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Oct 5

Dead men don't pay rent

Posted on Friday, October 5, 2007 in Family, Strange and Unusual

One of the best parts of having a head cold is that constant stoned feeling, I find.  Every now and then I find myself displaced, like I’m frozen in a weird reality where the atmosphere is denser and objects don’t make sense, like the world has been superimposed on itself.  This is when the strange stuff happens, stuff that you write off as temporary insanity.  Like last night, for instance.  The following is nothing but the truth.

It was dark.  I had a clingy child who needed distraction.  I carried her downstairs through the unlit sittingroom, and into the unlit kitchen.  There’s a very large wendy-house in my kitchen which takes up most of the floor space, it’s there because our garden is a mudbath and a pretty unsanitary place for a child to play in, unless you’ve done the rounds with a pooper-scooper. 

I bent down, puppychild in arms to the door of this wendy house and opened it.

“What’s in there?” I whispered excitedly to her.

“A man” She said.  She stared at the far corner of the miniature house.  My blood suddenly changed it’s direction of flow.

“What man?  Who’s there?”  I asked.  Puppychild began to babble non-sensically, then suddenly clung to me for dear life and shouted ‘Mummy no!‘ repeatedly until I stood up. 

Somewhat bewildered, I flooded the kitchen with light, and put puppychild down.  She ran out of the kitchen immediately.


This mildly creepy event would ordinarily have been written off in my mind, if it wasn’t for my friend once telling me that my house stood on an exhumed burial ground.  She told me I could look it up in the Wicklow Courthouse if I didn’t believe her. 

I would love to see a ghost.  I’m convinced I would be able to stand tall and look it in it’s misty eyes and talk to it quite sensibly.  At least I was convinced.  When you get spooked suddenly like this though, it’s quite easy to slip into mild panic.  I kept glancing at the reflective window expecting to see a horrible disfigured head behind me.  I kept glancing at the wendy house, looking for shifts in reality or cloudy apparitions.  Of course I saw nothing.

It doesn’t end there, my pretties, oh no.

Laughing boy’s room is a makeshift adaptation… we divided the kitchen in half with a partition, and made the extra space into his bedroom.  There is a small window cut into the partition that looks into the kitchen, and a small shelf which I use to make up kiddo’s meds.  I was standing here at this shelf, with puppychild to my left, playing on the floor.  Laughing boy was giggling in his bed behind me.  This was only a few moments after my wendy-house shock, so I was nervously humming ‘La Bamba’ to regain focus.

I turned to my right to fetch a syringe, and I saw this:

Thank God I don’t have kitchen chairs

I want to stress that this room is increadibly small.  If puppychild had done this, she would have to have done it extremely quickly, and would have to have pushed past me to do so.  The thing was that she was still playing on the floor on the other side of the room.

I got a dose of the shakes that Shane McGowan would’ve been proud of, let me tell you.  I left the bottles as they were for a moment, putting logical explanations together like a jigsaw.  When nothing fitted, I decided to ignore the whole issue, and went to put the bottles away.

NOOO  mammy!” Puppychild yelled – “Um man diddit.  He’s help!”  I looked at laughing boy for support, but he was gazing at a spot over my shoulder with a blank face.

I’m a pretty sanguine girl you see.  I didn’t run away.  One word ran through my brain like an unstoppable train: Logic.

There are certain times in life when logic can’t be found, and you just have to accept the fact that there may be other forces at work,  which leads me to the acceptance that there may be a freeloading dead man sharing my house, and apparently he has something to say.

I suppose now it’s my job to investigate this.  I will start taking pictures of my empty kitchen.  I will place a full alphabet of magnetic letters on my fridge, and blank paper on the countertops, assuming this dude is literate enough to write something for me.  I will employ my dog to guard me, and note unusual behaviour. 

And, last of all, when I’m tucking my child into bed at night and if she whispers ‘I see dead people!’, I won’t doubt her for a second.

Bring on the comments

  1. Granny says:

    What a nice handy man. Bring him here forthwith.

    I’ve just heard a man on the radio talking about “spidurus giganticus” (a common house guest in many old cottages). Now that makes my flesh crawl. I’m locked in the bedroom with a can of flyspray.

    Do you want to swap?

  2. K8 says:

    Spiders are clever though.

    Tenner bet he’s hiding under your pillow with a can of grannyspray.

  3. Grannymar says:

    K8 tell Granny I said Pillow Spiders tickle!

  4. K8 says:

    Mammy: Grannymar says pillow spiders tickle.

  5. Baino says:

    Ooo er! That is very spooky . . .but interesting. At least he’s not throwing milk bottles around the house. . . seen evidence of him since? At least according to Puppychild he’s being helpful . . maybe he’ll pooper scoop your back garden . . perhaps you should leave him a list instead of blank paper!

  6. Doc says:

    …bet it’s your dad

  7. K8 says:

    Bloody good idea that, Baino! No evidence since, though I was looking forward to a slice of leftover cold pizza for breakfast this morning that somehow dissapeared… creepy.

    Hi Great Grandad! He’s your responsibility now that you’ve adopted him- so if it is him, it’s your fault. Which reminds me… I keep meaning to sue him for passing on his hairyness gene. Does that mean I should sue you instead?

  8. doc says:

    Certainly! My attorneys have not near enough to keep them in red meat: sue away!

    Ummmm…try carrier pigeoning the papers to the cruise line – we’re currently somewhere around New Zealand – I PROMISE I’ll get right on it…

  9. Grandad says:

    Oy! Do you mind not talking about me behind my back?

    If you are hairy, K8, then blame that damn dog of yours. Are you growing a beard or something?

    And the only place I have ever haunted is the changing rooms at the back of the convent school, back when I was a nipper.

  10. Medbh says:

    Oh my, that’s creepy, K8.

    Tell the ghost man that if he’s going to stay there then he has to pitch in with either cash or cleaning to earn his keep. Put on the mom voice and talk sternly.

    Hopefully he’ll leave on his own if you ask him.

  11. K8 says:

    He seems to be quite a prickly chap. Whenever I make reference to him, a lightbulb blows. This is proving to be quite expensive what with the price of CFLs lately, so I’ve had to stop.

    I might have to Ouija board his credit card details out of him.

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