Saturday week ago, whilst volunteering on the door collecting tickets at the the local Club, a friend of mine approached me. After a certain amount of banter, this young lady went on to say “I’ve got a ghost at my place.”

“Hells teeth!” says I.

“’tis true!” says she, whom I shall now refer to as ‘C’; and this is what she had to say.

A few years ago, not very many, but long enough, C was delighted with the fact that her daughter had phoned to say that she intended to come up for a visit with her wee bairn in the near future.  The day arrived, greetings, kisses, the cuddling of a baby, and laughter were all had. Family enjoying family once again.  Yet, as the visit extended over a few days, C started to notice something about the baby. As most young children are, visiting Grandma is a rare treat and quite a delight, and this child behaved appropriate to the occasion.

However……………when ever C held the baby, she noticed that the child would go from happy and playful, to subdued and silent all in the space of seconds. Initially not thinking anything of the change in behaviour, C began to notice after a day or two that the bairns silence occurred when ever she, the child, was facing a particular corner of the lounge room. The point was discussed after C’s daughter began notice the same thing; ‘coincidence’ put down as the cause. A day or two later, C’s daughter and granddaughter completed their all to short stay, and the memory of the unusual  demeanour of the baby was filed neatly away within the storage boxes of the mind.

Some two or three years pass, and C’s daughter, now with another bouncing bairn added to the family, returned once more to visit Grandma. It was then that the memory stored of the eldest of the two kids actions on the previous visit were hauled back out of the vaults of the mind. Specifically as further oddities began to unfold with the children in certain places in C’s home.

Initially the two wee sprats would enter one of the lesser used rooms in exploration of the old house that C dwelled within. For want of further narrative, I shall call this room, the ‘guest room’. Now, within a couple of hours, the kids would only go as far as the door to the room, flatly refusing to enter. Questions were asked, and via the hit and miss translation associated with child speak, it was eventually established that the reason behind their lack of willingness to enter the room was because they didn’t like ‘the man in there.’  As would be expected, both the children’s’ mother and C slipped into action, checking every room and the houses surrounds for the intruder. Yet none was found.

The room was then locked up, the event put behind all concerned for the moment, and eventually the visit came to an end, with the small family returning whence they came.

Not long after, with both experiences now pressed to the fore C’s mind, C started to pay more attention to the little things that happened around the house. The little things we all take for granted, yet never really pay attention too. Different noises the house made when she was alone, particular area’s in the house that were permanently cold, regardless of the season. Then, again not long after the visit of her grandchildren, C thought she could smell ‘smoke’ in the house, she did not smoke herself, plus she dwelled on her own, yet on examination of the house, inside and out, no fire nor smoke was found. Again it happened, and once more no evidence of the same could be located, although this time she paid more attention to the scent of the smoke, deducing that it was neither the odour of electrical fault or wood smoke, nor something on the breeze, but that of tobacco.

As with these things, not a great period of time later, the smell of smoke returned to her nose, and she traced its source. The room the two kids flatly refused to enter, yet there was not a thing there that could have caused such a thing. Moreso, once she was in the room proper, she noted that it wasn’t cigarette smoke that she smelt, rather smoke from a pipe; pipe tobacco, a form of tobacco no longer easily sourced, nor commonly used these days.

So, what happened next? Well, nothing to blow your socks off, nor anything more than the room is now permanently locked up, and the smell of tobacco smoke still occasionally lingers. As for the man, well, neither C, nor anyone really know’s. The house is old, and many people walking the path of this round eternal have lived, come, and gone from there. It is not who or what he is, but rather ‘he is’, and all in a normal old house on the streets of this very Moora.

Fin

This is no more than a ‘rough’ from my perspective, only edited as much as a six and a four year old have allowed me; but, it is my hope at least, that it lends to the tale and the idea of that that I am hoping to achieve.  To the left, the smaller image above has something embedded within, click upon it to unleash all that it holds.

Oh, don’t forget my ear is here and waiting for you; either email me at editor@therebemonstershere.com; text me on 0418393742; https://twitter.com/be_monsters, however I am not much of a tweeter, and I have only just opened the account; message me on facebook www.facebook.com/therebemonstershere and I will set it up  from there.

Plus, I will be Kumquat Mae, 1pm to 4pm, the 13th of November 2015, and if you have a story to tell, come in and tell me there.

Once more, thank you so much for the interest people have shown with this, it makes all the difference.

TTFN

N.

 

 

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