I didn’t think I believed in ghosts.
That simple sentence indicates I’m still not sure if I do or don’t.
There have been bumps in the night (well, sort of) and strange goings on here and that’s not just our weird life style. You all know how strange Andrew and I. But this is something more.
Come, on, tell us, tell us, I hear you cry.
Okay, then. If you can shed any light of these happenings, do let me know.
Like I said, I have never entertained the belief that there is an after-life or even life after come to that. I know, it is one and the same thing.
Four years ago I changed my mind slightly, if one can have a slight change of mind. Knowing me, I think that is possible. It happened after I read a wonderful book titled ‘Letters from Palestine,’ written by Dr Kenneth Ring. It was written after his visit to Palestine. Those of you, who know me well, know I am Jewish with strong support for the Palestinians. I converted to Judaism twenty-five years ago. It was something I chose for myself. My first husband was Jewish and he paved the way for this choice.
Anyway, back to the book. Dr Kenneth Ring, also a Palestinian supporter but he also happens to be a renowned expert on near death experiences. I never knew this. I searched for him on Google and finally found a way to contact him. I wanted to tell him how much his book had changed my life and my perspective on the Middle East. I never expected to get a reply. However, I did. As the months went on he and I exchanged numerous emails, books, photos and a great deal of information. He is now my dear friend Ken and someone who has made me think a little more about the after-life.
So, on with the strange happenings in our Cottage which started about six years ago and I think they can be easily explained at the beginning. At the time we were both studying. Andrew was getting near the end of his PhD and I was finishing the last module of my degree. I was also trying to write novels as well as hold down a job. At weekends we would study and the house was beginning to resemble a Steptoe and son home. So, we decided to hire a cleaner. So, imagine our horror when one day I couldn’t find a pearl bracelet that Andrew had bought me in Cairo. I was certain I had left in the kitchen the day before she came. Obviously we did not want to even consider it was her. The following weekend we had friends to the house for a barbecue and my other bracelet must have fallen off in the garden, for that went missing too. I never found it. A month later another bracelet disappeared from my jewel box as did a signet ring I was given by my parents when I was thirteen.
We made an excuse to the cleaning woman and told her we didn’t need her anymore as I had more time. I didn’t. The house began to look like a Steptoe house again but at least my jewellery stayed put. We were very sad to have to even consider that someone had stolen from us. Almost two years passed with nothing going missing.
In the January of 2010 my lovely father died. It was not unexpected but a terrible blow none the less.
In the February I had friends over for a dinner on my birthday. That night I noticed my engagement ring was chafing my finger slightly. I removed it and put it on the bedside cabinet. A few days later I went to get it. It had gone. Unperturbed I began to search under the bed. After all, there was no reason why it should just disappear. Two days later and an upside down house, I accepted it had gone. Where, I did not know. We had the floorboards up, the vacumn cleaner emptied, drawers cleared, wardrobes moved. What could be moved we moved. What could be pulled up, we pulled up. It was nowhere to be found. Vanished off the face of the earth. I still hope it will turn up but I don’t hold my breath.
That same week, the summer-house key went missing. One minute it was there and the next minute it had gone. We searched all around the garden near the door. It was nowhere.
Six months ago, I opened the summer-house door to give the room some airing and there at my feet sparkling in the late autumn sunshine was the key. Missing for two years, it suddenly turns up at the foot of the summer-house doorway. If you can explain that, then I am all ears.
Five weeks ago the one sharp knife we had was nowhere to be seen. Now, that is worrying. I pulled out the entire cutlery from the cutlery drawer. It was nowhere. For two weeks I coped with larger knives in the hope that one would turn up. It didn’t. We finally went to the store and bought two new knives. A week later I opened the drawer and there right on the top of all the knives, was my old sharp knife. Oh, Andrew found it was my first thought. I forgot all about it until later that evening when Andrew was washing up.
‘I see you found the knife,’ I call to him.
‘I thought you found it,’ he responds.
Oh, here we go. So he never put it in the drawer and it certainly wasn’t me. It hasn’t been there for weeks. Where did it go and how did it get back into the drawer if we didn’t put it there?
I can’t blame a cleaner I no longer have now can I?
Your thoughts I would love to hear.
We have never entertained the idea of ghosts but recently we both had an odd experience on the landing of our cottage. Andrew went to go to the loo one night and saw what he described as a woman but he couldn’t describe it properly because he never actually saw anything, it was more a feeling of seeing something he said. I thought he had gone mad.
‘Either you saw it or you didn’t.’
‘I did but it was more I sensed a presence.’
Yes, well, scoffs she disbelieving
A few days later I go racing upstairs with the washing. Only to freeze as something seems to flash white at me at the top of the stairs. My body seems to go dead and the washing drops from my hands. My heart is thumping so fast I can barely breathe. When I try to tell Andrew what I saw, I find I can’t. It was more what I felt than what I saw.
‘Yes, well,’ he scoffs back.
I think my friend Ken has a point.
If you can shed light on this please leave a comment.