JUST before the war I thought I would remove to a house I noticed had
been vacant for a long period. On interviewing the landlord of the
house, I was informed I could have the tenancy of the house two
shillings per week cheaper than other tenants paid for houses in the
same row. He would offer no explanation for this generous act. I,
accordingly, moved into the house the same day. Retiring to bed the
first night, I awoke about 12:30 a.m. to find standing in the
moonlight that was streaming through the window, a man who I knew,
but had not heard of for years. He was bleeding from a deep wound in
the neck that had obviously been inflicted by a blood-stained carving
knife he held in his right hand. Too horrified to utter a sound, I
watched him draw the knife slowly across his throat, inflicting
another wound, while he stared me straight in the eyes. After a low
moan, he disappeared.
The next night, about the same time, I was awakened by hearing
someone moaning in the room. This moaning was heard by the remainder
of my family.
Determined to find out the cause of these happenings, I asked the
next-door neighbour if he could explain them. “Don't you know?” he
asked. “Jack” (mentioning the man I had seen) “committed suicide in
your house. The landlord lets it cheaper than the others, but nobody
will stay in it!”
Needless to say, I did not stay. I moved back to my old home, the
same day. At the present time, although there is a shortage of
houses, you can often see in the window of this house, the sign “To
Let.”