kitchen ghost, smiling bomber pilotI once worked for a frozen food supermarket and lived in a company flat above one of their shops. There were three flats, one of which was occupied by a couple of young colleagues, the middle was empty and I lived alone in the third. The young colleagues had told me that they once had a ouija board session in their flat and the board told them that someone had been brutally murdered in my flat and consequently I was being haunted by an unhappy spirit. I gave them the pre-requisite 'chinny re-CKON!' chin rub and happily lived there on my own until one fearful night.
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The living rooms of these flats faced the high street and the kitchens faced the back of the shop, which was completely unlit at night time. I had walked into the kitchen and started the washing up when I heard a subtle 'thump thump thump' coming from somewhere in my flat. I went into the living room and put my ear against the wall thinking that someone had broken in next door and was messing about. It was silent. I went back into the kitchen - there was that 'thump thump thump' again. I went upstairs and listened in the bedrooms. They too were silent. I went back into the kitchen - still more 'thump thump thump.' I thought back to the conversation about the ouija board and the grisly death in my flat, perhaps it WAS haunted after all. I went into the hall and there was a terrible, evil smell there, but no noise. I went back into the kitchen - 'thump thump thump.' In a panic I started to convince myself that the person really had died a horrible death in my kitchen and I was hearing the spectral version of their dying heartbeat.
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It wasn't until I had abandoned the washing up and walked hastily out of the kitchen that I realised that the draught from my passing was making the open kitchen door bang 'thump thump thump' against the fridge. It turned out that the terrible, evil smell in the hall was the post-flatwarming party vomit from a month or two previous that a friend had helpfully hoovered up, festering in the bag of my vacuum cleaner which I kept under the stairs.
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So no, I haven't seen a ghost.
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My Gran did, though. During World War 2 she saw my Great Uncle Terry in his RAF uniform standing at the foot of her bed smiling at her the very night he and the bomber he was piloting were shot down over the English Channel. His body washed to shore a few days later.
(,
Tue 28 Oct 2003, 16:20,
archived)
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The living rooms of these flats faced the high street and the kitchens faced the back of the shop, which was completely unlit at night time. I had walked into the kitchen and started the washing up when I heard a subtle 'thump thump thump' coming from somewhere in my flat. I went into the living room and put my ear against the wall thinking that someone had broken in next door and was messing about. It was silent. I went back into the kitchen - there was that 'thump thump thump' again. I went upstairs and listened in the bedrooms. They too were silent. I went back into the kitchen - still more 'thump thump thump.' I thought back to the conversation about the ouija board and the grisly death in my flat, perhaps it WAS haunted after all. I went into the hall and there was a terrible, evil smell there, but no noise. I went back into the kitchen - 'thump thump thump.' In a panic I started to convince myself that the person really had died a horrible death in my kitchen and I was hearing the spectral version of their dying heartbeat.
.
It wasn't until I had abandoned the washing up and walked hastily out of the kitchen that I realised that the draught from my passing was making the open kitchen door bang 'thump thump thump' against the fridge. It turned out that the terrible, evil smell in the hall was the post-flatwarming party vomit from a month or two previous that a friend had helpfully hoovered up, festering in the bag of my vacuum cleaner which I kept under the stairs.
.
So no, I haven't seen a ghost.
.
My Gran did, though. During World War 2 she saw my Great Uncle Terry in his RAF uniform standing at the foot of her bed smiling at her the very night he and the bomber he was piloting were shot down over the English Channel. His body washed to shore a few days later.