A Ghost Story in Time
By John S. Richardson
Editor's note: For our Halloween season, contributor Ian S. Richardson, who also writes as John S. Richardson, shares a ghost story he began while visiting cousins in Orange County, California. The Oxford places he describes are real, and the author tells us the mummy of Meres Amun does lie in its coffin at the Ashmolean Museum. The story is published in the author's own words.
This happened to me when I took a vacation from my home in Orange County, California, to visit friends in Oxford, England.
It was a lovely, clear, sunny spring day as I drove my car along the M40 motorway from London to the city of Oxford, famous for its university and tall spires. I was making this journey for a week, having been invited there by a friend called Karen, whom I was looking forward to catching up with again, as we had attended classes together on Ancient History and Egypt some three years before. Those were held at the British Museum in London.
Karen, however, had told me about the vast amount of history and treasures to be seen within the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford, covering a vast range of history and civilizations.
I had booked myself into the large hotel named the Randolph Hotel, which Karen said was almost directly opposite the museum I was coming to Oxford to visit.
Arriving there shortly after noon, my car was taken by the parking assistant while I walked into the reception area. After booking in, I was shown to my room and told about the meal times and where the various restaurants were. As arranged previously, Karen rang my room at 2 p.m., and we made plans to meet up, as she was there now and wanted to show me the Ashmolean Museum, which I was certainly eager to see.
I made my way downstairs, and there she was, looking just as I last saw her. "Shall we go, then? We still have a couple of hours at least, and I can introduce you to the layout inside. Then you will know where to go the next day on your search," especially into the Egyptian section, which was the one period I was always most attracted to. Karen also told me they have toilets and an excellent tearoom, as well as a well-stocked shop.
Outside, we crossed the busy road, and there on the other side was this outstanding building, just like some magnificent Greek or Roman temple, looking so stunning in the afternoon sunlight. We made our way up the steps and went through the glass revolving doors. Standing there, my eyes were met with galleries going off on either side as well as leading off in front of me.
Having taken it in, I asked Karen where we should start. She thought for a second, then said, "Let's go down the one on the left, as that takes us to the Egyptian section. I am sure you will be amazed with its mummies and artefacts of Egyptian antiquity." On either side of this long gallery were many wonderful full-sized statues from the Roman and Greek periods. One could almost feel their "eyes looking into you," which gave a sixth-sense feeling: were we, in fact, being watched? The ancient gods we had read about were said to have paranormal powers, which science cannot always explain.
Then we came to a sign which said "This way to the Egyptians," so, following Karen, I made my way down this section. It was like walking down a tunnel lined with the pages of history on either side. "Here we are," said Karen cheerfully. "From here, just take your time, and I will meet you back at the exit at 5 p.m. when they close." This was to be the beginning of what I can only say was of the nature of the paranormal; I cannot explain it otherwise.
I found myself standing looking at the mummy of an ancient Egyptian lady whom the information panel said was a dancer, singer and musician who lived in the 18th Dynasty.
Her name was shown as Meres Amun. I closed my eyes and, in my mind, I began to picture this lady in her white robes, with her long black hair, dancing about with her music and singing, her hips swaying with the rhythm of the music. It was as if I was actually there. Even more strange, I was acutely aware I could smell perfume or incense, or both, but that was impossible. Then this voice entered my head, and the words were so clearly spoken: "You have returned to us. You know my name, and your name was Hori. You were also a priest."
Then I felt someone brush past me and stand, also looking at this mummy; the spell had been broken. I walked along this room and entered the next Egyptian room, full of glass cases and more mummies. As I looked around, I saw this large stone tomb before me with a doorway, and leading up to it stood a large stone statue of the Ram God, which I reached out to touch, offering up a silent prayer for my recent experience with Meres Amun.
I made up my mind that since I was here, I might as well look inside this rebuilt tomb. The inside was dark, with no lighting; the outside walls were full of carved reliefs of Egyptian deities. The information panel said it had been found in Sudan and was dated to another long-past dynasty. I recalled that this shrine was close to where Meres Amun's mummy lay in the museum. Sadly for Meres Amun, this temple was far from the temple in ancient Egypt.
Did this mean that she had also walked through this entrance and was standing inside, maybe even now, in another dimension of time? Maybe her ghost was there beside me? My mind raced over this as I struggled to find any logical explanation. Again, a vivid picture flashed before me. There I was on the Giza Plateau, close to the Pyramids, and then I was underground, walking down some vast chamber beneath the sands, with huge statues of Egyptian gods and goddesses on either side of me. I was alone, but their presence bore down upon me heavily. I walked through a door at the end of this vast chamber, and there I was, just as before, standing in this small temple in the Ashmolean Museum as if nothing had changed.
I looked at my wristwatch: time to go and meet Karen and tell her all about my adventures in time. At least she always kept an open mind. So, I followed the exit sign, and there she was, standing at the door waiting for me to appear. I could hardly wait to tell her what had happened since we were together. Time for that nice cup of tea in the Randolph Hotel.
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The next day, having agreed to meet Karen in the museum at 1 p.m. in their cafeteria, I duly made my way across the road, up the steps, into the museum and down to the restroom and café. Karen was waiting at the table. "What is the plan, then, for today?" I said. "Well, as you also like Ancient Rome, we will begin there and see what you may discover." So off we went to the Roman section. This was full of finds and maps, and also details of when the Romans were in Egypt and the temples they built to worship both their gods and those of the Egyptians.
We were now well into the afternoon and, feeling weary, we returned to the café. Sitting there, we were approached by two attractive ladies with dark hair who asked if they could join us. We looked at each other and invited them to sit down around our table. "My name is April," said one, "and my name is Maria," said the other lady. "We saw you yesterday and noticed that you appeared most interested in the Egyptians. Well, we are members of an Egyptian historical society, and we are looking to fund and send someone to Egypt, and in particular the Giza Plateau, to search for what we believe is a vast underground chamber that may contain secrets as yet unknown about Ancient Egypt. Would you be interested, or like to consider this? Our society would cover all costs and expenses." I was finding it hard to believe what they had just said and offered to me. "Well, I will consider it, but I cannot answer you just now." She handed me a card with the society's details, and I promised to let them know. With that, they thanked me and left. Karen appeared as stunned as I was.
So, after we both talked this over, we again made our way upstairs to commence looking at the Roman artefacts and statues on display, not to mention the vast selection of Roman coins, among them some with the head of Queen Cleopatra, the last Pharaoh and Queen of Egypt. The time was now just after 4:30 p.m. I mentioned to Karen I would meet her again at the exit at 5 p.m., as I wished to have one last look at the Egyptian section. "Before you go, I have this gift for you," Karen said as she handed me a bag which contained a book. "I thought you would enjoy reading this one. It's called A Ghost in Time. It is about the amazing find near Thebes of the mummy of a young dancer and singer." I thanked Karen for her lovely gift, then, grasping the bag firmly, took my leave and hurried away.
On reaching the Egyptian Gallery, I noticed it was now very quiet; it seemed I had the place all to myself. As if propelled by an invisible energy, I found myself in the room with the coffins containing the mummies. I made my way towards the mummy of the singer and dancer Meres Amun, but just as I drew close, I was stopped by the brightest shimmering white light I could ever imagine, and within this was the silhouette of Meres Amun herself, her hips gently swaying. I could hear music and smell the sweet perfume in the air. She seemed to open her arms towards me, then I heard her voice: "Come, you have returned." The light embraced me. Only the silent walls of the museum witnessed the truth: a ghost was there beside me, somehow aware my body was travelling in time. "Yes, Mummy, I am not lying. That person was standing right there by that coffin and then disappeared completely."
The security cameras showed a figure standing at the side of the coffin of Meres Amun; then it just vanished. I had just vanished. Now I was also a ghost somewhere in time. My mind raced: how could I return? Then I was standing outside the entrance to the Randolph Hotel. I heard a voice shouting my name: "How did you just vanish from the Egyptian section without telling us? Were you a ghost or something?" I was still shaking from the experience, which no one would believe. Had I met a ghost that lived in the museum?
John S. Richardson.
Author Ian S. Richardson. Photo courtesy of Ian S. Richardson
About the Ashmolean Museum
Website: https://www.ashmolean.org
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