Haunted House - The Ghost in the Cellar
I didn't know my house was haunted when I bought it, on a grey and soggy Northern morning four years ago. I should have known, because someone publicised it in no uncertain terms, and in a place so obvious that only the most blinkered fool of a house-hunter could miss it. But I missed it, so I didn't know. I was in a rush, I had things to do, I had two members of my family in hospital 250 miles away, and I had an appointment to keep. I didn't read the sign. And yet, no matter that the house was haunted, because even if I had of known I would have bought it anyway. And that's because just like everyone reading this blog right now, I don't really believe in ghosts and ghouls and spectres and stuff; I'm sensible, I'm educated, I'm atheistic and shrewd enough to spot a rock solid bricks and mortar giveaway. I'd have sneered, Ghosts? Do me a favour! Walking bed sheets and kids being swallowed by TV sets? - go get a job! See, sceptical that's me. At least, that used to be me. Ask me now, after what I've seen, heard, smelled and felt; you say to me now, hey spud, do you believe in ghosts? and you'll get a straight up, no nonsense, unscripted and instinctive response: Do I believe in ghosts now? Possibly. Yeah I think I just might. This is what happened...
