Ghosts

 When it comes to the whole idea of ghosts I have a theory…

…it may be ridiculous and it’s probably wrong but most importantly, it’s something I love to air after a couple of glasses of wine…

You know that feeling when you walk into a room and immediately felt the tension between two people, even when they’re acting completely fine? Or had the feeling that your being watched, only to look up and see someone looking at you?

Well, Scientists say we only use 10% of our brain, and these same scientists admit that they don’t completely understand the make-up of dreams – our subconscious is still a place of utter mystery, working like a radio sensing things without us even knowing how or why…

I also read an article not long ago that said the energy surrounding suicide or murder victims stayed twice as long as it did for people who died of natural causes.

With this in mind I don’t believe that ghosts of our dead ancestors roam the earth waiting to ‘pass to the other side’, or just watch us during our most intimate moments (oh come on, don’t pretend you didn’t get freaked out when you where a kid, thinking your dead Nan or Grandad was watching you have a wee) but instead the human brain can sense residual energy from horrific events, creating an image that seems so real we believe we can see a ghost.

Of course, in the story of my ghostly encounter this theory makes absolutely no sense whatsoever…

I was 17; the age where you take a friend to family weddings and spend the whole time trying to get the pissed best man to buy you both drinks. On this occasion My Girl and I had done pretty well, so at 1.30am we were in our hotel room, tipsy, and laughing.

A lot.

Obviously too loudly as we heard my mum get out of bed in the room next door and bang on the locked door that adjoined the two rooms.

Forgetting it was locked she tried to open it, and when she realised it was stuck she nearly broke the handle off and was throwing her whole weight against the door.

Like naughty kids we were hid under the covers pretending to be asleep until my mum’s incompetent banging went on for so long I screamed “WHAT-ARE-YOU PLAYING AT?” I could hear her make her way to the other end of her room, towards the door that actually worked and was waiting for, not only the “stop talking so loud” chat, but the “how dare you shout at me” one too.

When it didn’t come I assumed she had gone back to bed.

The next morning when she popped in to say hi, I asked her why she nearly broke the door down when she knew it was locked…

Turns out her and my dad stayed downstairs at the bar after we went to bed and didn’t get back to their room until 4am.

My Girl and I immediately went cold.

We had seen the handle move, and no draft could have made that impact.

My mum, going white when we told her, said that night she had woken up to feel her whole body pinned like “a slab of concrete was on top of me”. This, of course, could have been down to the fact she was smoking 40 a day at that point, but let’s just humour her shall we…

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