The Ditchling Beacon Walker

[Quercus]

Well then, first thread... and I thought I'd start with the tale that brought me back to this forum, in a roundabout way.

Story first - and then what came after, in separate posts in case anyone wishes to quote certain sections back at me. Apologies for the length, future posts shouldn't be so episodic!


One night, in either December 2004 or January 2005, I was driving back towards Brighton from my workplace near Lindfield in Sussex, around 11pm.

I worked in a care home, and the hours were unsociable. It was a very cold night, the temperature hovering a little over freezing point – I’d had to use de-icer and scrape the frost from the windscreen after finishing my shift – and there was a stiff wind blowing. The journey was a familiar one, along the B2112 from Wivelsfield through the village of Ditchling, before a left turn onto Beacon Road took me up the very steep, winding road which topped out at Ditchling Beacon, the tallest peak on the Sussex Downs.

I'd dropped off some other staff members in Haywards Heath, Wivelsfield and Burgess Hill, so I was alone by the time I passed through the quiet village of Ditchling and onto Beacon Road. As the streetlights came to an end, I flicked on my main beams and shifted into low gear to negotiate the tight bends which snaked their way up the hillside, trees reaching in from either side of the road to meet in the middle. There was no other traffic. The car was nice and warm after half an hour with the heater on, though.

As I made my way around the fourth turn on the ascent, about two-thirds of the way up the incline, my headlamps illuminated the back of a tall male figure, striding up the right hand side of the road and travelling in the same direction as me. High leather boots, a long, dark coat and a wide-brimmed hat were clearly picked out in the Ford Escort’s halogen main beams. My immediate impulse was to avoid hitting the unexpected walker, who I assumed to be a farmer, perhaps making his way home from one of the pubs in the village. High earthen banks and dense trees lined both sides of the road, and there was nowhere for a pedestrian to move out of the way of traffic.

As I steered around the walking figure, who didn’t turn round or acknowledge my presence in any way, it then occurred to me that maybe something was wrong. Maybe his car had broken down in the village, and he could use a lift up such a punishingly steep hill on such a cold, wild night. I eased off the throttle, coming to a halt halfway between the two bends with my foot on the brake pedal, and lowered the driver’s window. The chill night air rushed into the cabin. I could clearly see the figure reflected in my door mirror, still striding up the side of the road towards me, and brightly lit by the Escort's brake lights. As he drew closer I cleared my throat and prepared to ask him if he needed a lift up the hill – and then I noticed one tiny detail.

The figure walking towards me, reflected in the mirror, had no face.

The hat, the coat, and even a scarf knotted at the throat were plain to see in the bright red brakelights - but where the face should have been was nothing but darkness. It wasn't in shadow from the hat, as the brakes were low down and lit the figure completely. It wasn’t a balaclava or any other face covering, as that would at least have shown an outline. Above the scarf and below the hat, there was simply nothing at all. Only a void.

My brain scrabbled to process what I was seeing, and everything seemed to slow down. I knew what I saw, reflected there before me, and equally I knew I couldn't really be seeing it. My mind seemed to be locked in a loop, unable to work out what was unfolding and hence unable to take action. And all the while the figure was drawing closer, step by step by step.

Suddenly, as if surfacing from beneath water, a jolt of adrenaline hit me and I grabbed at the gearstick, stomped on the accelerator and pulled away, fast.

With a primeval fear prickling at me, I ragged the car around the next bend and onward towards the top of the peak, leaving the walker behind in the darkness beneath the clusters of bare branches. I wound the driver's window back up, trying as I did so to rationalise what I'd seen, and attempting to second-guess whatever optical illusion had made me think that the long-coated traveller was faceless.

But I couldn't come up with anything. The image of the figure, with every crease of the coat and twist of the scarf picked out by the high-intensity brakelights, was burned into my memory – and the awful, indisputable nothingness up top.

Cresting the top of the hill, I hammered along the open road, twisting across the open moorland towards Brighton and home, my mind still churning. Then it struck me that there was nowhere up here for anyone to be walking to - there were no houses, or barns, or anything at all up here. Just miles and miles of wind-blasted heathland and stunted trees across the Downs, until the road met up with the A27 near Coldean. I saw no other cars, either moving or parked, all the way along. And, even with the heater turned up full blast, the inside of my car felt like an industrial freezer all the way home to Hove.

I didn't sleep well that night, even with several hot water bottles in the bed with me. I just couldn't seem to get that chill out of me.

After that, I started going the long way home, along the main A23. There may have been a perfectly plausible explanation for what I saw, or thought I saw – but I didn’t fancy trying my luck with the walker on the Beacon Road again.



So, that's what happened to me.

 

[Quercus]

If this story rings a bell or two amongst dedicated Forteans, it may be because it's now popped up in a few publications.


Just before Hallowe'en in 2016, I noticed The Guardian online asking for reader stories, under an article 'Have You Ever Seen A Ghost?'

https://www.theguardian.com/lifeand...-seen-a-ghost-share-your-story-this-halloween


On an otherwise slow day in work, I quickly polished an account I’d written a number of years earlier over lunchtime and sent it in without thinking too much about it. I had long since sworn off acknowledging the odd experiences of my younger days, so I'm not quite sure what moved me to do this.

Now, the Graun didn't just ask for a story, they asked a number of questions. Here's what was sent (redacted slightly here for personal details):


Submission to the Guardian, 31/10/2016:

Name: [Quercus]

Where do you live? Living in Hove, East Sussex at the time

Age, job, other info? [Never-you-mind]

When and where did your experience take place?

One night in December 2004 I was driving back to Brighton from my workplace near Lindfield in Sussex, a little after 11pm. I worked in a care home, and the hours were unsociable. It was a very cold night, the temperature hovering a little over freezing point – I’d had to use de-icer and scrape the frost from the windscreen after finishing my shift – and there was a stiff wind blowing. The journey took me along the B2112 from Wivelsfield through the village of Ditchling, and then a left turn onto Beacon Road before ascending the very steep, winding road known as Ditchling Bostall leading up to Ditchling Beacon, the tallest peak on the Sussex Downs.

I passed through the quiet village and, as the streetlights came to an end, flicked on my main beams and shifted into low gear to negotiate the tight bends which snaked their way up the hillside, trees reaching in from either side of the road to meet in the middle.

Who was there? Just myself, in the car.

Talk us through what happened.

As I made my way around the fourth turn on the ascent, about two-thirds of the way up the incline, my headlamps illuminated the back of a tall male figure, striding up the right hand side of the road and travelling in the same direction as me. High leather boots, a long, dark coat and a wide-brimmed hat were clearly picked out in the Ford Escort’s halogen main beams. My immediate impulse was to avoid hitting the unexpected walker, who I assumed to be a farmer, perhaps making his way home from one of the village pubs. High earthen banks and dense trees lined both sides of the road, and there was nowhere for a pedestrian to move out of the way of traffic.

As I steered around the walking figure, which hadn’t turned or acknowledged my presence in any way, it then occurred to me that maybe something was wrong, like his car had broken down in the village, and he could use a lift up such a punishingly steep hill on such a cold, wild night. I eased off the throttle, coming to a halt halfway between the two bends with my foot on the brake pedal, and lowered the driver’s window. The chill night air rushed into the cabin. I could clearly see the figure reflected in my door mirror, still striding up the side of the road towards me, and brightly lit by the Escort's brake lights. As he drew closer I cleared my throat and prepared to ask him if he needed a lift up the hill – and then I noticed one tiny detail.

The figure walking towards me, reflected in the mirror, had no face.

The hat, the coat, and even a scarf knotted at the throat were plain to see in the bright red brakelights - but where the face should have been was nothing but darkness. It wasn't in shadow from the hat, as the brakes were low down and lit the figure completely. It wasn’t a balaclava or any other face covering, as that would at least have shown an outline. Above the scarf and below the hat, there was simply nothing at all. Only a void.

How did it make you feel? And how do you feel, writing about it now?

My breath caught in my throat as a jolt of adrenaline hit me, and I grabbed at the gearstick, stomped on the accelerator and pulled away, fast. A primeval fear prickled at me as I hauled the car around the next bend and onwards, upwards towards the top of the peak, leaving my companion to the darkness and the clusters of bare branches.

I wound the window up, trying as I did so to rationalise what I'd seen, and attempting to guess whatever optical illusion had made me think that the long-coated traveller was faceless. But I couldn't come up with anything. The image of the figure, with every crease of the coat and twist of the scarf picked out by the high-intensity brakelights, was burned into my memory – and the awful, indisputable nothingness up top.

Cresting the top of the hill, I hammered along the open road, twisting across the open moorland towards Brighton and home, my mind still churning. Then it struck me that there was nowhere up here for anyone to be walking to - there were no houses, or barns, or anything at all up here. Just miles and miles of wind-blasted heathland and stunted trees, until the road met up with the A27 near Coldean. I saw no other cars, either moving or parked, all the way along. And, even with the heater turned up full blast, the inside of my car felt like an industrial freezer all the way home to Hove.

I didn't sleep well that night, even with several hot water bottles in the bed with me. I just couldn't seem to get the chill out of me. After that, I started going the long way home, along the A23. There may have been a perfectly plausible explanation for what I saw, or thought I saw – but I didn’t fancy trying my luck again.

Even now, nearly twelve years on, the rising feeling of horror as I recall the steady footsteps of the figure with no face coming toward me hasn't evaporated.

How do other people react when you tell them? Why do you think they react like that?

Well, I don't really tell anyone. Those I have mentioned it to - family and close friends - tend to be curious, but mostly incredulous. Most people try, as I did, to rationalise it - to tell me that I was mistaken; it was a trick of the light; I was tired after a long shift; that it was someone playing a prank. I accept that all these might be reasonable explanations, but none of them square with what I saw - and the feelings it caused in me, of intense fear and a chill that would not leave me.

I don't expect to be believed whenever I choose to share this story, and I accept that there is always a high level of ridicule levelled at people who claim they've had a brush with something inexplicable - especially below the line at the Guardian website, where any admission of an 'odd occurrence' is generally met with accusations of downright untruthfulness, undiagnosed mental illness, or extreme gullibility.

I'm not really a sensationalist nor a publicity-seeker, and I do feel that television 'ghost hunters' have done much harm in the public opinion through outright deception and gross exaggeration. I do think that the possibility of the human spirit continuing outside of death is a conversation worth having, but so often the dominant 'sceptical' line shuts down all discussion of the matter, reducing it to a classical scientific view which denies all possibility of such a thing - even while science is facing up to many gaps in its knowledge.

I do have other friends with their own 'ghost stories' of inexplicable events - and these are educated people in high-profile careers, many of them scientists and engineers. It seems that the credibility of the individual is the key to belief, not the facts of the story as presented. But because members of the public are merely members of the public, their credibility cannot be verified and is much more easy to dismiss in sneering tones. I would never claim indisputable proof of the paranormal based on my experiences, but they have been numerous enough to give me pause for thought.

Did your experience change your opinion on the supernatural?

Not really. I first experienced what I can only describe as a ghost when I was four - a 'black and white lady' walked past me into a hotel room where we were staying, carrying a tin bath of laundry, and promptly disappeared. Over the years a number of strange things happened to me, from working in a shop where I would be pelted with objects in an upstairs stockroom (no other members of staff would venture in there); to items vanishing in my home only to then reappear, sometimes months later, in the middle of a room; and I was even once struck hard and shoved by an invisible presence in a public toilet, having been followed by strange footsteps for half a mile. This continued throughout my childhood and adolescence, tailing off when I was in my mid-20s. The occasion at Ditchling was probably the last time I ever saw something strange, which is why it sticks in my mind.

Why do you think you saw a ghost? Are you more open to the possibility that they exist?

I don't know why I saw this, or really what it might have been.

There was always something of a history of 'oddness' in my family - dead relations would be seen, heard talking and sighing, and their perfume and aftershave smelled in the weeks and months after their deaths. I don't know if there is such a thing as family sensitivity, but my aunt continued to experience similar sightings and objects moving, and dreams that foretold the deaths of friends and neighbours which worried her greatly as they often came true within days.

Please share any other information:

I don't know whether the Guardian is canvassing for stories to be held up for public ridicule, or whether it's genuine in a desire for unusual tales. I have reservations about sending this in, but I've decided to do so anyway.

It's not something I usually ever speak of unasked, although I have spoken to a few 'outsiders' about my experiences - journalist Will Storr contacted me and included an odd event which took place while I was conducting a school trip to Michelham Priory in his book 'Will Storr vs The Supernatural'.


So, that was the full submission. Here's what the Guardian published:


‘I don’t expect to be believed whenever I choose to share this story’ – [Quercus], Hove

One night in December 2004 I was driving back to Brighton from my workplace near Lindfield in Sussex, a little after 11pm. I worked in a care home, and the hours were unsociable. The journey took me along the B2112 from Wivelsfield through the village of Ditchling, and then a left turn onto Beacon Road before ascending the very steep, winding road known as Ditchling Bostall leading up to Ditchling Beacon, the tallest peak on the Sussex Downs.

I passed through the quiet village and, as the streetlights came to an end, flicked on my main beams and shifted into low gear to negotiate the tight bends which snaked their way up the hillside, trees reaching in from either side of the road to meet in the middle.

As I made my way around the fourth turn on the ascent, about two-thirds of the way up the incline, my headlamps illuminated the back of a tall male figure, striding up the right hand side of the road and travelling in the same direction as me. High leather boots, a long, dark coat and a wide-brimmed hat were clearly picked out in the Ford Escort’s halogen main beams. My immediate impulse was to avoid hitting the unexpected walker, who I assumed to be a farmer, perhaps making his way home from one of the village pubs. High earthen banks and dense trees lined both sides of the road, and there was nowhere for a pedestrian to move out of the way of traffic.

It occurred to me that maybe something was wrong, like his car had broken down in the village and he could use a lift up such a punishingly steep hill on such a cold night. I eased off the throttle, coming to a halt halfway between the two bends with my foot on the brake pedal, and lowered the driver’s window. I could clearly see the figure reflected in my door mirror, still striding up the side of the road towards me, and brightly lit by the brake lights. As he drew closer I cleared my throat and prepared to ask him if he needed a lift up the hill and then I noticed one tiny detail: it had no face.

The hat, the coat, and even a scarf knotted at the throat were plain to see in the bright red brake lights but where the face should have been was nothing but darkness. It wasn’t in shadow from the hat, as the brakes were low down and lit the figure completely. It wasn’t a balaclava or any other face covering, as that would at least have shown an outline. Above the scarf and below the hat, there was simply nothing at all.

I tried to rationalise what I’d seen, but I couldn’t come up with anything. I don’t expect to be believed whenever I choose to share this story, and I accept that there is always a high level of ridicule levelled at people who claim they’ve had a brush with something inexplicable.

https://www.theguardian.com/lifeand...faceless-man-nine-ghost-stories-for-halloween



In fairness, it was presented pretty much as I'd written it, with edits for space more than anything else.

So that, it appeared, was that.

There were a few below-the-line comments from people asking what happened next, and I basically repeated the same line that I'd included in my submission; I'd got scared, driven off, and couldn't warm up for some reason.

 

[Quercus]

One chap did contact me off the back of it to ask for more details and send me his own story about faceless figures appearing in his bedroom – which he described as having ‘black holes’ for faces.

I don’t wish to circulate his own account here as I don’t have his permission to do so, but here’s my reply which maybe fleshes out my own thoughts a little better:

Hi [Correspondent],

Thanks for your comment on the Guardian article on Hallowe'en stories - I'm interested and intrigued that there could be some sort of 'type' of phenomena that shares similar characteristics to the figure I saw on the road at Ditchling in Sussex. Certainly I've heard of phantom highwayman sightings in oral histories, but hadn't considered that perhaps the 'masked man' trope may have more in common with the sort of figure I saw.

I suppose, when confronted with something unfamiliar, the mind does try to categorise it into something familiar, and for many people the highwayman archetype would kinda fit - I initially thought the figure I saw was a farmer, based on my knowledge of the area and the type of people I'd pass in Ditchling, but certainly the long coat, high boots and wide-brimmed hat could just as easily be thought of as some sort of highwayman-style attire, especially if another detail seemed to be a mask over the face.

As stated, I'm utterly positive that there was nothing covering the face of the figure (which would have been not unreasonable on such a cold night) - there simply was no face, at all - a total void, a nothingness. Had the figure been actually invisible below the clothes - humour me here - then from my viewpoint I'm confident that the bright brakelights from my car would have illuminated the inside crown of the hat, and the back of the scarf. But it was simply a void - one, like you say, that I can now imagine as going on forever. It was a bit like a black hole, in some ways, sucking in everything including the light from my Escort's rear lamps. And definitely the heat.

It was a bitter night, but I'd had the heater on for about half an hour (I'd dropped off a few other staff members in Hayward's Heath and Burgess Hill - part of the deal at the care home seemed to involve acting as an unpaid taxi service for non-driving staff coming off the late shift) and the car was nicely warm inside. When I wound the window down, the warmth vanished immediately - and I couldn't get heat into the car again after, even with the blower up to maximum, or any warmth into myself when I got home. I have never been colder - I literally felt chilled to the bone, but couldn't tell whether this was a physical or mental sensation of coldness. I thought at first it was just that I felt spooked and hence cold; but now I'm not so sure.

Thinking about it now, I can't say that I noticed any hands on the figure either, or really anything other than the clothes. That's not to say there weren't hands - I just don't remember seeing them, though there were of course arms on the coat. The image in my mirror of the absent face is what is permanently burned into my memory, though. Every crease and wrinkle of the clothing, dyed red by the lights and in sharp focus, and the nothingness up top.

Ruminating on this, the thing that annoys me about responses to any article on the paranormal in the popular media is this assumption that the person telling the story is simply gullible and stupid, or an attention-seeker, and saw something run-of-the-mill and then misinterpreted it, either accidentally or wilfully. There's a tendency among those of a more sceptical bent to conclude that someone has chosen to arrive at a fantastical conclusion first, rather than taking the time to consider the more logical and everyday possibilities.

And I can certainly see the logic there - if you claim to believe in ghosts, and visit a location reputed to be haunted, it's quite possible that very ordinary events might be misconstrued as paranormal even when there are much more plausible explanations (creaking of old floorboards resembling footsteps, birds or mice in attics making scuffling noises). Identical sounds or feelings would be dismissed, or identified as normal, in any other location. Anyone who goes out expecting to experience something supernatural will probably manage to convince themselves that they have done so, however unconscious that bias may be.

With my experience on the road, it wasn't like that (nor, indeed, most of the other odd things that have happened to me) - it was the other way round. I encountered a situation which, although unexpected (a walker on the road, late at night) was entirely normal in appearance. My assumption was totally humdrum ("Gosh, must be a farmer walking home from The Bull. He really should have a torch with him, he couldn't possibly see a thing out here!"), and then changed to concern ("Wonder if he's broken down in the village? I'm sure he could use a lift - it's not nice out there, and I know I'd appreciate help if I were in that situation").

At every stage, I was expecting nothing more than an interaction with a real, living person. It wasn't a case of, "ooh, I saw a ghost! It was dark, and spooky, and I saw a man out walking so it must have been a ghost!" It was only on registering the lack of face on the figure coming towards me, that my mind spent several seconds trying to figure out what I was seeing, trying to make it fit some pattern of normality - the same way you might try each key from a bunch in an unfamiliar lock, one after the other - before concluding that this was a situation far outside of normality. And that's when my flight instinct kicked in.

I fully accept I may be wrong in what I think I saw - indeed, if someone were to reply below the line "I'm a farmer in Ditchling and I remember one night while I was walking up to the Beacon a car stopped, then drove on quickly - I was wearing a black Thinsulate scarf over my face because it was a cold night", then I think I would experience some considerable relief. I could accept that I was wrong, that I misinterpreted what my eyes thought they were seeing, and I could move on.

Because the event has stayed with me. Unfinished, unresolved, like an unanswered letter left in a bureau. I feel like an unspoken question was asked of me that night: "What am I? What are you?" I can't answer that question. And I keep turning and turning it over, without rest. And that's why I can't laugh it off, forget about it, let it go. Because another thought comes in - what if I'd waited? What if I'd frozen in terror until the figure drew level with me - turned to me, placed that void mere inches from my face - what then?

It's the distance between what is and what might be, and how that might not be much distance at all, that brings me back to these threads.

Anyway. Thank you - for your interest, and for reading my blatherings. I've attached a copy of the original account, which I wrote down three years ago (my first copy of the account, written not long after the experience, was sadly lost in a catastrophic laptop failure), and also a copy of the full submission to the Guardian yesterday. I would also be very interested in hearing more about your experience when you were ten!

Thanks, and take care,

[Quercus]

 

[Quercus]

Then a few years after that, in October 2019, I picked up a copy of FT at an airport, and while flicking through it noticed some quotes from my story in the Guardian article.

This was FT385:18-20, and it was printed in the Ghostwatch section, under 'Faceless Phantoms: Alan Murdie asks whether the motif of the faceless ghost might be neurophysical in origin.'

Verbatim, the section of Murdie's article ran as follows:

From the south of England comes the chilling description of a male figure seen by a man driving along a country road to Ditchling Beacon, the highest point on the Sussex Downs where:

"...the hat, the coat, and even a scarf knotted at the throat were plain to see in the bright red brakelights, but where the face should have been was nothing but darkness. It wasn't in shadow from the hat, as the brakes were low down and lit the figure completely. It wasn’t a balaclava or any other face covering, as that would at least have shown an outline. Above the scarf and below the hat, there was simply nothing at all." (See 'Ghost Cat and the faceless man: nine stories for Hallowe'en', Guardian, 31 Oct 2016).


Quite a short section in a longer article, and if you have a copy of FT385 to hand, you may recall that the main thrust of the article hypothesized that such sightings of faceless ghosts may be down to a neurophysical defect in the person reporting such an experience. A proposition certainly worth exploring, and in that spirit I wrote to Alan Murdie to advise that the account originated with me, and I'd be happy to answer any futher queries he may have. Unfortunately, despite sending the email via FT's editorial desk and also via SPR's secretary, no response was received.


This unexpected episode kind of re-awoke something in me, and last year I ended up buying a copy of Antony Milne's 'Haunted Cars And Highways - A Definitive Account Of Paranormal Events On Britain's Roads' (Empiricus Books, Cambridge, 2019). While reading through it - a substantial body of work, although focusing more on the breadth of reported experiences than in-depth case studies - I found what appeared to be another reference to my account on p183:

"At Ditchling, in December 2004 at 11pm, a man with a wide-brimmed hat walked into the road. The driver stopped to offer a lift, but got scared as the figure approached his car but appeared to have no face."

Although no specific source is given for this paragraph, it appears Milne may have derived his information from an entry on www.ParanormalDatabase.com, which is referenced a number of times in his publication.

Faceless Man

Location: Ditchling (Sussex) - Ditchling Bostall road, near Ditchling Beacon
Type: Haunting Manifestation
Date / Time: December 2004, around 23:00h
Further Comments: A driver slowed down as they passed a man in a wide-brimmed hat and scarf walking along this road. Deciding to stop and see if the man required a lift, the driver watched the figure approach in the wing mirror. As the man draw close to the car, the driver realised that the figure had no face, and quickly left the scene.

https://www.paranormaldatabase.com/reports/roaddata.php?pageNum_paradata=13&totalRows_paradata=808

I would guess that this Paranormal Database entry was probably parsed from the Guardian article - although it's interesting to note that, even with this short chain of information, inaccuracies and variations are starting to appear.

The Milne entry states that the figure "walked into the road" - and its inclusion in Chapter 12, entitled 'Dangerous Phantoms Across Britain' implies to me that unexpected movement onto the carriageway was a defining characteristic. But the figure I saw didn't walk into the road in front of me, it was already there on the road when I rounded the corner.


And speaking of variations... you may have spotted that in the earlier written accounts, the time of year is given as December 2004, but at the top of the thread I’m unsure whether it may have taken place in January 2005. Well, that's because I believed it to have happened in December until this afternoon, when I rummaged through my old diaries (previously in storage).

I carefully read through all my entries for December 2004 (and November), but could find no reference to this experience.

But going on slightly further, I found an entry for Sunday 9 January 2005, where I had written, somewhat cryptically, "Lifts aplenty - drove over Ditchling solo - low cloud, low petrol - spooky in a not-nice way!"

Of course this isn't conclusive at all, and I wish I'd made a more careful note of exactly what happened at the time. But it's the only reference to something untoward occurring on my drive home after dropping off other staff members. I only worked in that particular job between late November 2004 and mid-January 2005, so there's not many entries to go through. This diary happened to be an academic diary, so Sundays were only allocated a mere three lines of space. Had it been any other day of the week, I would have had more space to elaborate.

I’m also now calling into question my memory that it was a frosty night, if indeed it was the same night, as it would be rare to have a night of both frost and low cloud. So either that’s a slightly faulty memory, or it’s not the same night. Sixteen years on, I just can’t be certain. This is why things get sticky with any first-hand account, I suppose.


I also carried out some research to see if anyone else had ever reported a similar figure on the road up to Ditchling, but drew a blank. Although there are legends of the Wild Hunt attached to the Beacon, I was unable to find any first-hand accounts of anything paranormal linked to that specific area – although I understand the Whitegates area on the nearby A23 into Brighton has reports of ghostly figures seen by the side of the road, while the railway tunnel at Clayton, a few miles west of Ditchling, also has a reputed haunting attached to it.

But, if I did see something that night, it appears that it’s not been flagged as a recurring phenomenon.

 

[Quercus]

Finally, to bring this to a close, my wife and I often attended 'Tenx9' storytelling events where nine people each speak for ten minutes in front of an audience about a true experience that happened to them. One event in February 2018, titled 'Ghosts', had a speaker pull out just a few hours before the show. Following a social media appeal from the organisers I offered to step in.

I read out my story pretty much as supplied to the Guardian, since I happened to have it handy - though it was the only story of the night that took a prosaic approach to the topic. Others were rather more meditative, metaphorical affairs on persistence of memory and the past.

I did try to make it a little bit humorous, which was maybe accentuated because the previous speaker had offered up a rather harrrowing account of her thoughts while visiting the deathbed of her abusive father. Although the performance was recorded for podcast, I don't think mine made the cut. It was my first time speaking at an event, and I don't think people knew if I was being serious or not.


So! Well done if you've made it this far... I know there's a lot here, but I thought it was maybe worth touching on all aspects of this story, since it's already kind of in the public domain and may be slightly familiar to some Fortean scholars.

I've mentioned a few other experiences in passing further up too, and I hope to be in a position to go into them in greater detail soon.

But to sum up – I’m still not entirely convinced that what I encountered on the road that night was a ghost, or even anything paranormal. But I’m at a loss to work out what it actually was, based on what my eyes and brain were telling me. All these years later, I’m still no clearer.

Over to you.

 

[Spookdaddy]

...The journey was a familiar one, along the B2112 from Wivelsfield through the village of Ditchling, before a left turn onto Beacon Road took me up the very steep, winding road which topped out at Ditchling Beacon, the tallest peak on the Sussex Downs...

Oh, wow - I thought this rang a bell.

I have a copy of Brighton Ghosts, Hove Hauntings by John Rackham (published 2001). It's a chunkier and much more thorough volume than many such books of local ghost lore, and well worth a read (Brighton does seem to be ridiculously popular with things that go bump).

Anyway, I read the book last year, and had a vague memory that Ditchling was mentioned.

What I wasn't quite prepared for is...well - see for yourself:

On a chilly autumn night in 1991, David Moore set out to drive from Peacehaven to Crawley. It was prior to the construction of the new A23 road, so he chose to go via Ditchling. Reaching Ditchling Beacon at about 10.30, he entered the steep, sharply twisting hill that leads down into the village. As he came to the bottom of the hill, the car's headlights picked out the figure of a man attired in what seemed to be a brown cloak, while around the face was what seemed to be a piece of brown cloth.

At first, Mr Moore thought the figure was that of a tramp who had wrapped something around his head to keep himself warm, but in the next instant he realised that the cloth, which hid most of the man's face, was actually a cowl. Mr Moore's foot had already moved to the brake pedal, but as the car slowed to a crawl and while still illuminated by the headlights, the figure in brown dissolved.

The figure is clearly attired somewhat differently, and - from what I can work out - the car journey in the other direction to your own. But I think this encounter would have taken place at the bottom of the very same hill you had your own towards the top of.

 

[pandacracker]

Very interesting and thanks for the detailed telling of your story @Quercus.

Am I right in thinking that you didn't look directly at the figures face, you watched its approach in the wing mirror only?

 

[blessmycottonsocks]

Creepy tale that gave me a flashback to an experience me and my son had whilst driving home late at night. This is my account posted here in 2015.

"Was driving back from a concert with my son last night around 22:30. Kept the speed down, because I was very low on petrol (warning light was blinking) and the garage I was hoping to use on the A30 had just closed. Were within a few miles of home, driving through some woods, when we noticed a figure dressed in dark clothing on our side of the road. All we could really see were the man's hands and face reflecting in my headlights and he appeared to be walking with a strange, jerky gait. I did a double-take, as we got closer, because he seemed to have no facial features ..... then my son and I both said in unison "he's walking backwards". Maybe he had just turned around so as not to be dazzled by my headlights, but it still felt weird and I definitely felt a frisson of creepiness as we passed."

 

[Quercus]

Oh, wow - I thought this rang a bell.

I have a copy of Brighton Ghosts, Hove Hauntings by John Rackham (published 2001). It's a chunkier and much more thorough volume than many such books of local ghost lore, and well worth a read (Brighton does seem to be ridiculously popular with things that go bump).

Anyway, I read the book last year, and had a vague memory that Ditchling was mentioned.

What I wasn't quite prepared for is...well - see for yourself:



The figure is clearly attired somewhat differently, and - from what I can work out - the car journey in the other direction to your own. But I think this encounter would have taken place at the bottom of the very same hill you had your own towards the top of.

Goodness me.

I felt strangely emotional upon reading that - just goes to show what umpteen years of wondering what's what can do to you.

Yes, that account does descibe the same location, with the motorist travelling in the opposite direction and encountering the cowled figure slightly further down. The figure I saw was about mid-way up the road to the summit and, as with the 1991 account, also ascending the hill.

The reason I had assumed the walker was a farmer was the very plain, functional outdoor clothes worn. They were by no means fancy and, on reflection, could have spanned any date between about 1750 and today. They were all a brownish, tertiary colour though, but very much not a robe or cowl - that would have made me think something odd was up long before I passed the figure.

Thank you so much for digging this up - I hadn't heard of the Rackham book, but I'll look out for a copy! I did have a copy of Judy Middleton's Ghosts Of Sussex, but it dated from the mid-80s and was fairly brief.

Very interesting and thanks for the detailed telling of your story @Quercus.

Am I right in thinking that you didn't look directly at the figures face, you watched its approach in the wing mirror only?

Yes, that's correct - while I saw the back of the figure lit by the car's main beams as I approached, I only saw the front of the figure in the Escort's door mirror - and only illuminated by the brake lights.

I spent a long time wondering whether that was something to do with it, being old enough to remember 35mm photography and setting up a darkroom using a red safelight...

Assuming we're examining paranormal angles, was the figure something that couldn't be seen in the red portion of the colour spectrum?

I've often considered what I might have seen if I'd turned around to look directly at the approaching figure, or snicked the gearbox into reverse to activate the white reversing lights.

And then sometimes, when I remember the utter chill that had enveloped me, I'm kinda glad I didn't.

 

[feinman]

The Japanese have experienced ghosts or spirits without faces or turn out not to have them:
Noppera-bō
The most famous story recollection of the Noppera-bō comes from Lafcadio Hearn's book Kwaidan: Stories and Studies of Strange Things titled Mujina. The story of a man who travelled along the Akasaka road to Edo, he came across a young woman in a remote location near Kunizaka hill, crying and forlorn. After attempting to console the young woman and offer assistance, she turned to face him, startling him with the blank countenance of a faceless ghost.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Noppera-bō

 

[Mythopoeika]

Very interesting and thanks for the detailed telling of your story @Quercus.

Am I right in thinking that you didn't look directly at the figures face, you watched its approach in the wing mirror only?

Vampire!

 

[Spookdaddy]

Goodness me.

I felt strangely emotional upon reading that - just goes to show what umpteen years of wondering what's what can do to you...

I can imagine. To be honest, finding the connection sent a shiver down my own spine, even at my remove from the events.

...Thank you so much for digging this up - I hadn't heard of the Rackham book, but I'll look out for a copy...

It's very definitely worth a read - far more comprehensive and substantial than many that address this kind of subject from a local level, and certainly one of the best of its type that I've read. (That said, it has got a slightly dodgy picture of a monk on the cover - but nobody's perfect.)

 

[Quercus]

I can imagine. To be honest, finding the connection sent a shiver down my own spine, even at my remove from the events.



It's very definitely worth a read - far more comprehensive and substantial than many that address this kind of subject from a local level, and certainly one of the best of its type that I've read. (That said, it has got a slightly dodgy picture of a monk on the cover - but nobody's perfect.)

Yeah, I think it's something of a surprise when the dots suddenly join - I've been looking on and off for any information for quite a while, and have acquired a couple of books on road ghosts in the off-chance (none have mentioned anything about Ditchling Beacon other than the Milne book, and that didn't tell me anything I didn't know!)

Have now ordered myself up a copy of the Rackham book - thanks so much for the tip-off!

 

[Quercus]

The Japanese have experienced ghosts or spirits without faces or turn out not to have them:
Noppera-bō
The most famous story recollection of the Noppera-bō comes from Lafcadio Hearn's book Kwaidan: Stories and Studies of Strange Things titled Mujina. The story of a man who travelled along the Akasaka road to Edo, he came across a young woman in a remote location near Kunizaka hill, crying and forlorn. After attempting to console the young woman and offer assistance, she turned to face him, startling him with the blank countenance of a faceless ghost.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Noppera-bō

Yoinks, that's pretty scary stuff!

Surprised it didn't get a passing mention in the Murdie article in FT385, as there's clearly a long folkloric tradition in Japan of these beings... cheers for that, I won't sleep tonight!

 

[feinman]

Yoinks, that's pretty scary stuff!

Surprised it didn't get a passing mention in the Murdie article in FT385, as there's clearly a long folkloric tradition in Japan of these beings... cheers for that, I won't sleep tonight!

That's strange indeed that it wasn't mentioned
It is very scary stuff to think about laying in bed; have sweet dreams instead --maybe count some faceless sheep..

 

[catseye]

Brrr.... I am so glad I am reading this in daylight. There is just something about beings with no faces. Maybe it's because we read so much of a person's intent and mood through their face that the thought of there being something that you couldn't tell whether they had good or bad intent towards you that is so spine chilling.

My son has - for Cosplay, he assures me and not for evil or sexual intent - one of these morph suits, which gives a 'headless' impression if the head piece is worn under a hat.
https://www.amazon.com/Morphsuits-Original-Colour-Costume-Halloween/dp/B00DQND5U0

 

[Amergin]

Would it be inopportune here to share another Quentin Smirhes classic clip?
Watch to the end to see the relevance…

 

[Ghost In The Machine]

Creepy tale that gave me a flashback to an experience me and my son had whilst driving home late at night. This is my account posted here in 2015.

"Was driving back from a concert with my son last night around 22:30. Kept the speed down, because I was very low on petrol (warning light was blinking) and the garage I was hoping to use on the A30 had just closed. Were within a few miles of home, driving through some woods, when we noticed a figure dressed in dark clothing on our side of the road. All we could really see were the man's hands and face reflecting in my headlights and he appeared to be walking with a strange, jerky gait. I did a double-take, as we got closer, because he seemed to have no facial features ..... then my son and I both said in unison "he's walking backwards". Maybe he had just turned around so as not to be dazzled by my headlights, but it still felt weird and I definitely felt a frisson of creepiness as we passed."

Oh heck yes, like the woman we saw walking backwards and in a creepy sort of way, almost like Tai-chi. It was broad daylight, and my husband thinks he's seen her before - although not walking backwards. So fecking weird. Why? Just... why? (She was not a ghost, he thinks she's a local. She was on a deserted stretch of path, in the middle of nowhere, not in the village itself). Absolutely real as day although I remember watching he through the rear view mirror/back window til she was out of sight, to check she didn't disappear!)

Quercus, thanks for that - a good one, well told. Husband had a faceless ghost encounter in the 1970s which I will have mentioned numerous times here because, although he's had a few weird things happen, that one absolutely scared him the most.

He was doing a re-enactment in the 1970s at Sudeley Castle, and went for a wee in the woods at night (or was walking back from somewhere). And whilst I doubt he was entirely sober, what he saw sobered him up fast enough. He tells me he legged it.

Woman walking towards him in the woods, wearing a cloak. Now that's not scary when you're re-enacting and surrounded by weird people in cloaks. But she seemed to be looking right at him and as he got closer he realised - she had no face. Proper Scottish Widows style cloak, he describes, and is insistent it wasn't just dark place + face in shade. She sort of turned to stare straight at him, was fully aware he was there and yet - just a blank, as you describe.

Years later we were off on a day trip from our then home in the Midlands, and I was driving. I took a wrong turn and there we were, going towards Sudeley Castle. He went white as the proverbial ghost - known him for many years (since about a year or so after faceless woman) and have never, ever seen him look like that. I had to do a u-turn. (And it wasn't my driving that was scaring him... he just saw the words "Sudeley Castle" on a sign)...

I looked the place up since - I never went to an event there so don't know it. And can find ghost mentions but no mention of a garden/woodland ghost. I think if she hadn't been "looking" at him, so far as you can look with no eyes, it wouldn't have been half as bad.

 

[Frideswide]

She was not a ghost, he thinks she's a local

could be both

 

[gordonrutter]

could be both

A local ghost for local people?

 

[Amergin]

This was fun: A vintage chrome plated Art Deco cigarette / cigarillo humidor that was up for sale on eBay last September.

Beware of reflective surfaces...!

 

[Mythopoeika]

This was fun: A vintage chrome plated Art Deco cigarette / cigarillo humidor that was up for sale on eBay last September.

Beware of reflective surfaces...!

The seller is a Jawa from Tattooine.

 

[Amergin]

The seller is a Jawa from Tattooine.

I wondered why the shipping costs were so exorbitant.

 

[Ghost In The Machine]

could be both

She was right outside the local sewage plant. On a long stretch of (understandably) abandoned path. Maybe, technically a toilet ghost!

 

[Amergin]

This was fun: A vintage chrome plated Art Deco cigarette / cigarillo humidor that was up for sale on eBay last September.

Beware of reflective surfaces...!

Looks like it is still for sale too:

https://www.ebay.co.uk/itm/wundersc...276501?hash=item5691db9d95:g:yOwAAOSwA3dYPHsc

 

[dream_decoder]

She was right outside the local sewage plant. On a long stretch of (understandably) abandoned path. Maybe, technically a toilet ghost!

Poo-ltergeist!

 

[maximus otter]

...like the woman we saw walking backwards and in a creepy sort of way, almost like Tai-chi. It was broad daylight, and my husband thinks he's seen her before - although not walking backwards. So fecking weird. Why? Just... why? (She was not a ghost, he thinks she's a local. She was on a deserted stretch of path, in the middle of nowhere, not in the village itself). Absolutely real as day...

The first thing that occurred to me was: was someone filming her with the intention of running the film backwards, in order to make a video of spooky, The Grudge-type movement?

maximus otter

 

[Spookdaddy]

Oh heck yes, like the woman we saw walking backwards and in a creepy sort of way, almost like Tai-chi. It was broad daylight, and my husband thinks he's seen her before - although not walking backwards. So fecking weird. Why? Just... why?...

Walking backwards is apparently quite good for things like balance and co-ordination, as well as enhancing spatial awareness - and I believe it's used in some sports training regimes. (An old climbing acquaintance used to swear by it - although I'm pretty sure he didn't walk around in public like that.)

However, I believe it can also be an element of behaviour at the more extreme end of the OCD spectrum. I've seen only one example of this with my own eyes - in this case the person would walk in the usual way maybe five or six metres, then turn and walk in the direction she had just come from for maybe a couple of paces, before then walking backwards the same five or six metres - and then reversing the process. It was actually quite balletic.

I've seen another example of this in a documentary - this time with a baby and pram in tow, believe it or not. Very similar to the process described above. Again, it was actually quite a graceful process, and almost looked like a piece of modern dance.

 

[Ogdred Weary]

Thank you for this story @Quercus deeply spooky and clearly and thoroughly told. Some thoughts:

By coincidence last night I watched The Nun, which was not very good but does have a gang of faceless ghost/demon nuns at one point.

My immediate mental image upon reading the description of the walker was that of someone in 17thC Mathew Hopkins-esque garb, I think this is partially because of the picture of "the tall ghost" or similar generic name in an old book- I think this might be in Usbourne's Book of the Unknown: Ghosts. It's also because I worked at a historical building which had reports of a man in similar clothing along the roadside outside, he was also supposedly seen by a member of staff once, no reports of facelessness though. As a student a guy tried to create an "urban myth" for an art project and got another tall thin friend to walk through trees near a road in similar getup, neither where anywhere near your sighting.

I was told a story, coincidentally by the tall thin friend mentioned above, it's from another guy we were at uni with, whom I was friendly with but not close to. Apparently, as a teen on the Isle of Wight one night was walking to his girlfriend's house down various country lanes, he was walking down one when he spotted an old lady stood a short distance away in the middle of the road with her back to him - very quiet road, middle of nowhere with no traffic. He shouted to see if she was OK, no response, so knocked on the door of one of the two or three houses on the lane, he asked if the woman lived there, the man who answered said no but came out to take a look. He also got no response on calling over so walked around to face her, his face crumpled in horror and he screamed "she's got no face!" and ran away. The guy in question, ran back home in the other direction, needless to say, terrified.

 

[Ghost In The Machine]

The first thing that occurred to me was: was someone filming her with the intention of running the film backwards, in order to make a video of spooky, The Grudge-type movement?

maximus otter

She actually looked like the ghost in The Ring now you mention it! But with ordinary clothes. Husband is sure she not a ghost because he reckons he's seen her before in or around the village next to where she was (and you see zero people who aren't white in these villages, so she'd be memorable). But no, a long, straight stretch of country road, with a long path totally empty of people except her. Maybe it was tai-chi!