Welcome back, dear readers and lovers of the strange and unexplained.
If you’ve been following along, you know that Gilbert and I have been knee-deep in our investigation of the haunting at Tihange Castle.
But today, I’m stepping away from the official story to share something a little more personal—a strange experience I had on our drive up to the castle. It’s been gnawing at the back of my mind ever since, and I can’t shake the feeling that it’s connected to whatever we’re dealing with in this case.
It all started on a dreary, overcast morning, the kind that feels like it’s waiting for something to happen. Gilbert and I had packed up the car with our recording equipment, notebooks and some snacks to keep the road trip hunger at bay. We had the castle’s coordinates punched into the GPS, and I was behind the wheel, trying to calm the butterflies in my stomach. Gilbert, as usual, was vast asleep like an overgrown babe in the passenger seat. I swear that guy goes into a pavlovian coma as soon as I turn the engine on.
As we got closer to Tihange, the landscape seemed to change. The trees grew thicker, the shadows longer, and the road itself felt narrower, like it was closing in on us. But what really caught my attention was the car radio.
I like to keep the radio on low when I drive—a little background noise to cast out the silence. But as we started to approach the castle, the station began to fizzle out. Static crackled through the speakers, and no matter how much I fiddled with the buttons, I couldn’t lock onto a clear signal. At first, I brushed it off. Old roads, tall trees—there are plenty of logical reasons why the radio might struggle out in the middle of nowhere.
But then, something strange happened.
Amidst the static, I started to hear music. Faint at first, like a whisper carried on the wind, but it was there—just beneath the surface noise. I leaned closer, straining to make out the tune, and that’s when I realized it wasn’t just random notes. It was a song: "She's Not There" by The Zombies.
The melody was unmistakable, haunting in its own right, with those eerie harmonies and that melancholic tone. It was a song I knew well, but hearing it then and there, buried in the static, sent a shiver down my spine. I switched stations, thinking it was just a coincidence—a local station with a weak signal, perhaps. But every station I turned to was the same: static, with "She’s Not There" playing faintly in the background, like an old echo trying to make itself heard.
I glanced over at Gilbert, expecting him to share my unease, but he was vast asleep, drool and all, oblivious to the strange occurrence. Typical, right? I didn’t want to sound paranoid, so I kept quiet, convincing myself that it was just some odd radio interference. But as we drew closer to Tihange, the song only grew louder, the static giving way to that haunting chorus: "But it’s too late to say you’re sorry.."
I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. There was something about the way the song clung to the air, persistent and unyielding, that made my skin crawl. It was as if the castle itself was singing to us…
When we finally pulled up to the castle’s gates, the radio cut out completely—just silence, a heavy, oppressive silence that seemed to seep into the car. I turned it off, my fingers trembling slightly. Gilbert finally woke up, giving me a curious look, but I just shook my head and told him it was nothing. How could I explain it to him? He’d just chalk it up to a freak coincidence, and maybe he’d be right. But deep down, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was more than just a glitch.
For now, I’ll leave you with this thought: Sometimes, the signs are subtle—a song, a flicker of static, a chill in the air. Pay attention my fellow adventurers because the shadows have a way of speaking and they might just be trying to tell you something.
Stay curious
Stay sceptical…
…And sleep with one eye open
Until next time,
Sally Spectra
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