Early one morning – and I mean early, I have young children who have no concept of what waking at a ‘sensible hour’ is – my bedroom door pinged open and my two Small People marched in looking determined. I think that was the expression they were wearing because, as I said, it was early and I had to pry an eyelid open with great reluctance to see what the deal was. The conversation went something like this:
“Hello, you two, what’s up? You know, it’s a bit early…”
“She woke me up,” advised my son.
“Oh. Um… why’s that then?”
“She,” he pointed at his sister, just in case there was any doubt as to who the troublemaker was, “said the TV is on downstairs in your sitting room and it’s playing 101 Dalmatians but there’s no picture.”
I sat up. Well, okay, perhaps she had been up early pressing buttons?
“Sweetheart,” I addressed my daughter (who was wide awake, bright-eyed and showed no signs of going back to bed without a lengthy debate about it first), “have you been playing with the television?”
“She came and woke me up to tell me that it had woken her up,” my boy told me. They both stared at me expectantly because apparently parents have the Answers to Everything. Even at 5am.
“Um… okay, well that’s a bit odd,” I muttered, throwing the covers back to go and have a look. The television set up we have downstairs in our sitting room is the stuff of nightmares for any technophobe. It took me ages to figure out that praying and sacrificing remote controls to it wasn’t sufficient to get it to turn on and much pressing of many buttons on a multitude of remotes was also required to appease the gods of technology. If my daughter had managed to get the DVD player going by herself and turn the TV on from standby (even if it refused to display a picture) was quite an impressive feat. So I went downstairs, posted various small people back into their beds in the hope that they might stay there for another two hours (fat chance, I’m laughing to myself as I write that) and turned the TV and DVD player off again. Finally, I crawled back into bed and snuggled down once again…
…only to wake up about fifteen minutes later to the radio pinging on in our bedroom. By itself. My husband opened one eye and peeked at me sleepily as if to say ‘did you forget to turn off the Ouija board, dear?’
I’ve mentioned in the past that our house has many a foible and likes to let rip with many odd noises in the night, usually resulting in me bumbling off downstairs to make sure one of the cats hasn’t managed to get trapped in the bin. It’s not even as if it’s a particularly old house with many skeletons buried in its closets. I believe the house was built in the 1960s but it has been extended and built up and goodness knows what so many times now that if it’s true what they say about ghosts hating renovation, I suppose that would explain where some of the noises and weird bangs come from.
Another very early morning had both my husband and I doing a tour of the house looking for the source of three, loud clear knocks. I’d sprung out of bed (well, it felt like I sprung out of bed, but in reality it probably would have looked like me getting caught up in the duvet and falling gracelessly from the side of the bed onto the floor) and had scuttled off to see if someone was in trouble and was banging at our door for assistance. Nothing. Not a thing. Well, thanks SO much whatever that was for getting me out of a nice warm bed. At other times I’ll wake up because I’m certain I’ve heard the doorbell ring at some weird hour. And then last night both my father in law and I were scurrying about trying to find the cause of what sounded like a load of toy cars rolling off somewhere high up and hitting the floor.
“You alright?” he asked, dashing into the kitchen where I was looking about for the source of the noise myself.
“Me? Sure. That noise wasn’t you then?”
We had a moment of confused face pulling while we thought about it.
“I looked in on the kids and they’re asleep, so it wasn’t them,” he said. More confused face pulling. “This house is haunted…” he muttered as he wandered off back upstairs. Comments like that would probably make most people uneasy but, well, I couldn’t help grinning like an overly excited Cheshire Cat at the prospect. My daughter often palms off her misdemeanours on the Great Unseen by saying, ‘oh, it was the ghost that did it’. Hmmm… if I was a ghost in this house, I’d probably keep my head down when she’s on the rampage.
©Nicola Kirk and http://www.nicolakirk.wordpress.com 2017