New Zealand Ghosts & Other Haunts

This little piece is from a Book entitled "Once Upon an Island" about the life of two ex pat americans on Arapawa island in the Malborough sounds.

Betty still lives on Arapawa and my wife and I plan to visit with her sometime next year for a belated honeymoon (few years belated now!) and I can vouch for both her tenacity and honesty. What Betty writes about here, is as true an accounting as I have heard. While on Arapawa myself some years ago, I happened to see an inlet between that island and the next from my position on a hill, partially obscured. When I came around the edge of the treeline, I discovered the sea with no inlet and no island...where one had appeared before. I retraced my steps to my previous position and saw nothing there either. So, I have had my arapawa experience....here for you lot, is Betty's, in her own words...


Nothing proved such a diversion from my preoccupation with the wildlife as the growing awareness that we were sharing Aotea not only with an assortment of two and four-legged creatures, but also with a host of unseen, though often heard, cohabitants.

My first encounter came in the quiet of an early summer morning. The sun had yet to make an appearance, but the breeze through the open window was already hot and humid. We had risen before dawn so that the men could get away for an early sheep muster and avoid the heat of the day.

Enjoying my solitude, I decided to play Eve in my morning Garden of Eden and stripped down to the barest essentials. To add to the feeling of total freedom and my bohemian mood, I even removed the partial dental plate that fills in the gap where nature has denied me the growth of two second teeth. With gaping grin and clad only in undies, I was happily pottering away in the kitchen when to my horror I heard voices approaching on the path leading to the house. They sounded very near indeed and I panicked at my semi-nakedness and the welcoming smile that would be minus two prominent ivories.

To get to the clothing and the teeth, I had to pass through the lounge, where the ranch-slider doors would put me on full display. Chances of a quick cover-up diminished as the voices drew rapidly closer, so I darted into the bathroom and wrapped a towel around me, sarong style, wondering where on earth these people had come from. No boat had arrived and the dwelling in the next bay was seldom used. There was little chance of anyone arriving in the adjoining bay without being detected unless they came in the dead of night.

It was now possible to distinguish two, possibly three, women's voices, chattering and laughing as if sharing a happy moment, and from the clarity of their voices, I guessed they must be on the doorstep. I peered around the archway between the kitchen and lounge, fully expecting to see them. But there was no sign of them, so I sprinted to the bedroom and made myself socially acceptable.

The voices could not have been more distinct had we been engaged in direct conversation, yet the elusive callers refused to allow me the benefit of pinpointing their whereabouts. Whoever and wherever they were, one thing was certain; they had excellent voice projection, for to be heard so clearly yet remain unseen was quite remarkable.

Never mind, the mystery would soon be solved and I would know who came bearing such happy tidings in the early morning light. My welcoming smile, now with a full compliment of pearlies, faded when, as I stepped through the door exuding welcoming charm, the voices stopped and I was left smiling at the ngaio tree.

Running first to the back of the house to see if my friends had gone walkabout, I then raced to the head of the bay almost desperate to find visible bodies to attach to the voices, but I could neither see nor hear any sign of my visitors.

Perhaps, I thought, walking slowly back to the house, I had been invaded by talking myna birds! No, I assured myself, the radio had not been on. I struggled to rationalise what I knew I'd heard with what I hadn't seen. There must be a reasonable explanation.

Then I realised that the terriers, who always set up a fearful din when people arrived, had remained silent during the whole episode. Obviously, they had not heard anything to rouse them from their peaceful dreams on the couch. Several times that day, I rang the bach in the next bay hoping to solve the mystery, but the phone went unanswered.

Hearing bodiless voices on a single occasion was one thing, but when it happened again it became a bit unnerving. Again the voices approached in the early morning when I was alone. Needless to say, I wasted no time in rushing to catch my visitors before they could get away, only to find that as I stepped amidst their laughter, the sounds ceased just as abruptly as on the previous occasion.

My reports on the encounters, or should I say non-encounters, have met with varying responses. Some people tut-tut and mumble something about the strain of fighting with Knowledgables; others show interest and nod their heads to indicate they have had similar experiences. Since then the voices have come on many occasions and are not confined to early morning visitations nor to myself alone, for others, aware of the mystery and aura of Arapawa, have been allowed a glimpse into the unknown. For some it is frightening but I do not find it so. When I spoke to a Maori friend about it, she listened patiently and said it was `Just the Old People'. She assured me there was nothing to fear