My baby boy turned 1 today. To whoever looks after the weather – thanks for getting rid of the wind and turning on the sun. We enjoyed the great outdoors on a local farm with all his baby mates. Given how shocking the weather was yesterday i had to pinch myself as I gazed up at the perfect blue sky as my son and all his friends whizzed along on the barrel bug ride. My son stayed the course of the day very well despite having really bad teething pains. So bad I don’t travel anywhere without our trusty bottle of calpol – he seems to spike a temperature during teething every 4 – 6 hours.
I reflected back on the day he was born, It was a Wednesday. Every Wednesday in our village they practice the church bells and I romanticise that they were ringing them for him the day he was born. I lay in bed with him next to us in the crib listening to the bells ring and thinking I was one of the luckiest people alive and what had I done to deserve such good fortune. Later that night I was woken by a creaking floorboards (I think you know where this is going). I (think) I am not a total fruit loop, but I am convinced someone was there in the room. The footsteps went to the end of the bed near the crib and then stopped. I dared to peep open my eyes and just made out a silhouette near the crib but I didn’t want to open my eyes completely for fear whatever I saw would completely freak me out. So I closed them shut again and focused on going back to sleep. Nothing further happened.
I like to think it was my granny, who died when I was 13, coming to visit her great grandson. But it could have been someone who lived in our house before – we live in a post war house built in 1947 when Britain was getting back on its feet again and many people were born in this house I’m sure.
My dad’s house used to be a pest house in Victorian times – it sits in fields outside the walls of the local town (yes the town is literally surrounded by a wall with a big house for the Lord and Lady slapped bang in the middle of the town next to the church). If anyone got a terminal contagious disease they were sent to Dad’s house to die. So if ever there was a place that would be frequented by ghosts, it would be dad’s house. I saw a ot of things as a child but then I had a habit of sleepwalking so everything got a little mixed up with that. Hence my question are they real? Part of me likes to think they are but part of me likes to think they aren’t.
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