Ghosts Are Only Human

Ghosts are only human.

'Is it haunted? Well, it's funny you should ask
that because as a matter of fact, I think it is.'
The old lady smiled mischievously and showed me into the kitchen.
'These cottages are built on an ancient burial ground. Some say King
Arthur was buried here but that's a bit fanciful, if you ask me.'
'This is the cellar,' she said, opening a door. 'You're welcome to take
a look, but I won't join you. My legs aren't what they used to
be.'

'What's down here?' I asked, ducking to avoid the spider webs.

'Just the boiler for the hot water.'

I glanced around the cellar quickly taking note of the old boiler that
looked like it actually did date from King Arthur's time. 'What's the
central heating like?' I said, stepping back into the kitchen.

'Oh dear, did the estate agent tell you we had central heating? You
know what they're like, they'll say anything for a sale . . . like a
cup of tea, dear?'

'Yes, thank you . . . have you ever seen a ghost here?'

'No, not seen exactly, but I've heard it.' She poured the hot water
into the teapot. 'Some nights the thudding and groaning that came out
of the cellar was enough to turn me grey. George, my late husband, went
down there with a shotgun once. He was convinced we had
burglars.'

'Did he see anything?'

'No, not a thing . . . and the moment he opened the cellar door, the
noises stopped. Biscuit?'

'Yes, thank you.' I said, selecting one. 'Why are you selling . . . if
you don't mind me asking?

'I suppose it's the reason most people sell at my age. My daughter
worries that I can't manage on my own.' She put the teapot down on the
table with a defiant thud. 'And she's wrong, you know. I'm quite
capable of looking after myself.'

'I'm sure you are. Where will you live when you've sold the
cottage?'

She shrugged. 'In warden-controlled flats near my daughter's house . .
. but I've told her it won't be easy to sell this place.'

'It's lovely here, though.'

'Yes, it is a nice place to live and when you think about it, a few
noises in the night can't hurt, can they? Mind you, some of the
villagers say there's a curse on these cottages. Something to do with a
wizard.' She bit a large chunk out of a biscuit and munched on it
thoughtfully. 'Or was it a witch?'

The thing is, I didn't believe a word the old lady said. It was obvious
that she didn't really want to sell the cottage. Besides, I was used to
living in a noisy flat and even if she was telling the truth, how bad
could these noises be, for heaven's sake?

I arranged a mortgage, had the surveyor's report done, exchanged
contracts, and had totally forgotten all about the ghostly noises. My
only concern was getting the electrical rewiring and central heating
installed before I moved in - I hated having workman around. But all
that was needed was a promise of overtime pay for the plumber and
electrician to finish the job on time, and my kind sister's agreement
that I could stay with her while the work was being done.

When the cottage was ready, I decided to miss the morning's rush-hour
traffic and travel on the evening before. I was tired when I arrived at
9pm and not in the mood to argue with the inconsiderate neighbour who
had partially blocked my driveway with their car. But it was a thrill
to step over the threshold of my new home, and I refused to be
irritated by the various tools and mess that the workmen had left
behind. At least they had finished the job.

That night, I was too tired to do anything other than make my bed and
check that all the doors were locked downstairs. I went to bed
exhausted but blissfully happy, and soon fell into a deep sleep.

Apparently, not deep enough! I was woken up an hour later to thuds, and
groans, and a horrifying wailing sound. At first I thought I was
dreaming, but then realised that they must be the noises the old lady
had told me about.

OK, so I was wrong. I had to accept that all her stories had been true.
I should have gone down to the kitchen right there and then but my
courage failed me, and I ended up hunting for the earplugs I had used
while living in the flat.

It was dawn when I woke up again
and the only sound I heard, when I removed the earplugs, was birds in
the throes of their daily chorus. I couldn't help but feel just a
little foolish as I crept downstairs to the kitchen, and I scolded
myself for being such a coward as I turned the key to the cellar door
with a trembling hand.

I'm not sure what I expected to see - King Arthur's ghost brandishing
his sword perhaps or Merlin waving his magic wand - but to my amazement
the plumber was sitting at the top of the steps, half asleep and
shielding his eyes from the bright light.

'Didn't you hear me, you stupid woman? He bawled, as he struggled to
his feet and pushed past me into the kitchen. 'I've been locked in
there all night!'

THE END