I don't believe in ghosts... but I used to live with one (From The Argus)

I don't believe in ghosts... but I used to live with one

5:57pm Monday 6th February 2012 in Blogs By Alice Wright - Reluctant Housewife

PRESTON MANOR: Not my student house

Last Halloween my husband and I went on a tour of the ‘Haunted’ Preston Manor, billed as a Ghost Tour we thought we’d certainly get to see or sense something spooky. But despite being conducted in the dark on the night of the year the veil between the living and the dead is supposedly at its thinnest the only scary thing that happened was the fact the pubs were already shut by the time it was over.

The one exciting encounter was a flickering lightbulb in a bedroom, but on talking to a friend who had gone on the same walk an hour earlier than us we discovered that exactly the same thing had happened to her group too. Still, it is thrilling, fun and the tour guides are incredibly enthusiastic, and I am sure that the many others have had real experiences here (I know that the Most Haunted crew had a very successful visit!), but I am not sure that I really believe in ghosts.

However, I will tell you a little story, every word of which is completely true… Twenty years ago now. On moving into our first student home, my fellow housemates and I eagerly ran about our new abode checking out every room and piece of furniture. It wasn’t a large and lovely house by any means, it was damp and stuffed full of obviously old and second hand items, but we didn’t mind. We knew we would love it and have a ball.

Our first discovery however, seemed to put a bit of a dampener on the initial excitement and could have coloured the rest of our time in the house… it was a toe-tag. Yes the tag that goes around someone’s dead toe in the mortuary. It was found in the bottom of a very old bed, and it had a name written on it followed by the word 'DECEASED'. I won’t say the full name here, even though I do remember it fully, let’s just say it belonged to ‘Muriel’.

We were surprised but we weren’t perturbed and carried on setting up home. My friend (in whose bed Muriel’s tag was found) tried to move into her room. Her wardrobe door was locked, it wouldn’t budge and there was no key. It was an old piece of heavy wood furniture and we had no chance against it ourselves. Maybe the estate agents knew more, we waited until we could ask them.

But when my friend woke up the next day the old wardrobe door had swung open by itself, and it wasn’t empty. It had some old sepia tinted photos in it. We shuffled through them staring at the old families and children in the prints. Did these belong to Muriel? Was Muriel in one of them?

We settled into our new home and set about going to college and getting drunk like all students did. But it seemed that something or someone wanted to join in the fun. We seemed to be plagued with lots of little upsetting experiences. Things definitely went missing only to reappear, doors would suddenly lock then unlock later, taps, radios and lights went on and off when no one was near them… Yes of course all things that could be explained by someone being mischievous. But soon forks started flying around the kitchen unaided, coins would lift themselves off the arms of chairs and a grill pan kept shooting out of the cooker. It seemed the more girls we had in one room the more ‘activity’ there was, in fact nothing happened when anyone was alone which meant there was little room for over-exaggerating or pretence. And it certainly didn’t just happen after a big night out or even the morning after.

One particularly memorable evening a friend was sleeping on my bedroom floor, we both woke up at the same time to find one of the drawers out of a chest was on the floor. Upside down. But with its contents all placed carefully up the right way underneath it. We were slightly concerned and slept with the light on after that.

We soon started affectionately saying ‘oh come on now Muriel, leave us alone’ or to visitors ‘don’t worry that’s just Muriel’ as the lights started flickering on and off. For some reason we never felt scared, as I say we weren’t bothered by Muriel when alone so there was no scary ‘Haunted House Film’ type persecution of loners.

Eventually we moved out (not because of Muriel but because the bathroom had fallen through to the lounge) and eventually other things like dissertations and exams started to occupy us, but we never forgot her. I still see a lot of the friends that I lived with in that house with or those who came to visit, we still talk about Muriel and what happened during that student year. A frequent visitor to the house said to me recently ‘So has anyone ever owned up to being Muriel then?’ And no, to date, no one ever has…

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