My ghost

The Figment of my Imagination made another appearance today, while I was putting clothes away (see expert diagram): a small shadow at the edge of my vision.

It seems to be becoming bolder.

It all started a year or so ago when I began discovering long black hairs in the bathroom: 30 cms at least.

Then there were the noises: creaks and whispers and rustles. Ours is an old house and has plenty of idiosyncratic ticks, but these were uncannily like the sounds of someone approaching, somewhat furtively.

Last week I was sure I heard the boys creeping up the stairs and jumped out at them, only to confront a dark and empty stairwell.

This time I actually spoke to it. ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘You’re back are you?’ It didn’t reply and when I turned and looked at the threshold dead-on it was gone.

I wouldn’t mind but it does sort of put me off watching Whitechapel alone in the dark.




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