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Things Beyond Our Ken
Posted by
monza gorilla
,
29 February 2008
·
70 views
Hands up who believes in ghosts? And if you do, what do you think they are? Spirits of the departed? Echoes? A glimpse into another time as through a fogged window? Or the invention of a (wine) befuddled mind?
Happenings chez Gorilla these past months have made me consider all of the possibilities above. Chez Gorilla was built in the 1870s (we think, certainly no later) and a house has stood here, in one form or another, at least since the 1500s. Possibly earlier. That's a lot of activity over a long period of time. Anyway, one fine evening, Mrs Gorilla called from the living room (I was in the North wing) to say that she had seen some farming type chap emerge from the wall and wander out through the bay window. Oh, how I laughed. Nice one, Mrs G. I almost fell for that one. Except that she was serious. That could mean only one thing!Our house was haun She was out of her mind on cheap booze. Again. So I humoured her. Seems there was a little arched doorway next to our fireplace, and the apparition came from there. All I could see was wallpaper. So I let it rest.
Some weeks later, I arrived home to find the basin tap (faucet, for our colonial friends) running in the bathroom. I immediately suggested to Mrs Gorilla that she had simply forgotten to turn it off. Not so, quoth she, as she had not been into the bathroom all day. Again, I let it rest. And thought to myself, poor old girl's memory is going. It happened again last week. And I couldn't explain it this time. That tap was definitely off. And then it was definitely on. Not a drip or a trickle but full bore. And nobody had set foot in that room. Bugger. So a thorough investigation was launched. Outcome? There's sod all wrong with the tap. Curious.
On Monday this week I was working late at home, Mrs G being out fixing people, and getting mightily p!ssed off with whoever it was opening and closing doors around the place. No draughts. No open windows. Perhaps the cat is cleverer than I thought. Bloody annoying. Almost as annoying as the TV turning itself on in the wee hours of the morning. Forgot to mention that. And I know exactly what the little arched door looks like 'cos I've seen that as well.
So, what to think? Joint hallucination? Peculiar atmospheric phenomena? Ley lines? Pixies and nymphs? Over active imagination? Rioja overdose? Who knows. I certainly don't.
I'd be interested in your thoughts on this.
p.s. research reveals that the name of chez Gorilla (Little Barton) means small barley field, or farm. I see a project coming on.
Russ
edit: typos
Happenings chez Gorilla these past months have made me consider all of the possibilities above. Chez Gorilla was built in the 1870s (we think, certainly no later) and a house has stood here, in one form or another, at least since the 1500s. Possibly earlier. That's a lot of activity over a long period of time. Anyway, one fine evening, Mrs Gorilla called from the living room (I was in the North wing) to say that she had seen some farming type chap emerge from the wall and wander out through the bay window. Oh, how I laughed. Nice one, Mrs G. I almost fell for that one. Except that she was serious. That could mean only one thing!
Some weeks later, I arrived home to find the basin tap (faucet, for our colonial friends) running in the bathroom. I immediately suggested to Mrs Gorilla that she had simply forgotten to turn it off. Not so, quoth she, as she had not been into the bathroom all day. Again, I let it rest. And thought to myself, poor old girl's memory is going. It happened again last week. And I couldn't explain it this time. That tap was definitely off. And then it was definitely on. Not a drip or a trickle but full bore. And nobody had set foot in that room. Bugger. So a thorough investigation was launched. Outcome? There's sod all wrong with the tap. Curious.
On Monday this week I was working late at home, Mrs G being out fixing people, and getting mightily p!ssed off with whoever it was opening and closing doors around the place. No draughts. No open windows. Perhaps the cat is cleverer than I thought. Bloody annoying. Almost as annoying as the TV turning itself on in the wee hours of the morning. Forgot to mention that. And I know exactly what the little arched door looks like 'cos I've seen that as well.
So, what to think? Joint hallucination? Peculiar atmospheric phenomena? Ley lines? Pixies and nymphs? Over active imagination? Rioja overdose? Who knows. I certainly don't.
I'd be interested in your thoughts on this.
p.s. research reveals that the name of chez Gorilla (Little Barton) means small barley field, or farm. I see a project coming on.
Russ
edit: typos
Strange happenings alright in Little Barton! Who'd have thunk it? It sounds like such a tranquil, peaceful 
.
