gattino
Justified & Ancient
- Joined
- Jul 30, 2003
- Messages
- 2,522
As frequently referenced i pay my bills and stave off the bailiffs by being a full time Airbnb host, and so over the last almost 2 years many many strangers have passed through my doors, and most make conversation.
In the past ive noted here what i termed a collective conspiracy of silence wherein if you touch on the subject of the spooky stuff with almost anyone they will regale you with tales of their own...suggesting the whole world is walking constantly through the twilight zone, yet each individual presumes they're doing so alone. I've recounted a few of my guests accounts here and there on these boards. I've another chap here at the moment with whom the conversation turned to the Fortean and he had a tale or two to impart. He started it. But first a neat little background detail.
I noted last week that on my late mother's birthday a guest with the same first name came to stay. So its doubly unusual that she is followed this week by a young man with my deceased brother's name. An additional flourish..when i later told him my long sagas of post mortem coincidences and came to the part where the homeless man gave my birthday, January 11th, as his own, my guest interjected "That's my birthday!"
Anyhow, a number of tales but ill get to the meatiest as best i remember him telling me an hour or so ago. When he was about 4 years old his parents moved to a house in Bolton. His account are the memories of his mother rather than his own, but strange things happened. Noises in the night and in particular a roof or loft hatch repeatedly opened by itself, with no wind present. The father attached two hooks to keep it in place. And yet, still, they wake to find the hooks have been unlatched and the hatch opened and turned. The mother replaces the hooks into their place and puts tape over them...noises in the night...next morning the tape is lying on the floor and the hatch is again open.
Finally dad has enough and gets the screwdriver and screws the hatch door firmly in place so it can not be opened at all. Things go quiet for a week or two..until the mother walking on the landing i assume stands painfully on a screw. Looking up she finds one of the screws dad had embedded deeply into the wood work has been unthreaded with exact precision, leaving no damage or disturbance as might be expected in most circumstances.
I can't recall is he mentioned a timeline in relation to the above but the second part of the tale was that his mum heard his 4 year old self talking to someone. When she entered the room he was gabbing away in full conversation with thin air. Who are you talking to, mum asked. "The little boy" he replied. "Which little boy?" "He's called Tom".
And here's the bit i omitted for the best ending. It was only a day earlier that the mum had found out the full story of the tragedy that had occurred there before they moved in. The previous owner's 10 year old son had fallen out of a window (or was it the hatch? ill have to check) to his death. His name was Tom.
Interstingly, charmingly, my guest emphasised "its my mum's story not mine" as he has no memory of it, but reports the look of sincerity and genuine fear in her face when she recounts it even now.
In the past ive noted here what i termed a collective conspiracy of silence wherein if you touch on the subject of the spooky stuff with almost anyone they will regale you with tales of their own...suggesting the whole world is walking constantly through the twilight zone, yet each individual presumes they're doing so alone. I've recounted a few of my guests accounts here and there on these boards. I've another chap here at the moment with whom the conversation turned to the Fortean and he had a tale or two to impart. He started it. But first a neat little background detail.
I noted last week that on my late mother's birthday a guest with the same first name came to stay. So its doubly unusual that she is followed this week by a young man with my deceased brother's name. An additional flourish..when i later told him my long sagas of post mortem coincidences and came to the part where the homeless man gave my birthday, January 11th, as his own, my guest interjected "That's my birthday!"
Anyhow, a number of tales but ill get to the meatiest as best i remember him telling me an hour or so ago. When he was about 4 years old his parents moved to a house in Bolton. His account are the memories of his mother rather than his own, but strange things happened. Noises in the night and in particular a roof or loft hatch repeatedly opened by itself, with no wind present. The father attached two hooks to keep it in place. And yet, still, they wake to find the hooks have been unlatched and the hatch opened and turned. The mother replaces the hooks into their place and puts tape over them...noises in the night...next morning the tape is lying on the floor and the hatch is again open.
Finally dad has enough and gets the screwdriver and screws the hatch door firmly in place so it can not be opened at all. Things go quiet for a week or two..until the mother walking on the landing i assume stands painfully on a screw. Looking up she finds one of the screws dad had embedded deeply into the wood work has been unthreaded with exact precision, leaving no damage or disturbance as might be expected in most circumstances.
I can't recall is he mentioned a timeline in relation to the above but the second part of the tale was that his mum heard his 4 year old self talking to someone. When she entered the room he was gabbing away in full conversation with thin air. Who are you talking to, mum asked. "The little boy" he replied. "Which little boy?" "He's called Tom".
And here's the bit i omitted for the best ending. It was only a day earlier that the mum had found out the full story of the tragedy that had occurred there before they moved in. The previous owner's 10 year old son had fallen out of a window (or was it the hatch? ill have to check) to his death. His name was Tom.
Interstingly, charmingly, my guest emphasised "its my mum's story not mine" as he has no memory of it, but reports the look of sincerity and genuine fear in her face when she recounts it even now.