We lived in England when I was quite young. I think I'd just turned 5 and my mother had signed me up for highland dancing lessons, scratchy kilt and all. Even at that young age I went by myself because the classes were in a newish addition to an ancient church directly across the street from our home. It was really more of a village, the town of Pinner, in those days, and street was very quiet. Too, I knew to look for cars. I would scoot across the road, let myself though a gate that had to have been at least 300 years old, the church itself dating back to the 14th century, waltz through the headstones and enter the recreation hall. We lived on Church Lane in a lovely house named Yew Tree Cottage.
The classes were held in a brightly lighted room attached to the church. The main part of the church, specifically the area near the altar could be seen through a doorway at the far end of the room, but with the bit of difficultly that often comes with peering into a darker space whilst surrounded by brightness. One evening, a couple of months in, I had a little break and wandered over to that opening and stood there, leaning on the door frame, looking into the church, up the length of the nave to the altar area. Once my eyes adjusted I realized I was seeing an old monk praying at the rail. He was wearing the traditional long, brown, woolen robe with what looked like a rope belt. His garb was not unusual and I had seen others walking around town similarly attired. I wasn't especially interested in him, per se, until I realized that though he was kneeling, his knees were not touching the floor. He was about 8 inches above it. There, praying peacefully, not touching the floor. As I watched, he got to his feet, still not touching the floor, and made his way out through a door on the side of the church. I was gobsmacked and thrilled and couldn't wait to rush across the street to tell my dad, he being the progenitor of both my person and my already burgeoning love of all things spooky. The remaining hour or so of class seemed interminable.
When I eventually got home I immediately told my father and he was as excited as I was. The next day we walked together to the church and he inquired about what I'd seen. I rather suspect he was expecting either a shocked reaction or blank stares. Instead the woman in the office said, "Oh, yes, that's brother so and so. He's been about for years." When asked about his floatiness, she explained that when he'd been alive, evidently several centuries earlier, the floor in the church had been higher. About 8 inches higher.
This is the kid I was at the time, sitting in the cottage window...
