When something creaks at night…

As a child, I was wonder-struck by my mother’s tales of encounters with ghosts. Apparently, she had at one time or the other lived in a haunted house - one of the bedrooms in the rambling structure which housed my grandparents and family was witness to a suicide and the resultant restless spirit. My mother recounted the experience in a matter of fact manner which made it all the more plausible: every detail was noted and included atmosphere, sounds and scents, all of which came ‘alive’ at night. And she remained tenacious of the account even in the face of my father’s scoffing. He put it all down to an overactive imagination, indigestion, bad drains and the creaking that defines all old structures.

I did not possess my father’s phlegmatic attitude to the spirit world and, though nighttime brought its own terrors, I was thrilled to be once removed from an encounter with a real ghost!

That was until I had my own experience.

Our school in Bareilly was housed in an ancient structure which was once the summer residence of minor royalty. It had outlived its useful life and was ruled dangerous. A new school building was erected; we were duly shifted out, but the old structure was not demolished and we were sternly warned of dire consequences if we went anywhere near it. Well, we were playing hide and seek and my friend and I decided to duck into one of the disused classrooms – no one would dare to seek us out there! Suddenly, we saw Mother Superior bearing down on us threateningly and we fled. Seconds later the slab fell – we had missed certain death by a hair’s breadth. Under the impression that Mother had met a gruesome fate, we ran for help and straight into the very same Mother Superior; she had heard the sound and had come to investigate. Imagine our consternation! She was alive and we were in no doubt about it. It needs to be said that she was a very tall, very thin (even slightly cadaverous), Italian nun with a complexion that matched her bleached habit. She was the epitome of a ghostly presence, except for the fact that she had a lively and engaging nature.

So who or what did we see? Was it our imagination? Or the play of light and shade on the falling storm of dust? Or was it really our guardian angel?

Time passed, memory grew dim and there were no further personal encounters with the spirit world. And then they had to go and make Poltergeist !

Now, I lie awake with every creak at night hoping that it’s just the sign of a building showing its age. Blessed are those who have never known a ghost!