I don’t believe in ghosts.
But then there are occasions when I sometimes wonder.
Many times I have come across phenomena which are real and tangible yet have no rational explanation in science or anywhere else for that matter. After all, if a Neanderthal had been shown a computer he would have considered it utterly impossible, and would have dismissed it even though the evidence was there? There are more things in Heaven and Earth Horatio, and all that shit?
If ghosts exist, and it’s a big IF, then this Manor is indeed haunted. I have noticed many strange things over the years for which there is no rational behaviour.
Take for example, Mrs Chippy. Mrs Chippy is our cat, and this morning he was fast asleep curled up on the couch. [Yes – he’s a male and is called Mrs. Know your history.] It came to pass that I had to attend to a small call of nature, and when I returned, Mrs Chippy was now fast asleep curled up in the middle of the floor. “So fucking what?” I hear you cry? Well, there is the small but not insignificant fact that Mrs Chippy is a stuffed animal that the daughter bought Herself as a joke some years ago. I grant he is incredibly realistic and has fooled many the guest to this establishment, but the fact remains – he is not a live cat. So how the fuck did he move off the couch onto the floor?
And then there is The Smell. People think of ghostly manifestations as shadowy translucent people who drift around the place, but surely they can manifest in other ways? Occasionally when wandering around the gaff I will come across an odour which has no explanation, such as the scent of burning turf where there isn’t a turf fire in miles, or the scent of my father’s jacket which hasn’t been in the house for getting on for fifty years.
There is a room in the house here that usually has a rather pleasant smell – a smell of an old room in an old house: a sort of slightly musty papery smell. I went in there on Sunday and breathed deeply. The stench nearly knocked me flat. It was a sweet sickly smell of decomposing bodies. It was revolting to put it mildly. I ducked out, took a lungful of fresh air, ducked in again and opened all the windows.
The stench lingered all day. It was almost visible it was so strong. Opening the windows had no effect whatsoever and the air remained foul and unbreathable. There was nothing in there that could have caused such unpleasantness and the only possible cause I could think of was that a rat or something had died under the floorboards and was happily decomposing. If that was the case there was fuck all I could do about it.
The next day the room had reverted to normal. It was back to its vaguely musty smell again with no hint of the previous day’s ordure.
The is no rational explanation for either of those two manifestations.
Unless of course Mrs Chippy nipped into the room and farted?