My father was a beekeeper. There are lots of traditions regarding bees and death, one of which is that you have to go and tell the bees that their keeper has died and tie a black ribbon on the hives. (I think the idea behind this superstition was so that the bees get accustomed to the new beekeeper's smell so they don't get aggressive.) Anyway, on the day of my father's funeral, a swarm of his bees were in the yew tree right above his grave. We know they were his because of the unusual markings they had compared to other bees in the area.

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cerinamroth

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2 months ago

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Cry in bee flying language

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I have my own ghost story: as a college student I was lived in London for a short while in the early 2000's. Me and a couple of friends shared a ground flat at a dingy building. The place was old and was in dire need of repairs, but was affordable and in a convinient location, so we did not mind.
One night, alone washing dishes, I heard a faint laugh outside. There was a window over the kitchen sink opening to the courtyard, so just I looked up. On the other side of the yard, next to door to the building's staircase there was a little girl, wearing a bright yellow dress and holding a teddy bear. She looked perfectly normal, but the fact it was almost midnight and she was all alone in such a place might it slightly creepy. The girl looked straight at me, then laughed again and then ran upstairs.
I was a bit creeped out, and when my flatmates arrived I told them I had seen the "little girl from upstairs". I remembered that both their faces drained of color, and then they asked by if I had followed her. I said no, and decided not to push the issue.
The following day, I asked the landlord about it. The man, an elderly gentleman, also went dead serious, took me to outside and showed me the walls: there was a faint line where you could see where they went from old, soot-blackened bricks at the bottom to reddish, newer ones on top. The landlord then told me that the building had been bombed during the London Blitz in WW2, and rebuilt.
Ever since, he told me, tennants had reported seeing the little girl. I asked him if he had ever seen the girl, to which point the man shook his head and said "No. Apparently, she only appears to foreigners. And you must never follow her, because she will give you the kind of surprise that turns a person's head white overnight".
I experienced several strange things at that place: lights turnining off, cold random spots at the stairs and basement, and a couple of times I was called by my name, but my friends swore they were not calling. Whether or not they were trying to scare or prank me, I don't know, but everything got uncomfortable enough for me to change accommodations the following week. I still remember the street: Fulham Road, Central London.

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Luis Hernandez Dauajare

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