We create them, we haunt ourselves.

So, here's a first, a blog post published at the weekend.  I mean, I don't do that,  I write the Blog, in my head on the way to work, copy it out between doing desperately important IT stuff during the morning and post it in my lunch break at work.

This should only be a short one though, it's more of an update than a full blog...

Do you remember, Last Christmas, I recounted the story about how my wonderful daughter, the Mini-Dandy met my Mother for the first time?

My Mother with the false eye, that had done her best to scar my childhood with her ocular tomfoolery?

The one who, at the time my daughter met her, had had the audacity to have died ten years previously?

Yeah, that one.

So, those of you who've read my book, Mumblings of an Irate Pangolin, (Which some clearing house is knocking out for £6.96 now, the barstewards) will know that my Mother seems to have followed us to our new house. It's taken her a number of years, but she's resurfaced.

For those of you who haven't read it, this is what page 55 has to say:

-oOo-

And recently, some eleven years later, although we’ve moved house, my Daughter has started complaining that she can hear whispering, as if someone were talking very quietly behind her.  The only word that she can actually make out is her own name.

She’s not particularly worried, she described the smell that sometimes accompanies the whispering to me – It’s Sandalwood by Yardley, one of my dead Mother’s favourite scents.

-oOo-

So, The Mini-Dandy is, in some way, in contact with the spirit of her dead Grandmother.  It's a big universe, I don't profess to know how any of it works.  But recently, it's escalated, there are hand-prints appearing, and scratches on peoples backs.

The handle on my bedroom door has been 'tried' whist I was stood next to it, I opened the door virtually instantaneously and the landing was empty, not once, but a number of times

Oh, and footsteps... Lots of footsteps... Those of you who who know me in 'the real world' will be saying stuff like 'But what about your dog? or your cat? aren't they supposed to be sensitive to that sort of thing?'  The cat's hardly in the house nowadays, unless its asleep within four feet of one of us.  And the dog?  Well, I'm not saying that He's stupid, but I've had coughing fits that I would trust more to guard my house.

We've tried 'speaking out' to her, it's not worked so far... The footsteps and the 'trying' of door handles continues.

Which is odd, because it worked last time.

Which means that this is different in some way. 

Maybe it's not even her