This thread has reminded me of a somewhat inconsequential but still quite mystifying thing that happened to me back in the mid noughties.
I was staying with a friend in Leyton, east London. His flat was typical of many areas of London - the ground floor of a long terrace of fairly solid two storey homes, many split into flats. The front room opened on to a narrow hallway - which led to the front door, just a very few feet separating the two.
I was working with this friend at the time, and we took turns cooking at the end of the day. We were late this night, and had poured a whisky each and plonked ourselves down in front of the TV as soon as we got in. There was a programme about exorcism in Italy, and just at the point we turned on they were documenting the contemporary case of a teenage girl. We hadn't made much of a decision to watch it, I think it was just what was on, and we were too exhausted to care otherwise - but I was kind of interested, because at the point we'd tuned in they were in Siena, and I have relatives there.
Anyway – when said teenage girl starts gnashing her teeth and groaning in Aramaic (or whatever), I haul myself out of the sofa to go to the shops for the makings of a late dinner. I step into the hallway, put my hand on the front door handle, and pause to call out a question. As I do, there’s a hammering on the door – which, as I’m standing right by it, with my hand on the handle, I open instantly.
No one there.
After a moment’s silence.
My friend:
Who’s that?
Me:
Ummmm. There’s no-one here.
My friend:
What?
Me:
There’s no-one at the door.
Pause
My friend:
Must be George again.
Me:
Yup.
Pause
My friend:
Shall we watch something else?
Me:
Yup.
(For an explanation of the ‘George’ reference – see
here, on the Eerie East London thread, at post #12.)