH
EXTREME PSYCHIC
To Christine and Alan – two of my dearest friends
Contents
Introduction (#u2c1219af-a75c-5be2-8cb3-893244803852)
I have been following my spiritual pathway for many years now and have learned to trust implicitly the word and strength of spirit in the many and varied situations I have found myself in. Once I would go on an investigation and merely talk about the energies I was picking up and the spirit entities present, but now I have progressed to channelling those spirit energies.
My experiences in spirit investigation, or ‘ghost hunting’, as some people call it, date back to the mid-nineties. Some of these investigations have surprised me, some have saddened me and I have learned a great deal from the personalities I have channelled. There have been some experiences, however, that have scared me and taken me to a point where I wondered whether I would come out alive, or at least sane, and it is those experiences I wish to share with you in this book.
I could not have come through these experiences without the trust I have in the strength of my spirit guide Sam and the guardians and doorkeepers who have protected me to the highest degree in some of the more dangerous investigations in which I have taken part. Our guides are our spiritual strength. They inspire us and guide us through hazardous, dangerous and hurtful situations, taking care to ensure that we experience only what is meant for us on our pathway through physical life. Our guardians and doorkeepers prevent intrusion from uninvited negative spirit influences; they draw close to us when necessary and retreat when their presence is not required.
I was horrified once when I heard a well-known sensitive state during a television programme that he ‘strengthened up his guides’ before entering what he considered to be a potentially hazardous area of the location where he was filming. I can state quite categorically that it is not up to us – or possible for us – to do this. We may, however, request the presence of our guides and doorkeepers by offering up a prayer of invocation prior to any situation where we feel we may need their particular help and guidance.
Prior to an investigation I always ask for my guides’ and doorkeepers’ help and protection for myself and the people around me. I must stress, however, that it is up to each person to be responsible for their own spiritual safety. If they enter into a situation in the knowledge that there is the potential for spirit activity, whether of a positive or negative nature, then they must ask their own guides and inspirers for protection. It is foolhardy to do otherwise and it is very wrong to expect another person to take on that responsibility, whether that person is a medium or not. An individual cannot rely on somebody else and then feign ignorance at a later date, especially if that person is well aware, prior to the investigation taking place, of the possibility of a less than friendly spirit presence being at a location.
Some spirits are very far from friendly, as these pages will show, but all can be encouraged to find their way to their home in the world of spirit.
CHAPTER ONE (#u2c1219af-a75c-5be2-8cb3-893244803852)
Teenage Terror (#u2c1219af-a75c-5be2-8cb3-893244803852)
I was still a teenager when I first experienced the dangerous edge of spirit energies. It was also the first time I actively used my psychic powers. At the age of 15 I had been apprenticed to Liverpool Football Club under the management of my eternal hero Bill Shankly. I was now 17 and had completed my apprenticeship. I was a full-time professional footballer playing for Liverpool Football Club ‘A’ team.
Each week we would play football matches against other clubs’ ‘A’ teams, one of which was Blackburn Rovers. The games against Blackburn were always played at the grounds of a local mental care institution commonly referred to as ‘the asylum’ in those days. Whilst the games were being played, certain of the inmates were allowed to watch from the sidelines. The people were of mixed ages, ranging from young adults to quite elderly men and women. One of the regular spectators was David, a strapping young man aged around 21 or 22 years. It did not matter what the weather was like, David would always be there to cheer the Liverpool side on.
I recall one occasion when we were about 15 minutes into the game and the ball went out of play. I took the throw-in, sending the ball in the direction of Peter Price, a former Welsh schoolboy international who was now also a full-time pro with Liverpool. Peter clipped the ball to Ray Witham, our full-back, who in turn hammered it way upfield to our winger, Stephen Peplow. He in turn drove the ball towards the goal-mouth. Up went Ted McDougall to score the first of six goals for our team on that day.
As each goal was scored the audience went into a frenzy of laughter and applause. The atmosphere was alight with excitement and there were a few minor scuffles between the opposing fans. Once such scene involved David. A ball once more went out of play just at the point where David was standing. As he darted forward to retrieve it, one of the female inmates also swooped down to pick it up. Mayhem followed as the two of them fought and pushed one another in an effort to take possession of the ball. It became so bad that they had to be separated and calmed down.
At the end of the game the players would be taken to a part of the building where there were over a dozen baths in a line in the longest bathroom you could ever imagine. David knew the routine and would hang around waiting to speak to the players, even though he should have joined the other inmates as they were taken back to their quarters. Nevertheless, he would wait to chat to us as we came out after our bath and would walk with us towards the coach waiting to take us back home.
I felt very sorry for David. He seemed to be an intelligent lad and although he was a few years older than me, I felt a certain empathy with him and used to make a point of having a chat about what had happened in the game and about Liverpool Football Club’s premier team’s progress in general.
On this particular day I had completed my bath quite quickly and was making my way down the corridor to the room where we were given tea and sandwiches when I heard a voice call my name. It was David.
‘Hi, Derek, mate,’ he said. ‘Can I share your sandwiches with you? I’m starving. They don’t feed me enough here. I’m a growing lad and I need my vitamins.’
We both laughed at this comment, because it was obvious from David’s size and stature that he was far from underfed. He accompanied me to the tearoom door and I went in, got myself a plate of sandwiches and a cup of tea and brought them out to him. I have never seen food disappear so quickly in all my life!
When the sandwiches were finished David told me in a confidential manner that he really should not be in that part of the building but should in fact be in the adjoining part where he had his own room. He told me that he had been a resident at the institution for nearly three years.
I asked him why he was there, because apart from appearing to be a little slow, he seemed perfectly normal to me. He informed me that the doctors had told his family that he was mad because he could see and hear people that no one else could. He said he hated the fact that the doctors gave him medicine in an effort to stop him from seeing what they referred to as ‘imaginary people’. In order to stay on the right side of the medical staff he even told them that he no longer saw or heard those people. Then he laughed and winked at me and said, ‘But I still do!’
As David related this tale to me I felt myself grow cold. The experiences he was describing were exactly the type of thing that I myself experienced and, according to my grandmother, would in later years play a huge part in my life.
From the age of six I had seen and heard people in the world of spirit. Although at that time it did not play a major part in my life, this ability was always with me. I thanked my lucky stars that my grandmother, a medium herself, had recognized what was happening to me. If I had been born into a different family I could quite easily have ended up in a situation similar to the one that David had found himself in and would not have been able to fulfil my dream of playing football professionally for Liverpool Football Club.
My heart went out to David. Just being in his company and close to his aura told me that a grave error had been made – something that was more commonplace in those days. The young man was neither mentally deranged nor schizophrenic. Quite simply David had the gift of spirit communication.
David continued speaking. ‘Since I’ve been here I’ve seen and spoken to lots of people who used to live here but have now died. Sometimes at night before I go to sleep they come and again in the morning when I wake up. It’s real, Derek, honest it is!’
I asked David whether he knew of anybody in his family who had had similar experiences. He told me that his father’s grandmother had been taken away because she was crazy and had been locked up somewhere, never to be seen again by their family. I doubted very much that the poor old lady had been ‘crazy’. It was obvious to me that she had passed her gifts down through the family to her great-grandson.
‘Do you have to go straightaway, Derek?’ David asked me. ‘I’d like to show you my room. I can sneak you in there without being seen.’
I hesitated momentarily then said, ‘OK, come on then! Let’s go!’
David led me down various corridors until we came to what appeared to be a communal sitting room. Through another door we went and then into another short corridor with a number of doors. David stopped outside one of the doors and opened it. ‘This is my room,’ he told me proudly.
It was a very plain room with a single bed and a bedside locker. There was a small wardrobe and a couple of shelves. A number of Liverpool Football Club posters adorned the walls. I could only imagine David’s loneliness in spending much of his life in this solitary room.
As I approached the window to look out of it I heard a loud bang. I looked down to the floor and saw a box that had moments earlier been sitting on one of the shelves.
‘Did you see that, Derek?’ David asked me excitedly. ‘Did you see the box move? That was Jim! You can’t see him, but he’s standing right there.’ He pointed to a spot just next to the shelves. ‘That was naughty, Jim,’ he said. ‘That was bad!’
I looked towards the place at which David was pointing. I felt a sharp pain in my back and then noticed a man in spirit, small in stature and aged I would say in his early fifties.
‘Can you see him, Derek?’ David asked me excitedly.
‘Yes, I can, David,’ I replied and described the spirit man who had joined us in the room.
‘Yes, that’s him! You can actually see him?’ David questioned, his eyes bright with excitement. ‘He lived here with us, but he died just over a year ago.’
‘And he suffered with a very painful back, didn’t he?’ I said, ruefully rubbing the area where I had experienced the sharp pain.
‘Yes, he did!’ David agreed.
David was almost jumping up and down on the spot in his excitement at me being able to see the spirit person who had been his constant visitor for almost 12 months.
There was a small rustling noise in the corner. ‘Milly’s here too,’ said David. ‘I liked Milly. She was like a mother to me.’
Poor David. In the three years he had been in this place he had lost two of the people he had grown close to.
I felt a cool breeze play around my body and then suddenly there she was. Milly was a rather stout-looking lady of around 65 to 70 years with white hair and a lovely warm but mischievous smile.
I stood in David’s room watching Jim and Milly display their obvious affection towards David. Suddenly I became aware of a feeling that was totally different from the warmth emanating from these two spirit people. I asked David what was in the adjoining room.
David seemed to shrink with fear. ‘I don’t want to go in there, Derek,’ he said. ‘There’s a nasty man in there and I keep well away from him.’
I asked whether I could go into the room for a moment.
‘You can go, but I’m not,’ said David hesitantly. ‘Please don’t ask me to go in there with you.’
I know now that what I was about to do was foolhardy in the extreme. Although I was aware of the spiritual system of things in that I knew of my spirit guide Sam, at that time he had not drawn close to me and introduced himself. I knew nevertheless that he would be by my side. I was also aware that Milly, the old spirit lady, was following close on my heels. She was worried, though. ‘Be careful,’ I heard her say. ‘Don’t try to deal with things that you know nothing about.’
Being young and foolish, I paid no heed to Milly’s warning and opened the door to the next room. As I entered, I felt a sudden swooping rush of air and saw the spirit form of a man rushing towards me. The force of his energy pinned me against the wall. I felt as though he was towering over me. I could feel the venom of his emotion as he swore and cursed and called me terrible names. I heard a loud shout and realized that it was me crying out in horror. I gabbled desperately, trying to explain that I meant no harm to this tormented soul who wanted to wreak revenge for what he had suffered whilst incarcerated in the institution.
Slowly I felt myself become calmer – more empowered. I knew that my guides and guardians were drawing closer to me in protection. I had put myself in a terribly dangerous situation, but they were there to help me.
The spirit man’s raving calmed down and he backed slowly away from me. He seemed to realize that I was no threat to him.
‘What is your name?’ I asked him.
He said nothing, merely glowered at me from across the room.
I heard Milly’s voice. ‘His name’s Alex,’ she said, ‘and he was here for years and years – even before I arrived. He suffered some terrible things in the name of treatment. We all did, but it affected Alex more. In the end he got the opportunity and he hanged himself. Me and Jim have been trying to coax him to come over to the light side, but he’s afraid that things will be bad for him – that he’ll be hurt again. Pray for him, Derek, and we’ll make sure that he comes over to the heavenly side with us.’
I promised that I would do just that.
I went back into David’s room and explained to him that both Jim and Milly were going to help the poor suffering soul next door and that he needn’t be afraid any longer.
David was looking puzzled. ‘You can see Jim and Milly and other people just like I can. You can hear them too. Why aren’t you in here with me?’
I was moved and saddened by his question. ‘I really don’t know, David,’ I replied.
It was more than time to go. I was already late. When I reached the car park all the other players were waiting on the coach for me. Our team trainer, George Patterson, was very annoyed. ‘Where’ve you been Derek? You’re in trouble on Monday! It’s right to the boss that you’ll be heading.’
I didn’t mind. I felt happy and elated. We had won the game 6–1 and with my prayers and the assistance of Milly and Jim, poor tormented Alex would find his way to his rightful placed in the world of spirit.
I occasionally kept in touch with David after I left Liverpool Football Club. I am happy to say that the institution was closed some years later and David was found a home in the community, where he integrated happily. As far as I am aware he is still living a happy and free life.
I often wonder how many people have been mistakenly diagnosed as mentally ill and incarcerated for their supposed ‘own good and the good of others’ when in fact all they were doing was communicating with the world beyond.
I was looking forward to the seven-week summer break from playing football. Although I loved my life as a professional footballer, it was nice to have a break from the rigorous training regime. Back in the 1960s the wages for footballers were a far cry from the enormous sums commanded today, so it was not unusual for us young players to take summer jobs to put a few extra pounds into our pockets. The previous year I had taken a job as a football coach at a Pontins Holiday Camp, but this year I did not feel inclined to play at being ‘Uncle Derek’ to a camp full of aspiring young football players and wanted to take the time off to relax and enjoy myself.
My friends Vinny and Frank planned to take a trip south to visit Vinny’s aunt, who lived in Langley, near Slough, for a week. They then planned to stay on for a further week at a youth hostel in the area. They asked me whether I would like to join them. I was delighted to accept their offer. Vinny and Frank had been my friends since school, but I did not get much time to spend with them due to my football commitments. This would be an ideal opportunity to catch up on old times and enjoy the company of my friends.
We set off one sunny summer morning, travelling down in Frank’s car, which was an enormous old Humber Sceptre. Although the vehicle was old, it still retained its luxurious interior.
After making our stately progress south we arrived at Vinny’s aunt’s home in the early evening. The next week was spent thoroughly enjoying ourselves as we explored the areas around Hounslow, Egham and Windsor.
When the first week was up we gathered our belongings, thanked Vinny’s aunt for putting up with us and moved on to the hostel. It was an old house of enormous proportions, standing in its own grounds. At one time I suppose it must have been a family home, but now it was given over to offering cheap accommodation and sporting activities to youngsters such as myself and my friends who wanted a cheap, clean and cheerful holiday environment away from our parents.
I have to say that the hostel was not quite what I expected, but I settled in nevertheless. The food was good and wholesome and the communal areas offered table tennis, television and snooker. The bedrooms, however, were in fact dormitories, with six single beds to each room. Next to each bed stood a metal locker/wardrobe in which we could secure our belongings during the time we were out of the hostel either exploring the surrounding area or taking advantage of the activities on offer.
Although I had never stayed in a large old house before, I thought nothing of it as I settled down for the night. The only strange thing was going to bed with so many other people in the same room.
On the first night I suppose I must have been asleep for a couple of hours or more when I was jolted awake by a loud banging noise which seemed to be coming from the metal cabinet next to my bed.
‘Did anyone hear those banging noises?’ I whispered out into the darkened room.
A couple of voices answered me from the beds containing lads I did not know, saying, ‘That’s Sparky messing about. Take no notice.’
Apparently ‘Sparky’ was a young man who was also staying at the hostel and who enjoyed playing practical jokes on the other residents. It was his practice to creep along to a room and pull the covers off people or reach inside the doorway to flash the lights on and off, then beat a hasty retreat back to the room in which he was sleeping.
Satisfied with this explanation, Vinny and Frank settled back down to sleep, but I was not so sure about it. I could sense psychically that there was more to the banging than met the eye.
I turned on my bedside light and was amazed to notice a large indentation in the door of the cabinet next to my bed which I was sure had not been there before. I turned the light off once more and lay there listening to the deep breathing of my bedroom companions and the creaks and groans of the old house. Sensing nothing untoward, though, I eventually drifted off to sleep once more.
The following morning Vinny, Frank and I made our way down to the kitchen area where we would eat our breakfast. The cook, Mrs Marsden, was a kindly lady who fed us well, but you could tell immediately that she would stand no nonsense from anyone staying at the hostel. As she was clearing away our plates, she asked what we planned to do that day. We told her that we were going down to the stables to take part in a trek around the area. ‘Well, you be careful, lads,’ she told us.
I wanted to ask her about the room in which we were staying, but because she seemed such a no-nonsense woman I thought that I had better keep my questions to myself, especially as they might get ‘Sparky’ into trouble.
We returned to the hostel later that evening with very sore legs and feeling extremely tired. After our dinner and a gentle game of snooker we decided to turn in early.
We all fell asleep more or less immediately and were not disturbed by the arrival of the other three residents of the room. But we had only been asleep for around three hours when we were startled awake by the sound of a loud scream echoing around the room.
We all switched our bedside lights on simultaneously and were shocked to see one of the lads in the other beds sitting up holding his face and looking absolutely terrified. We asked him what had happened and he told us that he had decided to flout the rules and have a cigarette in bed before going off to sleep – something that was definitely against the rules. He explained that as he was puffing away on his cigarette it had suddenly been snatched out of his mouth by what he described as ‘the shadowy figure of a man’ who had then turned the lit end of the cigarette around and jabbed it into the side of his face.
We all rushed over to him and sure enough, there on his left cheek was a small round burn mark. Everyone went very quiet. I remembered the previous evening and the loud bang which had resulted in the indentation of my wardrobe door. I was positive that there was a negative spirit presence in the room and I was determined, come what may, to get to the bottom of the matter.
Needless to say, not much sleeping went on in the room that night as we all sat up talking about what had happened. I did not like to air my own views on the matter to my bedroom companions. I was just 19 and was afraid that the lads I was with would make fun of me if I started talking in depth about spirit activity.
The following morning I tentatively asked Mrs Marsden whether any strange things had ever happened in the room in which my friends and I were staying. She looked at me long and hard and asked why I would ask such a question. I told her that there had been a couple of disturbing incidents over the previous two nights.
‘Oh dear!’ was her surprising response. ‘So it’s started up again, has it?’
She told me that many years ago the old house had been used as a hospital for soldiers recovering from injuries and exposure to gas sustained whilst fighting in the trenches during World War I. Many of these men were driven almost mad with the pain of their horrific injuries and amputations. There was a story that she had heard about a man, George Adams, who had suffered terrible burns. He used to lash out in his pain and later, as he slowly recovered, became terrified of fire. The mere thought of anybody putting him in danger by smoking in bed had driven him almost insane with anger and he would attack any poor unfortunate soldier who happened to light up a comforting cigarette anywhere around him. He had actually succumbed to his lung injuries at the old house. For many years after his passing there had been reports that his spirit was wandering around the old house, making his presence felt by banging around on locker doors, and anybody smoking in bed made him very angry.
‘I don’t know how true the story is,’ Mrs Marsden commented, ‘but I believe in these things and I suspect you do too, young man.’
I nodded, though again I was unwilling to share my experiences and my grandmother’s predictions.
That night we all went to bed after another busy day. Although we lay awake for a while listening and waiting for something to happen, nothing did and we awoke the following morning refreshed after a good night’s sleep.
The matter regarding George Adams was still lying heavy on my mind, though. I decided that when night fell and we had all retired to bed I would quietly attempt to communicate with him to try and persuade him to join his loved ones in his rightful place in the world of sprit. I had spent many long hours talking to my grandmother and she had explained to me that sometimes people pass away from this world but, for different reasons, do not pass immediately to the heavenly state. She told me that it was up to people like herself, and indeed me, to help them seek the light by praying and asking their family and guardian angels to come for them and show them the way to their heavenly home.
After another pleasant day and an evening at the cinema watching Dr Zhivago, Vinny, Frank and I returned to the hostel. We had a late supper and then retired to bed at around midnight.
We had been asleep for a while when I was wakened by what sounded like thunder. I switched on my bedside lamp and looked at my watch. It was 3.45 a.m. The noise continued, though strangely it began to sound as though it was coming from the walls of the room. Suddenly there was a very loud scraping noise, as though somebody was dragging something over the tiled floor. Just as the other lads in the room woke up and switched on their lights, I saw the dark shadow of a man cross the room.
The others had had enough. ‘Come on, Derek!’ they shouted as they all hurriedly dressed and ran off down the corridor, I assumed to the communal room.
‘I’m coming!’ I shouted after them. I had no intention of joining them, however, until I had found out exactly what was going on.
With the room empty I felt free to attempt to communicate with whoever was there. ‘Who are you?’ I shouted out into the atmosphere. ‘Why are you here? Let me see you!’
After I had shouted out my questions once more, the spirit form of a man built up before me. I could see quite clearly the horrible burn injuries to his face. I sensed a great anger with him and I quaked with fear at my audacity in thinking that I could take on such tangible negative energy on my own. I prayed fervently to my guides to help me. I knew that they would surround me and safeguard me, but that did not stop the real fear I was experiencing.
Then suddenly I realized – or was inspired to realize – that the man’s anger was not directed towards me personally. He was in fact hurt and afraid. These feelings manifested as anger about his situation. In reality this man did not realize that he had experienced physical death. He thought that he was still living his life here on Earth and was angry and frustrated because he thought that people were ignoring him because of his horrible disfigurement. Added to this was his fear of fires and being burned again.
‘But I can see you,’ I almost pleaded with him. He stopped and looked at me. As calmly as I could I spoke out into the ether. I told him that he must seek the light, that he must make his way to the heavenly state, that he must ignore for a while the living and must follow the bright being who frequently beckoned to him. I told him that it was right and proper that he should make that pleasant journey and live a trouble-free existence with his heavenly family, free from care and pain.
With that I closed my eyes and prayed fervently for him. I called upon his guides and the help of his guardians and family in the heavenly state to guide his footsteps. I also asked my own guides and inspirers to add their strength to my prayers and assist this poor demented soul on his journey.
The atmosphere began to lighten and after a few minutes I knew that George’s transition had finally taken place. The room held a feeling of peace and calm – a feeling that it had never had before.
I felt drained. I slowly left the room and went to join my friends in the communal room. ‘Everything’s quiet now,’ I told them. ‘Why don’t you come back to bed?’ Reluctantly, they agreed that they would do just that.
We all had a peaceful night’s sleep and for the rest of our stay we were undisturbed.
On our journey home Vinny, Frank and I discussed the events that had taken place. They asked what had happened in the room when I had been in there on my own and I decided to tell them.
They both looked at me strangely before saying in unison, ‘You’re weird! But we like you!’
We all laughed and the matter was forgotten – at least by them. For me it was just a taste of many more scary situations to come, and on some occasions even my life would be put at risk.
CHAPTER TWO (#u2c1219af-a75c-5be2-8cb3-893244803852)
Horror in my Home Town (#u2c1219af-a75c-5be2-8cb3-893244803852)
My home city of Liverpool is rich in stories of haunted houses and ghostly events. It has seen more than its fair share of events, being not only one of the UK’s major cities but also once one of England’s most important seaports. During the years when I had an office in the city centre, I was often asked about events taking place in people’s homes. If I felt that I could help these people I usually did, and on most occasions it was discovered that the slight disturbances being experienced were the work of people from the spirit world who were in visitation to family members merely to let them know they were around. Occasionally the spirit people would be attempting to warn their loved ones of a wrong decision about to be made or an event about to take place that might cause concern to the family. More often than not, by opening up to the emanations surrounding the querant I could provide answers to their questions via the good offices of Sam. There was one occasion, however, when I felt that a visit to the person’s house was in order, as I could pick nothing up in the aura of the young woman concerned that would explain the events she described taking place in her home.
The houses around the Great Georges Street area of Liverpool are large. They were once the homes of the well-to-do and the area was considered highly respectable. Maria lived just around the corner from Great Georges Street in one such house that had been converted into apartments. She had moved into the ground-floor apartment with her husband and her two children – boys aged three and five – approximately six months earlier.
Maria told me that from the time that she and her family had moved into their home she had never felt particularly settled. For some reason she had always felt worried about her children and did not like to leave them alone in any room on their own. Even when they were in bed she felt the urge to keep checking on them to make sure that they were safe, even though she knew that no harm could possibly come to them. Her husband, she told me, was becoming more than a little irritated by her constant checking and nervousness about their two sons, especially as she now refused to go out without them, which had effectively brought to an end the Saturday nights out that they used to enjoy while their sons were in the care of a babysitter. It had reached the point where Maria’s nervousness was having a detrimental effect on her marriage. A further house move was out of the question because Maria’s husband could find nothing wrong with their home and it had the added bonus of being close to his work in a nearby restaurant. With late working hours, it was simple for him to walk the short distance home rather than have to get a cab.
‘Joe thinks it’s all rubbish and imaginings,’ Maria explained to me, ‘and it’s true that there’s nothing tangible there. Nothing has happened – yet! I feel, though, that before too long things may start to happen and I’m afraid for my two boys.’
I could see that Maria was truly frightened. I could tell that she was a very sensitive soul and was obviously picking up something from the atmosphere of the house in which she lived. I decided that the only way to get any answers for her was to actually visit her home to see what I could find out.
On the appointed day I arrived outside the large old house. As I stood on the doorstep waiting for Maria to answer the bell, I felt a sense of unease overcome me. Just standing there, before I had even entered the house, I knew that something sinister had taken place within the four walls. In spite of obvious renovation over the years, there still remained the ominous presence of death.
As I heard footsteps approaching the front door I whispered a prayer of protection and asked Sam to draw close to me. Almost immediately I felt his reassuring presence and heard his quiet voice reply, ‘I’m here, Derek.’
Maria opened the door. As she did so, immediately the feelings that had assailed my senses grew tenfold. I was whisked back in time to the mid-Victorian era. The white painted hallway faded and was replaced by a much darker decoration – brown paint and dark woodwork. The carpeted floor was replaced by a tiled floor with a chequered pattern. Horrifyingly, on the floor lay the body of a woman, horribly butchered – her blood was splattered up the walls and pooled across the floor.
I was snapped back to the present day by Maria’s greeting: ‘Hello, Derek. Welcome! Do come in.’
I walked into a long passageway with various doors leading off it. These I presumed led to the other rooms in the building. Maria led me along the hallway to the rear of the house and invited me into the kitchen, which looked out onto a relatively small yard area. She introduced me to her friend Val, whom she had invited along for moral support.
Once more, when entering the room, I was taken back in time clairvoyantly. The bright paintwork and stainless steel kitchen equipment had been replaced by a dismal-looking room containing a copper boiler and a huge stone sink. Once upon a time this room had been a scullery of sorts, where laundering of the family’s clothes and linen had taken place. Again, the whole place was smeared with blood – it lay in pools on the floor and was smeared on the walls. I looked down and it was even more horrifying – there was the body of a small boy, his head almost severed. Next to him lay a long-bladed knife.
Desperately I fought the feeling of nausea that threatened to overcome me and tried to bring myself back to the present day. The horrific scene began to dissipate and once more I was back in the pleasant, bright modern-day kitchen. I accepted the cup of coffee that Maria was offering me.
I was definitely beginning to understand why a sensitive person such as Maria was finding it difficult living in what should have been a very nice and comfortable home. I asked her where her children were. She told me that she had dropped them off earlier at her mother’s home. I was more than pleased to hear that the two lads were safe and away from what could turn out to be a rather difficult situation.
I felt that I would need the concentration and energy of both Maria and Val on this occasion. When we had finished our coffee I asked whether I could go back down the hallway and into the room at the front of the apartment and which looked out over the street.
Maria and Val accompanied me. On opening the door to what was a pleasant and comfortable lounge, again I was whooshed back in time to a room heavy with dark Victoria decoration, gas mantles and solid furniture. Once more my clairvoyant eye took in the horrifying spectacle of murder and carnage. A girl lay bleeding profusely on the floor. Close by the body of another boy – a little older than the one in the kitchen – lay slumped by the ornate fireplace. My ears rang with the screams and cries of the four victims who had passed on to the world of spirit so horrifically more than 100 years earlier. I was sickened by the sound of a knife hacking and slashing through flesh and bone. The acrid smell of blood hung heavy in the air.
Up to this point in time I had merely viewed the horrific aftermath of a mass murder, the emanations of which hung in the atmosphere due, I knew, to the regular spirit return of the perpetrator of the horrendous crime. After a few moments of standing in the room opening myself up further to the terrible emanations I began to detect a spirit presence. A young man began to emerge from the ether. He was not tall – around 5 feet, 6 inches – and was of stocky build. His dark hair, though covered by a hat, hung down the sides of his face and he wore a dark coat with light-coloured trousers. He had a wild expression upon his face and his hands hung down limply by his sides. They were covered in the blood of his victims.
I sensed an evil in the spirit of the man standing before me – an evil combined with a complete lack of feeling for anything or anybody. When on the Earth plane, he had been a deranged soul willing to do anything to earn himself a few shillings. I had the impression that he had once been connected in some way to the sea. I felt that somehow he had inveigled himself into this house and had dispatched the occupants with no more feeling or compassion than one would have in swatting a fly.
I prayed once more silently to Sam. Again I heard him whisper close by me, ‘I’m here.’
I knew that I had to rid the home of the evil the spirit man had brought with him. Sam’s voice told me, ‘He did not escape man’s justice – he was hanged for his crimes. He is John – John Wilson. Now he needs to face spiritual justice so that he can progress and find his proper place in the spirit world.’
I had not come equipped to perform a candle rite to clear the atmosphere of a spirit’s presence, as I had not dreamed that I would require such radical action when I had set out that morning. I hoped that Maria would be able to help. I could see from the surroundings that she had a number of candles.
In order not to unduly frighten the two young women I quietly asked Maria whether she could help by providing a white cloth, two bowls – one filled with salt and one with water – and seven candles – three green and four white. I was relieved when she said that she could. She left the room.
John was still standing watching me, his eyes flickering to the left and the right, with a sneering expression on his face. ‘You won’t get rid of me, Derek Acorah!’ he stated in a contemptuous voice. ‘I like it here! Two more nice little boys! Oh, how the knife slices so easily through soft young flesh!’
I was sickened by his statement. I remembered Maria’s two young sons and realized that the two murdered children would have been around the same age.
‘Henry and Alfred had such sweet young flesh,’ I heard John say. He gave an evil cackle. ‘I have the power of the master behind me!’
‘Not for very much longer,’ I thought to myself. I realized now that John Wilson assumed he was in league with the devil. Didn’t he realize that no such person or creature existed – that ‘the devil’ was merely man’s personification of all things evil?
I heard Maria returning from the kitchen. Val opened the door for her and she carried in a tray with the two small bowls of salt and water, a white cloth and the seven candles on it.
John Wilson viewed the contents of the tray with interest. His horrible laughter once more echoed around the room.
I cleared the coffee table in the middle of the room, reached for the white cloth and put it on it. John’s eyes narrowed as he watched me. He moved a little nearer to where I was standing.
Next I reached into the bowls and sprinkled the cloth first with a little of the salt and then with some water. At that a great whoosh of energy sent the cloth flying from the table and onto the floor. I bent down to pick it up and replace it once more upon the table. Then there was another surge of energy and I felt the not insignificant presence of John Wilson all around me, trying to overshadow and overpower me. My breath felt as though it had been sucked from my lungs and I struggled to breathe. I could not under any circumstances allow myself to lose consciousness – it was imperative that I remained aware and did not lose control.
‘Put the cloth on the table,’ I struggled to tell the terrified women. ‘Place the bowls on the cloth and line up the candles – green at the front and white behind.’
I felt as though I was being pummelled repeatedly by unseen fists and prayed to Sam and my guardians to help me. I knew that they were there empowering me.
‘Light the candles,’ I almost screamed to Maria, ‘and pray – say the Lord’s Prayer – anything!’
‘Our Father who art in heaven …’ I heard the women begin the familiar words. I joined my voice to theirs, though it was little more than a croak. Then I reached out and grabbed Val’s hand. As I did so, I felt the energy that was attempting to overpower me relinquish its hold a little.
I stretched out and took Maria’s hand. ‘Hold hands! Hold hands and continue!’ I instructed, by now feeling more in control of the situation.
As Maria and Val repeated the hallowed words I prayed fervently for peace to be brought to this home and for the spirit of John Wilson to be taken to the place where he could commence his journey to redemption for his sins against innocent people. Slowly, slowly, I felt his spirit power weaken and eventually fail as the energies of goodness overcame him and he was led by his own guides to the place where he could begin the long process of atoning for his sins.
The flames of the candles flickered. We continued our prayers. Finally, a wonderful peace and calm pervaded the atmosphere. I knew my work was done.
I looked at Maria and Val. They were standing with their eyes tight shut, still holding hands. ‘Do you feel anything?’ I asked them.
Visibly relaxing, they opened their eyes and looked around. ‘I feel warmth and lightness,’ said Maria. ‘It’s something I’ve never felt here before.’
‘The spirit influence causing your problems has gone now,’ I explained. ‘He was a vicious and unhappy soul who once had a connection with this home.’
I did not want to frighten Maria by giving her the details of mass murder that I had witnessed. It was sufficient that she now felt happier and at peace in her home.
After that Maria would occasionally drop by my office in Liverpool to say hello. The problems that she had experienced during the first six months of occupation of her home never returned. I do not know where she is now, whether she is still in that apartment or not, but I am sure that her life since that day has been a happy and progressive one.
CHAPTER THREE (#u2c1219af-a75c-5be2-8cb3-893244803852)
The Condemned Man (#u2c1219af-a75c-5be2-8cb3-893244803852)
Many are the letters I receive from people all over the world telling me of their experiences in connection with the paranormal. It is impossible for me to respond personally to the many letters and e-mails, but I do my best to read them all. Occasionally, if I feel that I can help and if my busy schedule permits, I will contact the person who has written to me and attempt to help them.
One such letter came to me from Anne. Her husband Harry owned a small shop where he sold small electrical goods and hardware just outside Manchester in the Atherton area. Harry had run the shop for many years and in fact had inherited the business from his father.
Anne had included her telephone number in her letter and so I decided that I would contact her. She expanded on what she had briefly outlined in her letter to me – that she and Harry had experienced no problems whatsoever during the years that they had run the shop until one day a friend of hers had asked whether she and some friends could conduct a ‘ghost hunt’ in the old cellars. The friend, together with four other people, including one who purported to be a ‘medium’, had spent the night in the cellar.
Anne had been surprised when her friend had regaled her the following day with stories of evil entities and items being thrown around. The friend had even claimed that she had been pushed down the cellar steps.
Neither Anne nor Harry could ever recall experiencing anything untoward in any part of the shop premises. The cellars, although rather cold, had never caused them concern when venturing down there. In fact, they used them as storage space for stock. Consequently, they were frequently up and down the cellar steps, and neither had ever been pushed.
Since the night of the ‘ghost hunt’, however, both had noticed that the stock in the cellar was being moved around on a regular basis. Once or twice it had looked as though items had been thrown, resulting in some breakages – not something that a small business can afford. The atmosphere in the cellar, and indeed the shop itself, had also changed.
I asked Anne whether she knew what her friend and the group of people had done in the cellar.
‘Well, I know that they held a séance,’ she replied.
I suspected that I now knew what had happened. Anne’s friends had tried to emulate what is frequently seen on paranormal programming these days. They had undoubtedly had sat in a circle and attempted to invoke the spirit world. Unfortunately, they had more than likely done this without taking the necessary precaution of requesting protection for themselves and their surroundings, and they would definitely not have cleared the atmosphere before they left, consequently leaving a portal open and giving any malevolent spirit who wished to enter the cellar a perfect doorway. I doubted very much that the so-called ‘medium’ had any mediumistic abilities whatsoever. If they had, they would have ensured that complete closure had been achieved before the property had been vacated.
It is not, of course, the responsibility of a medium to provide protection for those who choose to enter a potentially haunted location. That is the responsibility of the individual. Any person who blames a medium for any resultant mishaps after an investigation is merely displaying gross ignorance of the paranormal in general and, in my opinion, displaying personal irresponsibility towards themselves. It has been known for an individual to blame an underlying and genetic health condition on a medium by claiming that ‘the medium did not protect them adequately’ during an investigation. This is utter rubbish. The person concerned would be better served seeking the advice of a member of the medical profession.
I made an arrangement to travel to Anne and Harry’s shop the following Tuesday. On that day, accompanied by Ray Rodaway, my tour manager, I travelled to Atherton and found the shop we were looking for.
As soon as I entered the premises I became aware that the shop had not always served the purpose of retailing hardware but had once dealt in metals of a finer and far more precious variety. I could see jewellery and pocket watches displayed in velvet-lined mahogany and glass cases. The name ‘John’ rang out and the spirit outline of a small, bustling but well-dressed man formed before me. He was pottering about, polishing a piece here and winding a watch there. He seemed totally oblivious to the fact that the years had moved on and changed the shop and that instead of the precious goods in which he dealt there were now wooden shelves lined with more mundane items such as screws, nails and pots of paint.
Anne took me behind the counter and through a doorway from which an open flight of wooden steps led down to the cellar. As soon as the door was opened I could sense a presence. It was the spirit form of a man lurking in the dark recesses of the cellar. Unlike the busy spirit gentleman in the shop area, this man wore an ugly expression on his face – a mixture of anger, fear and disillusionment.
I reached the bottom of the cellar steps, Ray following close behind me. Anne hovered halfway down, obviously afraid to descend any further. There were a number of large cardboard cartons stacked against one wall and on the floor lay a couple of stepladders. Against another wall were stacked plastic crates full of small boxes of the type that contain nails and drill bits or other such hardware paraphernalia. It was next to these crates that the spirit man stood.
‘Who are you?’ I shouted.
I received no reply. I edged a little closer. Suddenly a crate seemed to fly to the floor, scattering its contents everywhere.
‘William! I’m William!’ I clairaudiently heard the man growl. ‘Leave me alone!’ he commanded.
As I looked at the floor, now covered in small boxes, the impression of a man’s body lying in a bloody puddle came to me. I sensed that this man had not met his end as a result of an accident. This was murder!
I looked back at William and stepped a little closer to him.
‘I’m not afraid of you, William,’ I stated. ‘You know you must leave here.’
‘I will not! Take these people and go!’ he demanded. ‘I will stay here with him – Walter.’ He pointed towards the area where I had been impressed clairvoyantly with the sight of the bleeding corpse.
‘No, you will not, William!’ I told him. ‘You must go. You must leave these good people in peace.’
The spirit man lunged towards me and I staggered back with the force of his energy.
‘Careful, Derek!’ I heard Ray’s gruff voice behind me and I felt him steady my balance by placing his hand on my arm.
‘Just go!’ was William’s sneering response.
I began to feel quite ill. I had a feeling of nervous sickness in my stomach which almost made me retch. I knew I was picking up the emotions of William immediately prior to his passing from this physical life. I also picked up a sense of loss and hopelessness – a feeling of desolation at being let down. I realized that William had met an untimely end himself.
‘Man’s justice was meted out to him,’ I heard Sam tell me, ‘but in William’s case it was an injustice. He was innocent of the crime he was accused of. He is afraid to progress to the world of spirit for fear of what will happen to him. Man’s justice let him down. He is afraid that spiritual justice will do the same.’
It would be a difficult task, but I knew then that I had to convince William that he had to leave this place to which he had so recently come. It was not right that he should spend eternity with the ghostly body of a man he was accused of killing but in fact had not.
I drew closer to William once more, but again the force of his energy repelled me and I stumbled backwards. Each time I was repelled, however, I recovered myself and moved forward again. I knew that if I could get close to this spirit being I had more chance of convincing him to move away from this dark cellar and progress to the light.
‘Talk about Polly,’ Sam advised me. ‘Tell William she is waiting for him. He has nothing to fear.’
‘Polly!’ I shouted out. ‘Polly’s waiting for you.’
When he heard that, the expression on the spirit man’s face softened and an all-pervading sadness seemed to surround us. I knew then that this was no evil spirit come to wreak devastation on anyone, but a sad and suffering soul who was afraid to move on to meet his loved ones on the higher side of life.
William had been executed for a murder he did not commit and was frightened of that travesty of justice being repeated in the spirit world. He was afraid that he would have to spend all his time with souls who had not yet atoned for the horrendous deeds they had committed in their physical lives.
Eventually I was standing so close to William he was almost overshadowed by my aura. With a tremendous effort and the greatest depth of feeling and sincerity that I could convey, I pleaded with him to move towards the light.
‘Polly is waiting for you. She will meet you and show you the way. You do trust Polly, don’t you?’
He nodded. I felt a hesitation and then an enormous rush of spiritual energy, so great that I staggered back and, tripping over one of the ladders, fell heavily to the floor.
Ray rushed forward to help me up. There was a shriek from Anne, who was still standing on the cellar steps. ‘I saw a huge flash of white light, Derek!’ she cried.
‘Did you feel that?’ I asked them both.
‘I can’t feel anything,’ they replied.
‘Exactly! There’s nothing here anymore. Everything is back as it should be,’ I told them.
I spent the next 15 minutes or so clearing the atmosphere. No spirit would enter the premises again in order to cause upset and unrest. And I knew that William had entered the world of spirit and was now at peace with his beloved Polly.
CHAPTER FOUR (#u2c1219af-a75c-5be2-8cb3-893244803852)
Black Magic in Underground Edinburgh (#u2c1219af-a75c-5be2-8cb3-893244803852)
From the mid-nineties right up to 2001 I took part in psychic programmes for Granada Breeze, the satellite arm of Granada Television. This company ceased to broadcast live programming in July 2001 and ceased airing altogether at the end of December 2001.
During my time working at Granada Breeze I took part in programmes such as The Psychic Zone, Livetime and Psychic Livetime, but it was Predictions with Derek Acorah that really threw me into the televised psychic investigation arena.
Predictions with Derek Acorah comprised three sections, one of which involved investigating allegedly haunted locations throughout the UK. I would be collected from my home by a producer and her assistant and would then be taken to the chosen location, where we would be met by a camera and sound team. The investigation would then take place with me having no prior knowledge whatsoever of either the location or its history (sound familiar?)!
One such place that I was taken was the city of Edinburgh. Beneath the streets of modern Edinburgh lies another equally large city, a hidden city, known as the Edinburgh Vaults. In years gone by these vaults were inhabited by people who lived their lives underground. There were homes down there, and shops, industry and drinking establishments thrived. Some people even kept animals. It was not unknown for cattle and poultry to spend their lives living under the city streets.
There are many vaults now open to the visitor, Blair Street Vaults and Mary King’s Close being those I investigated with the LIVINGtv programme Most Haunted, but it was Granada Breeze and Predictions with Derek Acorah that first introduced me to the mysteries and horrors of one of Scotland’s most famous and beautiful cities.
* * *
Niddry Street Vaults are reached by travelling up Niddry Street itself, which is hardly wide enough to accommodate one vehicle, never mind two. Almost at the top of the street on the right-hand side is a sign proclaiming ‘Witchcraft Museum’. It is from here that you gain entry to Niddry Street Vaults.
To the left of the entrance is the museum itself, which is full of the instruments of torture used to extract confessions from those poor unfortunates accused, mostly without basis or proof, of witchcraft. These poor broken victims were then transported to a place where they were burned to death for their supposed crimes.
As I negotiated the steps to the vaults that first time I was made aware of a feeling of persecution – of women suffering at the hands of a nasty misogynistic man. I was sure that these feelings and impressions had nothing to do with the vaults I was about to enter but were the lasting impressions of the history of the tools of torture I had so recently viewed, some of which were authentic and dated back to the seventeenth century, when such atrocities took place.
I went down to a dark passageway, illuminated only by ghostly green lights that had been placed along the wall. Although it was a relatively chilly spring day outside, the temperature underground was surprisingly warm. The floors were covered in puddles of the condensation that was trickling perpetually down the walls. The air smelled stale, though not badly so – much like a room that has remained unopened for a number of years.
The first thing that I encountered on entering the vaults was a closed area to the left of me. On peering through the wrought-iron gateway, I could see that this ‘room’ was dedicated to some form of pagan worship. There was a pentacle on the floor and the walls were decked out with pagan regalia.
Outside the room there stood a wooden block. ‘This was used to chop people’s heads off,’ the guide who had accompanied us said with some relish. Although it was impressively marked and stained with ‘blood’, a quick touch told me that this story was untrue. My psychometric senses could pick up no such savagery having taken place anywhere near the block of wood – it had been placed there for effect and was no more than ‘window dressing’.
We moved forward along the passageway, visiting each room in turn. The camera rolled and I explained what I was receiving both clairvoyantly and clairaudiently. I picked up on children – lots of children. There were also workmen carrying out their daily workaday lives. In other parts of the vaults there were drinking houses and an air of industry. Each room told a story.
There was one room, however, that was different. This room I knew had been used in a way that none of the other rooms had. In the centre stood a stone circle. The atmosphere within this room held emanations that were not altogether pleasant. If I wanted to uncover the secrets of this vault, however, I would have to return at a later date.
Some four years later I found myself back in Edinburgh. I was there to appear at the Festival Theatre as part of my tour of the UK. What better opportunity was there to revisit the vaults at Niddry Street and delve further into the mysteries of the room containing the stone circle?
Together with Ray Rodaway, I once more descended the well-remembered steps into the vaults themselves.
As I did so, I heard somebody not of this physical world shout out, ‘Balfour! Balfour! Alison was innocent!’
I received a momentary clairvoyant image of a woman in her forties. She had two children with her. There was an air if extreme sadness about her, a feeling of loss – of unfinished business on the orders of James VI of Scotland, who was not particularly fond of women and was an ardent supporter of the witchcraft laws. I was later to discover that Alice Balfour had been burned at the stake as a witch. Her husband, also accused of witchcraft, had been beheaded in Germany.
In the vaults everything remained the same – nothing had changed in the time that I had been away. I bypassed the rooms I had previously investigated and headed straight for the vault containing the stone circle.
As we moved along the dimly lit passageway I was aware of hooded spectral figures in a regimented line entering the room to which I was walking. As I entered the room myself, I felt the air temperature grow colder and colder. Ray remarked to me how cold he felt. I felt the same. I was also feeling something else – a predatory watchfulness.
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