Tuesday, 6 November 2012

The Haunting of Mary

People wouldn't call me a skeptic or a believer, but I should have known when I moved into old No 42 that it would happen. At first I thought it was the pipes, you know, the things we are suppose to think it is. 

But, unless there was a group of extremely untalented, drum playing mice headlining every night in my plumbing I'm pretty sure there was more to this. After about the fifth pair of vanishing spectacles and the twentieth time I was awakened from otherwise perfect dreams, the logical conclusion would be an investigation.

I wouldn't brag and tell you the house was colossal but it had all sorts of nooks and cranny's, and I couldn't believe my short sighted eyes when I stumbled across a tiny drum kit! 

I'm joking of course, but there was a neat pile of my vanished objects inside one of the walls. Now, the normal thing to do, would be to line up all the children and torture them into confession. But I lived alone, or at least I used to. 

Completely bewildered I decided to leave old No 42, but kept a few antique papery bits from the basement, one of which simply said...  "Mary lives here".