In 1920 is had been documented that
a figure of a women was seen by two
people in the churchyard of St Peter’s. It
was seen to fade from view and the very
same figure was reported again in the
early 21st century. Could this be Celia?
How many other people may have seen
her? As I am originally from Brighton I
heard about this story from local people,
I’ve researched it and now it was my
chance to investigate it.
2019, some 188 years later and I am
making my way to Celia’s resting place;
well a part of it anyway. On the Journey
I’m thinking of questions I’m considering
asking her and wondering that if she is
present it’s probably due to her missing
body parts, surely? Pockets full of
paranormal equipment and Nicky (Nikon)
in hand I reached the graveyard that fully
surrounded the 800-year-old church of St
Peter’s. On arrival I realised how ancient
this place is, a classic horror movie type
of graveyard and my heartbeat increased
significantly. Tree roots cracking through
tombs, Mother Nature claiming them
within the thick opaque atmosphere.
There were graves of various types
from many an era and are scattered all
around. I was here to visit one particular
memorial though; that of Mrs Holloway.
Crows cawed at me as I searched through
the overgrown graveyard for her resting
place. They watched my every move in the
mildew like guardians of the underworld,
protectors of the very bones buried deep
here. I was alone and it was the early
hours of a spring day. The crisp air forced
my warm breath to create my very own
misty manifestations and pained my
lungs. My feet were damp from each blade
of long grass depositing droplets on me,
marking me, logging my presence as I
made progress to my destination. Out the
corner of my eye I spotted a plaque on
the wall. It blended in with the wall so wellyou wouldn’t notice it unless like me, you
know it existed and were subsequently
looking for it. In excitement I started
yanking equipment from my person and
lost grasp of my K2. I immediately bent
down to retrieve it from the unkempt
grass and on my way, I noticed something
shiny. Coins. A selection of coins was
scattered all over a recumbent headstone,
a headstone with an unreadable name.
I’d never seen this before so I looked
closely but got a sense that I shouldn’t
interfere. I would never steal anything of
course, it wasn’t like that, but the voice
in my head said, “Do not, whatever you
do, move those coins.” And I didn’t. That
was definitely something to google later
on for sure. Sodden K2 cradled again I
made my way over to the plaque. When I
finally arrived, I took base environmental
readings with my temperature gun (A gift
from George) and EMF with the K2. I took
still photographs including full spectrum
as well as base Spirit Box 7 and digital
recordings. Once these were complete,
I introduced myself to Celia, explaining
why I was there, trying to contact her and
of course, offer any help she made need.
The wall surrounding the plaque was
on average around 13°C but the plaque
itself was a much warmer, 15°C. I put this
down to the material of the plaque as
either of the temperatures didn’t change
throughout the investigation. Talking to
Celia as if she was still alive, I enlightened