Well hello there,
With no end in sight to the British Gas saga (See post - 'An Electrifying Discovery'), I have decided to continue life as normal. With the bank holiday fast approaching I made plans with family and friends. And after spending most the week working at my second job, with the pretence of using the money I earned for yet more holidays, luxury goods and even getting myself on the road, I was more than ready to clock off come four-O'Clock on Friday. After hitching a ride from someone at work I arrived at Mr. Warehouse's in plenty of time and even had enough time to chat with his mom and redo my hair and make-up before we headed out again to the local for some drinks with his brothers, their kids and partners. Hours passing in a haze of cider and entertaining the little ones I found myself in the realm of the Kebab Van outside and after purchasing goods we were dropped back to Mr. Warehouse's just in time for Babestation.
Saturday afternoon we spent visiting family at a local tourist spot and even found time to make a cake before heading round Mr. Warehouse's older brothers house to look after his little baby. Gorgeous and sleeping when we arrived I soon felt very, very broody and in the mood to settle down in a house very similar to the one I found myself. I liked it. It was everything I looked for in a family home with a newborn. Except that was from the paranormal activity. Moments after the young couple left for a birthday meal together with friends I was aware that someone appeared to be walking up and down the landing on the first floor. With the house only containing myself, Mr. Warehouse and a small infant whom could not yet walk and was in bed, this certainly set the scene for the night ahead. Moments passed continuously as lights turned on and off, heavy breathing was heard in the hallways and footsteps again made its way through the upper section of the family home. Now I know that Mr. Warehouse is somewhat of a sceptic (although I think it is secretly because he is a scaredy cat) but after several experiences of the super natural I can tell when there is something inhuman about, and I don't just mean the boyfriend. For me the odd goings-on usually happen when I am under a lot of stress but that has not happened in a long, long time.
I know that when I used to live in the family home I shared with my mother, father and younger brother there was some strange things happening but it was only after my Dad left after my parents announced that they were getting a divorce that the things that went bump in the night started to get more prominent. Teacups being stirred by themselves, cupboard doors being opened and shut by themselves and items going missing and then reappearing else where, all with no-one but me and my brother at home, alone in the darkness.
After I moved out there was still the odd twitch here and there, almost like someone letting me know that they were watching me. But it wasn't until I moved in with my Dad and his girlfriend that things really took a strange turn. I had known for a while before I moved back in with my Dad after the breakdown of my relationship with Mr. Workaholic that there was an old lady that watched over me and when I did finally move in she did not appreciate the loud music I would play so would cut my speakers out if it went over a certain volume. but that was nothing in comparison to the case of hot and cold feet incident when everything fully went to pot in 2012.
In the space of six-months I had been dumped by my one-true-love, Mr Workaholic, moved out of the home that we shared together with bitterness and sorrow as to the ending of what was such a warped but beautiful love story. I had moved back into my own accommodation, gone on my first ever girls holiday, turned 21 and then lost my job. So much had happened in that space I am surprised I didn't just shut down. Nevertheless after returning back home to Houghton Regis, a small village I grew up in just outside Luton, Bedfordshire; I was staying with Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee house-sitting for a family friend. I was back in the area for a week before I had to go back to Northamptonshire in order to pack up my stuff and make the arrangements for moving yet again. After hearing the odd thing or two I didn't think anything of it until one night towards the end of my stay.
Pitch black and silent. Then a snore broke the calmness as echoed around the living room as did the next, and the next, and the next.After a few moments I couldn't bear Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee snoring much more and as I wiggled out of the space I had between them on the floor I made mumbles that I was going upstairs to sleep in the little girls room as it seemed a lot quieter in there. Laying down in the door way, feet on the landing and body in the child's room, I soon fell back into sleep. But suddenly something awoke me. I thought I had heard my name being called. Twice. The first time I wasn't sure but the second time I heard it clear as day and I am a firm believer that my name does not sound much like any other words that would be randomly said or asked of. In need of some protection and with the room getting colder I called out downstairs to the Tweedles. Neither Miss Tweedle-Dumb nor Miss Tweedle-Dee replied and thinking maybe they said it as a mistake or out loud in their sleep I tucked my toes under the duvet and fell back into the land of nod.
Again I was awoken only this time it wasn't something I could hear it was something I could feel. As I came round from my slumber I could feel the covers protecting my toes in the landing lift up and over my ankles, bearing my feet to the cold entity. Scared I asked my friends where to get off and stop playing silly games in the middle of the night. It was not funny. But there was no laughter. No reply. No scurry downstairs , shamefully caught in the act. Instead as I closed my eyes I felt hands clasp my feet. At first they were cold - Freezing cold like ice as if someone had been playing in the snow for hours. But then they burned, searing through my skin and just as they started to tug at my body I sat bolt upright. They were gone. The hands. They had left. Feeling my feet and checking them through and through I could not tell anything was different or untoward. Petrified I went down stairs and snuggled down in the downy softness of the couch, wide awake until morning pierced through the curtains, signifying the end to one of the oddest nights in my life.
As I made teas and coffees that morning I scolded my friends for their tom-foolery and told them that it was certainly not funny. It was then that I knew what I had experienced was not trickery of jesting friends wanting to pick-up the moods of an old friend who was down on her luck. No. It was an act that until this very day, and probably until I go to the grave will never be discovered. Suffice to say I soon found myself things to do outside of the house and always slept around my Tweedles, no matter how noisy they were.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
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