AS a young married woman, I went from a large town to live in a small
village in Buckinghamshire where my husband had got work. We thought
we were very lucky to get a nice old-fashioned house that stood by
itself in a lane. It seems that the house had been empty some time. I
made many friends, but none ever told me the house had a bad name, or
anything about it. Did I believe in ghosts? Certainly not! But, after
six months in that uncanny house, I would believe anything. The first
signs in this peculiar house began when we had been there about a
month. Chairs were scraped across the floor in the small kitchen
(always in the evening), sounds of crockery smashing, bumps overhead,
and doors banging. My two small children were mysteriously moved from
one bed to another nightly for about a fortnight. At first we were not
alarmed and tried hard to find out who was playing a game with us.
None of the villagers would come near the house because they said it
was haunted. I never saw anything, but my husband did, and it so got
on his nerves that he would not stay in the house by himself.
The house was supposed to be haunted by a tall lady in rustling silk.
I certainly heard the rustle and the moaning, but I never saw the
lady. Anyhow, she certainly made us as restless as she was herself.
Later on, my husband got work away, only coming home for week-ends,
for we were very anxious to get away from the house and to be
peaceful again. I understand that no one would take the old house
after we left it, and it was pulled down and rebuilt. I wonder if
that laid the ghost? I could never understand what caused the trouble
there, but after that experience, do I believe in ghosts? Yes, I
think so!