Our house has a strange layout: where the ground floor/basement has a kitchen (with the old fire opening still there) and what used to be the old pantry . Then there is another door which opens into the coal bunker next to it. It’s still laid out the way it would’ve been originally.
It might just be because the rooms as they are, are a bit sparse and they still have the original features in there. But I can’t help but picture people doing their daily grind as they would’ve been doing when the house was originally built – whether that be watching something cook over the fire or shovelling coal from the bunker. It’s there, they’ll have touched the same door handles and opened and closed the same windows as I’m touching well over 100 odd years later. And that freaks me out a little.
I don’t actually feel scared, but I do feel a bit…out of place when I’m down there, more so at night. It’s like I shouldn’t be there.
I’ve quite possibly just put all this into my head over the years of living here, but I’m fascinated by how people used to live in ye olden days. Spending so much time alone in a big old creaking house, it’s easy for my imagination to run wild too.
Nights of insomnia are brilliant for that – I end up having more lights than Vegas switched on (I was once convinced I heard someone breathing behind me on the stairs. Only to later realise it was my own breath as I legged it up the steps). It’s got to the point where I’m planning to get a pint of water from the kitchen to take to bed, well before I’m actually going – just because I’d rather not go down there again a few hours later at midnight or whenever.
Yes, I know. Massive scaredy cat.
I’m very sceptical about ghosts and stuff, but a few other people have mentioned it as soon as they’ve gone down there – that they wouldn’t like to be down there at night alone. They might just be massive paranoid freaks like me though!
One day though, I’m fully expecting an imaginary man to run out of the coal bunker and hit me over the head with an imaginary shovel.