This week has not been a good week. My writing has been slow, I’ve had a character stuck in her kitchen for more than five days, and I’ve been on the brink of loosing my mind. So this weekend, instead of doing some gardening like I intended, I locked myself in my office and declared all out war on Chapter Four.
It paid off. My character left her kitchen, I finished chapter four, and my sanity (or what’s left of it) remains intact.
On Saturday, I was furiously typing away on my keyboard when there was a knock at the window. Nothing wrong with that, I hear you say. Well you’d be right, if my office wasn’t on the second floor.
I peered over my desk and looked down into the garden. There was my husband, giggling his little tush off and holding a long stick with a gardening glove hooked on top of it. The saying ‘small things amuse small minds’ really does have a place in our household, and as I remarked on Facebook later….I married it.
But as I watch my hubby waving the stick around, I thought of something which happened a few years back.
My husband hates anything paranormal. He screamed like a girl when he watched ‘White Noise’ and ‘The Grudge’, and when I pull my hair over my face and imitate the woman from ‘The Ring’, he hides under the duvet, refuses to look at me, and won’t come out until I promise to stop doing it……which, of course, I don’t 🙂
Well, with this in mind, I thought it would be funny to spend the night in a haunted hotel. I found a small guest house in Kent and for a laugh, invited my parents along too.
Hubby wasn’t so keen, but with the promise of hitting the local pub when we arrived, he agreed, and off we set. Three hours later, and staying true to family tradition, we were totally lost and didn’t arrive at the guest house until late.
The receptionist swiftly led us across the grounds to the old, and supposedly haunted, Oast house. Now there are times in a marriage when your partner gives you joy – and, as I looked at the fear in my husband’s eyes while he contemplated spending the night in a place so desolate, I knew this was one of those times.
Having missed dinner, and knowing we wouldn’t make last orders at the pub, we decided to turn in for the night. My parents were quick to apprehend the bedroom across the landing, leaving my hubby and I with the room at the top of the stairs.
With every creak that sounded, my husband gasped and shook me awake. He was convinced there was a ghost in the room. An hour later, there was a scratching at the door. My husband was on the verge of a heart attack and I was sure, if I’d switched on the light, I’d have seen that his hair had turned white.
“There’s something outside the door,” he whispered.
“Well go and let it in then.”
He was quiet for a while. Then the scratching sounded again.
“You go,” he begged.
I declined.
This went on for twenty minutes. Eventually, he got out of bed and tiptoed to the door. His trembling fingers twisted the doorknob. He opened the door no more than an inch, and peered out. There was nothing there. He closed the door and immediately something scratched against the door again. He shot towards the bed faster than a bullet from the barrel of a gun.
The scratching continued. He couldn’t sleep and, with tears in his eyes, he went back to the door. Again, he opened it a couple of inches and peered out. And as before, he found nothing outside. Slowly he closed the door. The scratching sounded and he yanked the door open. There was nothing there. He bravely popped his head out. To the right, an empty stairwell led down to the small hallway and lounge. To the left was a window, and in front of him was the vacant landing which led to my parent’s room.
He quickly shut the door and ran back to the bed. “There’s something out there,” he said. “You can get out next time.”
The scratching noise went on for the next half hour. My husband lay rigid in bed all night, too frightened to move.
I waited a few weeks before I admitted the scratching noise was my dad. He’d found a broom, lay it on the stairs, and hid downstairs just inside the lounge. All he had to do was reach out and wiggle the broom to scratch our door.
So, do you have any tricks, ghostly or not, that you’ve played on people, or that have bee played on you? Do you even believe in ghosts or stayed in a haunted house? Did anything happen? Let me know in the comments box.
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Donna Collins' Blog 