James Gilberd - Spooked: Exploring the Paranormal In New Zealand

The Ratana church photographed by James on 1 January 1997.

Searching for somewhere to eat, they happened upon a few bored teenagers smoking and kicking a Coke can, and with nothing to compete with its clatter, the sound followed them for more than a block. A takeaway by the river was one of the few places open, and they sat by the water to eat a dreary pizza. The first night of the new year looked like being one of the quietest and dullest theyd known, so they retreated to the hotel room for the comfort of television and large quantities of tea. After the big night at the Chateau and the days strangely unsettling journey, they werent up for much else anyway and finally went to bed at midnight.

They woke at exactly the same time, an hour later, as a black shape came at them from the end of the bed. James sat bolt upright, fighting off the indistinguishable attacker, and saw that Denises arms were flailing too. In the commotion she hit the switch by the bed and yellow light filled the room. Their assailant disappeared instantly. Breathing heavily, eyes wide and adrenaline pumping, they looked at each other, unable to speak.

They checked the doors and windows, and found that all were still locked. No intruder was lurking under the bed, in the cupboards or behind the shower curtain. There was no sign that anyone, or anything, had entered or left the room by standard means, and no sign of forced entry.

They sat back down on the bed, baffled and still shaking. Between sobs, Denise said that she thought it was a big black dog, and they agreed that made no sense.

James shivered, sweat chilling him, every hair on his body still standing on end. The room was cold for a summer night. Denise was shaking too and James wrapped his arms around her.

They tried to distract themselves by watching television. Then they made cups of tea, joking about how English that was, but their laughter quickly faded and they continued to be fearful. No rational explanation for the attack seemed apparent. If it had been a nightmare, how could they explain having the same dream at the same time? James knew it wasnt just that theyd been pushing against each other: theyd both been asleep on their backs, side by side but not touching.

As they discussed the possibilities, James heard the tremble in his voice and chills continued to run through his body. He told Denise that hed never felt this scared of anything. He was certain there had been a third physical presence on the bed, because he had pushed against it and felt its weight. But where had it gone?

They checked the room again, just to be sure, and tried to go back to sleep, but neither could settle. They turned the lights back on and tried reading, but both of them kept glancing around the room, unable to concentrate on the words. They turned the lights off again but sleep still would not come. At 2.30 am, an hour and a half after the attack, they sat there, still cold and shivering. Denise started to cry again. James looked at her and said calmly, Shall we go home?

They dressed and packed quickly and silently, and he left a cheque on the coffee table. Denise added a note: James has been taken ill and weve had to leave urgently for Wellington. Please accept our apologies.

Halfway home, at 4 am, they stopped for petrol. The man at the all-night service station in Foxton regarded them suspiciously. His right hand lingered under the counter, one finger presumably hovering over the panic button.