The Red Lion

About twenty years ago I was staying in a Colchester hotel called The Red Lion with two of my work mates. We’d gone down there to fit granite worktops in the bars at Colchester Garrison, the army barracks. Who would have known that they have bars in garrisons? I know, a bunch of dudes dancing together. I suppose they have to unwind somehow. I wonder if they employed barmaids or if whether barmaids would be an unhealthy distraction. Can you imagine the attention a couple of buxom barmaids would get from a ton of soldiers?

I took a wolf mask with me and scared the receptionist with it, creeping up behind her desk. I used to take my wolf mask everywhere with me to scare people with. Once, some guy was asleep in his car during a break in work at Excel Logistics, a factory that made window frames. My deceased brother used to work on the shift that came in when I was going home. I’d see him briefly and wish him luck. He was topping up his illegal monetary profit from selling garys (pills) with a bit of legit agency work. His pal, and my pal, Darren Moss, worked there too, on my shift. Mossy was a dedicated gym rat who cared a lot about his physique. He was on steroids, cheating a bit, but he looked alright. He had the perfect attitude for being a swollen monkey. Anyway, this dude was asleep in his car so I donned the wolf mask and crept into the passenger side. He slowly woke up as if from a dream and was confronted by what must have looked like from first impressions a real wolf in his car, present with him. It shaken him so much that he shook so much that the whole car shook with him! He absolutely shat himself. Meanwhile, I pissed myself laughing.

Andrew Steel (Steely) worked there too. He used to address people with, “Hey dickhead!” Ha, comical. Once we had a game of football in the factory on a summer night. The shift leader named Craig was a glowing winsome warm pleasant soul and a decent player. The shop floor was about the same size as a perfect five-a-side pitch. That was the only time I’ve ever been paid to play football, and I loved it. One night I blagged an asthma attack so I could leave early on an overnight shift and go home to watch some German hardcore. The title of that porn was called GGG, I heard it standed for German Goo Girls. A thing of the past but very strong and addictive at the time.

After I scared the receptionist in The Red Lion I bought a kebab from across the street which I returned for a refund because it was just chicken gristle instead of meat. The day before I’d kicked a football against some church ruins. My two mates fell sound asleep after trying to bring a girl back who didn’t want anything to do with either of us. I was kept awake all night by the sound of crying from behind the wall. A LONELY GIRL IN PAIN CRYING…It lasted right through until morning, preventing me from getting a single wink. There’s nothing so provocative, unstirring, or drawing, as a child crying. It’s like a red rag to a bull, you have to investigate, especially if the child is crying for its mother.

That night spooked me. Years later, on Facebook, I discovered that the hotel was over 400 years old, and haunted. A woman named Tracy Long did psychic events there. It all made sense to me. I’d been visited by a ghost. About three years ago I heard the same ghost in my council flat. This time it said, “I’m alright.” I breathed a sigh of relief. I wonder if it could have been Abbie, the leader of my protective spiritual counsel, a young girl with brunette hair who wears a white dress all the time. Ghosts and witches and all of that, I love you x