| THE HOUSE THAT DROVE PEOPLE MAD |
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| It was a house like any other council house on the estate. It was a bit drab, very unexciting to the outsider ~ though many people wished they could live there because it was (still is, in fact) an end of terrace with a bigger garden than most. It was, for a small time, my house. Well, my parents lived there, and as I was their child, then I happened to live there too. I must have been no more than a year old when my mum and dad were lucky enough to be offered this big house to live in. We weren't the first people to live there ~ the house was about thirty years old ~ but it was our first family house; mum, dad, my brother, and I. Of course, I don't recall very much at all... but the stories the family told and what happened to other families who'd lived there before us was quite frightening. The residents before us had been a happy family... their daughter had left home to be married and they had just begun to settle into living life alone, awaiting news of when they would be grandparents. Thats why they stayed in that house ~ so it would be big enough for when their future grandchildren wanted to come visit. Then one day, their idyllic, quiet life was shattered. The husband came home one day after work, lay down on the sofa after taking an overdose of tablets...and died. The wife took her husbands death badly ~ and slowly went mad. The daughter they both loved so much died shortly afterwards, so the story is told ~ though how she died I do not know. The neighbours warned my mum and dad ~ it's unlucky to move into a house where someone has died. But. in all honesty, there was a feeling when you walked in the door ... a welcome, a feeling of coming home. At least, that's how it was for a little while. |
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| * ALL NAMES HAVE BEEN CHANGED |
| It was my dads' early mornings that made my mum realise she wasn't always alone. Dad would leave for work very early ~ 3 or 4 in the morning, and that was when mum would hear the voice and the footsteps. A light footfall round the bed, and a whisper that was barely audible above her breathing... "Shhh. Don't wake her". Mum would bury her head under the bedclothes and wait until the footsteps and the whispers went away. She knew, just knew, that it was a man whispering to his two children. Sometimes the fear would be too much, and mum would ask her friend Sheila to come and stay the night so that she wouldn't be alone in the mornings, or when Sheila's husband and my dad would have a night out 'without the wives'. Some nights would be awful. The electricity would cut in and out, and my brother and I would be screaming upstairs whilst Sheila and my mum would be frantically trying to reach us, unable to go upstairs. One night, my granddad offered to babysit for my brother and I so mum and dad could go out on their own for a while. He dismissed the idea that the house was haunted "Poppycock!" and "What nonsense!" said he. When mum and dad arrived home later that evening, my granddad left the house, refusing to stay the night. He never told anyone exactly what happened in the house, but vowed never to stay there again. When the radio started switching itself on and off, and anything placed on the mantlepiece above the fire was moved by an unseen hand, it was time for my family to go. My brother and I screamed every night, mum couldn't rest, and dad was trying to pretend nothing unusual was really happening ... so we went to another house and left the unrested spirits alone once again. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Several years later, whilst at school, I made friends with a girl who lived not far from my 'new' house (though I had lived there ten years by this time). Charlotte * told me an amazing story of her room being haunted. I listened avidly as she told me of a man and two children who walked round her bed at night. She spoke of how the television would be turned on, or the channel changed, even though no-one was near to the television at the time. I just had to know if she lived in my old home... and when I asked her the if the address I told was hers, the answer was yes. Charlotte was never believed about the ghosts in her room, and she was driven crazy. I didn't see Charlotte for a long time, and bumped into her when we were 16 years old. She claims that the ghosts, and the fact that no-one believed she heard and saw them, were the cause of her having a mental breakdown. She will never visit that house again. Her father died whilst she was away having treatment for her breakdown. He died on the sofa, unexpectedly. Her mother has never quite gotten over her husbands death, and moved out of the 'cursed house' shortly afterwards. No-one in that family would sleep in what had been Charlottes room, even though it was the largest bedroom. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ According to neighbours, the family that lived in the house after Charlotte's family, didn't stay long at all. Apparently, it was a young family that moved into the house... but the wife was taken to the hospital suffering a mental breakdown and they left, never to return. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I had to see this house again. So, in April 2004, I took a trip down memory lane and went back to the estate where I grew up. I drove past the house that I spent so little time in... and it looked exactly the same. There were a group of teenagers in the front garden building a bike, and smaller children playing near the house. Everyone looked happy there. As I looked up towards the window of THE room, I noticed it had no curtains up, even though every other wondow had beautiful ornate window-dressings. Every window to a room that I could see looked bright and 'lived-in'...except the window of the bedroom where the man and the two children walk quietly around the bed... that window was dark and empty. I couldn't bring myself to go nearer and knock on the door... my curiosity was killed by a nervous fear of that window and what may lie inside..... |
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| One question that does gnaw at me sometimes... is why my family were spared? We all came out of that house unscathed. Maybe it was the short time we spent in the house ~ we lived there barely six months. I don't think I'll be going back to discover the reason why... I'd rather put up with the unanswered question. |