Your True
Tales
March 2004
– Page
10
The Nasty
Ghost
by Ruby
It was in February of 1971. I was 18 months old, my brother was three.
It was common knowledge at the time that the house we lived in was haunted, and that my brother on many occasions would be found to be talking to someone that wasn't even there. He said it was a man that kept following him around the house, but my parents could not see this man, but they did believe my brother and tried to get a new house from the council (everyone had a council house in the '70s), but the council refused, saying that we shouldn't listen to any ghost stories, so we had to stay where we were. From then on things started to get worse.
My mother was the first person to succumb to his childish pranks. One morning she got herself ready to go shopping, but could not find her purse. She always kept it in her bedside table drawer. She looked everywhere but could not find it, so she started to look in the stupid places, something we all do when we've exhausted all the sane places. She eventually found it - in the oven.
She told my father when he arrived home, but he said that it was possible that my elder brother could have put it there, being three he was a little mischievous, so my mother agreed and put the event out of her mind. A few days later, she needed her purse again to pay the milkman, she went to her bedside table, looked in the drawer and her purse was gone, she went straight to the oven and there it was. She paid the milkman and later asked my brother if he had touched mummy's purse. He said, "It wasn't me, mummy. It was the man who follows me round the house. He says he doesn't like you or Ruby."
My mother was shocked and rang for my father to come home. My father came home and my mother told him everything. He decided to settle this once and for all. He went to the local hardware shop and bought a locking mechanism for the bedside cabinet. He fitted it that day. My mother put her purse in the drawer, locked it with the key and put the key on the chain that she wore around her neck. The next day was a Saturday, so my father was at home. They opened the drawer together. The purse was gone and the key was still around my mum's neck on her chain. They ran downstairs to the kitchen, looked in the oven and there was the purse! They agreed that if this was the worst that was going to happen, then they could live with it. OH, HOW WRONG THEY WERE.
About two weeks had passed and nothing had happened. Everything was normal until one morning my mother was washing the pots, when out of the corner of her eye she saw the teapot moving on its own. She had just put boiling water in it to make a cup of tea. She immediately stopped what she was doing and noticed that it was moving toward the edge of the work top where I was standing, but my mother was frozen with fear. All she could do was watch as the teapot moved closer to me, then it stopped. The lid then flew off and the contents of the teapot (boiling water) went all over my face and body, scalding me. My mother whipped me in her arms and smothered me in petroleum jelly and a wet towel, she then ran to a neighbors house for help who she knew was an ambulance driver and he drove my mother and me to the hospital. Thanks to my mother smothering me in petroleum jelly and a wet towel, I have no scars on my body, apart from my middle finger on my left hand where she had missed a little bit with the jelly.
The weird thing about this is that my parents demanded to be moved with a little help from the local doctor, and three weeks after we moved out of that house, the gentleman owner who moved in died of a heart attack.
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