On the back of Ninurta's and Mystic's accounts of the 'Bump-In-the-night' merchants, a tale I told before has had an
update recently with my son moving back home due to a change of employment.
He's 23 years old now and has been living just over 60 miles south of us in a small apartment with his girlfriend and has
just acquired a new job around 50 miles north of his original home. To prepare for seeking and purchasing a house of
his own, he decided a few months back in the nest would be a good money-saver.
(And of course, being waited on hand-and-foot is an incentive too!)
Anyway, a few years before my only son was born and before we extended the house, my wife had awoken around
3.00.am to use the toilet and being the wee-small hours, she left the lights off, shuffled to the bathroom and sat down
to make that trickling noise.
Again, the world was asleep and so, she left the toilet door open that seperated the room from the landing at the top of
the stairs. During her ablutions, she looked out onto the landing that was slightly illuminated by a far-off street lamp that
shone in through the frosted-glass window behind my seated better-half and that was when she saw the old woman
standing there holding a wicker basket.
When you're halfway through urinating, sitting down and staring at a ghost -that in order to escape, you have to get closer
to, many variables are weighed that seem insignificant in the cold light of day and I've asked my pragmatic wife many
times on what she was thinking about at that moment.
She said that initially, she was frightened at what she 'thought' she saw and then attempted to mentally disassemble
the poorly-lit area that made-up an old woman in black clothing and resting a rattan-woven basket on the end of the
bannister.
The spectre wore a black hat, something plain with a stunted brim. A long black coat that came down to her lower
-shins and when pressed, my wife said the apparition's face seemed lined with age and looked stern.
Traditionlly around the area that I live, old widows of the forties and fifties may have worn such attire.
So gathering all her courage, my wife stood up, quickly took three steps towards the unknown entity, turned right and
hit the gas into our bedroom. The only part I can attest to is that she dived onto the bed and woke me up in the process.
Assuring me that everything was okay, I went back to the land of Nod and the account was only told to me the next day.
Not long after being told of this ghostly encounter, I would purposely sneak out of bed and spend a couple of nights
sitting on the toilet awaiting the next visitation. You see, I don't believe ghosts -except, I believe in ghosts.
I have to believe in ghosts because my late-mother saw them almost every day. I have to believe in ghosts because
the woman that I love, trust and currently getting old with, saw one.
Are the two most-important females in my life liars?
Is their a natural disposition of a woman that causes them to see things that science and general society states do not
exist?
I calmly and sensibly analysed the layout of the landing, the manner that the streetlight shone across the carpet and wall
and squinting, holding my head at different angles, attempted to 'imagine' a physical form of an old woman in black.
And I couldn't do it.
I counted the steps to leave the bathroom, I sat on the bathroom floor and slowly climbed back onto the toilet on perchance
that the vision would only appear when viewed at a certain angle. I checked by having the bathroom door ajar at different
positions and even waited until I needed to urinate, to see if this was an effect to generate what my wife saw.
Nothing.
During the years after, one of the factors of this puzzle that I could never get my head around was if this elderly lady
from beyond the veil (Oh and by the way, we later discovered from an old photo that this ancient gal was my wife's
great-grandma... a person my wife had never seen or met)...the puzzle was if this ghostly great-grandmother was
composed of a transparent unearthly material, why and how was she resting her basket on the bannister?!
I mean she was dead... not real anymore and the laws of the physical realm shouldn't apply here.
In fact, how did she not only arrive on the landing, but also maintain her stance on a artificial level of wood and carpet?!
My wife never informed her mother and it was only by accident that the little old woman came up in a conversation with
her. My mother-in-law told her youngest daughter that 'Old Ma Thompson' -the only name we heard said, had frequently
stated that she would always look out for the girls of her family when she 'passed on'
I left the matter hanging and we all moved on. We never mentioned it to our son during his growing-up and when we told
him in his adult years, he just shrugged and set his sights on his academic goals of being a scientist.
But for myself, it was something I'd muse over when things were quiet around here. My home had been invaded without
permission sought. I sometimes see videos on YouTube where families daily report changes around their property due
to what they say is 'Bigfoot' and everyone seems cool with the idea!
Personally, I'd have to be out there every moment of the day, watching for the intruder, making it known who commanded
this space. Whether a giant hairy beast of nature or a weirdo who likes to peek through curtains, I'd need to know.
The update I promised.
My late-father was the only son of an only son. I am that man's only son and the only children I and my wife have is
a son. One son only in every generation.
My son towers over me at six-feet-two and is as wide as door. The big lad came home and after eating half of the
contents of the refrigerator, went up to the re-decorated room that was once his. Being secretly overjoyed that he was
back in a place we can protect him from the monsters out there, we followed him and stood at the foot of the bed he
was sprawled on and asked stupid, inane questions about his trip home.
Stifling his boredom of being classed as twelve years-old again, he answered politely and then commented on the
different position of the bed. We'd moved it across the room from where it had always been during his youth.
(Needless information time!)
Now, when he looks to his right, he see the window. But in the original position, when peering to his right-hand side,
he'd have looked at the wall that seperated his bedroom from the drop onto the stairs. The door to his room would've
been sightly behind him and was the mirror-image of our old bedroom entrance.
This means, to enter his room, you would be right next to bed area where his head would be when sleeping.
Onwards.
I asked if he preferred the bed in it's current location and like any fawning parent happy to see is only issue home,
assured I'd move it to where he'd like. Then he dropped the comment on to us that made my wife and I glance at
each other.
"You know, when I was a kid, if I did this..." he said and moved his vast frame so that he was facing his new wardrobe
on his left-hand side, "...I once saw an old woman laying next to me" Being the doubter I am, I scanned his features
for any sign of trickery, but he seemed to be just idly relating something from his past.
"Well..." he continued, "...she wasn't in my bed but on another bed beside mine" he said and conjuring up the
mental blueprints of the room I stood in, that would place this strange berth right near the door onto the landing.
The subject changed and moved onto more important matters like moving remaining furniture from his apartment
and length of time needed to travel to his new place of employment.
Keeping a look of an adult parent listening to practical suggestions in a world where my only son's future lay ahead,
secretly, my mind travelled back to a time when the bearded man talking to his mother dwelled in a smaller body
and in another position of his bedroom.
When guarding my son -because no daughter had been produced, where had that phantom called 'Old-Ma Thompson'
rested that wicker basket during her patrol of my single child? How could the spooky old-bastard manifest a bed for her
supernatural sentinel duties?
Standing in that bedroom, I smiled in the now, but fumed with investigative eyes into the past.
And all the while, whispering "I don't believe in ghosts, but I believe in ghosts"
update recently with my son moving back home due to a change of employment.
He's 23 years old now and has been living just over 60 miles south of us in a small apartment with his girlfriend and has
just acquired a new job around 50 miles north of his original home. To prepare for seeking and purchasing a house of
his own, he decided a few months back in the nest would be a good money-saver.
(And of course, being waited on hand-and-foot is an incentive too!)
Anyway, a few years before my only son was born and before we extended the house, my wife had awoken around
3.00.am to use the toilet and being the wee-small hours, she left the lights off, shuffled to the bathroom and sat down
to make that trickling noise.
Again, the world was asleep and so, she left the toilet door open that seperated the room from the landing at the top of
the stairs. During her ablutions, she looked out onto the landing that was slightly illuminated by a far-off street lamp that
shone in through the frosted-glass window behind my seated better-half and that was when she saw the old woman
standing there holding a wicker basket.
When you're halfway through urinating, sitting down and staring at a ghost -that in order to escape, you have to get closer
to, many variables are weighed that seem insignificant in the cold light of day and I've asked my pragmatic wife many
times on what she was thinking about at that moment.
She said that initially, she was frightened at what she 'thought' she saw and then attempted to mentally disassemble
the poorly-lit area that made-up an old woman in black clothing and resting a rattan-woven basket on the end of the
bannister.
The spectre wore a black hat, something plain with a stunted brim. A long black coat that came down to her lower
-shins and when pressed, my wife said the apparition's face seemed lined with age and looked stern.
Traditionlly around the area that I live, old widows of the forties and fifties may have worn such attire.
So gathering all her courage, my wife stood up, quickly took three steps towards the unknown entity, turned right and
hit the gas into our bedroom. The only part I can attest to is that she dived onto the bed and woke me up in the process.
Assuring me that everything was okay, I went back to the land of Nod and the account was only told to me the next day.
Not long after being told of this ghostly encounter, I would purposely sneak out of bed and spend a couple of nights
sitting on the toilet awaiting the next visitation. You see, I don't believe ghosts -except, I believe in ghosts.
I have to believe in ghosts because my late-mother saw them almost every day. I have to believe in ghosts because
the woman that I love, trust and currently getting old with, saw one.
Are the two most-important females in my life liars?
Is their a natural disposition of a woman that causes them to see things that science and general society states do not
exist?
I calmly and sensibly analysed the layout of the landing, the manner that the streetlight shone across the carpet and wall
and squinting, holding my head at different angles, attempted to 'imagine' a physical form of an old woman in black.
And I couldn't do it.
I counted the steps to leave the bathroom, I sat on the bathroom floor and slowly climbed back onto the toilet on perchance
that the vision would only appear when viewed at a certain angle. I checked by having the bathroom door ajar at different
positions and even waited until I needed to urinate, to see if this was an effect to generate what my wife saw.
Nothing.
During the years after, one of the factors of this puzzle that I could never get my head around was if this elderly lady
from beyond the veil (Oh and by the way, we later discovered from an old photo that this ancient gal was my wife's
great-grandma... a person my wife had never seen or met)...the puzzle was if this ghostly great-grandmother was
composed of a transparent unearthly material, why and how was she resting her basket on the bannister?!
I mean she was dead... not real anymore and the laws of the physical realm shouldn't apply here.
In fact, how did she not only arrive on the landing, but also maintain her stance on a artificial level of wood and carpet?!
My wife never informed her mother and it was only by accident that the little old woman came up in a conversation with
her. My mother-in-law told her youngest daughter that 'Old Ma Thompson' -the only name we heard said, had frequently
stated that she would always look out for the girls of her family when she 'passed on'
I left the matter hanging and we all moved on. We never mentioned it to our son during his growing-up and when we told
him in his adult years, he just shrugged and set his sights on his academic goals of being a scientist.
But for myself, it was something I'd muse over when things were quiet around here. My home had been invaded without
permission sought. I sometimes see videos on YouTube where families daily report changes around their property due
to what they say is 'Bigfoot' and everyone seems cool with the idea!
Personally, I'd have to be out there every moment of the day, watching for the intruder, making it known who commanded
this space. Whether a giant hairy beast of nature or a weirdo who likes to peek through curtains, I'd need to know.
The update I promised.
My late-father was the only son of an only son. I am that man's only son and the only children I and my wife have is
a son. One son only in every generation.
My son towers over me at six-feet-two and is as wide as door. The big lad came home and after eating half of the
contents of the refrigerator, went up to the re-decorated room that was once his. Being secretly overjoyed that he was
back in a place we can protect him from the monsters out there, we followed him and stood at the foot of the bed he
was sprawled on and asked stupid, inane questions about his trip home.
Stifling his boredom of being classed as twelve years-old again, he answered politely and then commented on the
different position of the bed. We'd moved it across the room from where it had always been during his youth.
(Needless information time!)
Now, when he looks to his right, he see the window. But in the original position, when peering to his right-hand side,
he'd have looked at the wall that seperated his bedroom from the drop onto the stairs. The door to his room would've
been sightly behind him and was the mirror-image of our old bedroom entrance.
This means, to enter his room, you would be right next to bed area where his head would be when sleeping.
Onwards.
I asked if he preferred the bed in it's current location and like any fawning parent happy to see is only issue home,
assured I'd move it to where he'd like. Then he dropped the comment on to us that made my wife and I glance at
each other.
"You know, when I was a kid, if I did this..." he said and moved his vast frame so that he was facing his new wardrobe
on his left-hand side, "...I once saw an old woman laying next to me" Being the doubter I am, I scanned his features
for any sign of trickery, but he seemed to be just idly relating something from his past.
"Well..." he continued, "...she wasn't in my bed but on another bed beside mine" he said and conjuring up the
mental blueprints of the room I stood in, that would place this strange berth right near the door onto the landing.
The subject changed and moved onto more important matters like moving remaining furniture from his apartment
and length of time needed to travel to his new place of employment.
Keeping a look of an adult parent listening to practical suggestions in a world where my only son's future lay ahead,
secretly, my mind travelled back to a time when the bearded man talking to his mother dwelled in a smaller body
and in another position of his bedroom.
When guarding my son -because no daughter had been produced, where had that phantom called 'Old-Ma Thompson'
rested that wicker basket during her patrol of my single child? How could the spooky old-bastard manifest a bed for her
supernatural sentinel duties?
Standing in that bedroom, I smiled in the now, but fumed with investigative eyes into the past.
And all the while, whispering "I don't believe in ghosts, but I believe in ghosts"
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.