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Signs of Life

Nancy L. Horner

Things That Go Bump in the Night

"Hey, the brochure about this hotel says it has a ghost," I told my husband. "Cool, eh?" We'd just arrived in the small town of Farnham in England's Surrey district after a full night's overseas flight, a whirlwind dash to major sites in London, a harrowing nighttime drive on British motorways––during which we completely bypassed Farnham and ended up in "Jane Austen Country"––and at least a solid 30 minutes spent driving in circles through the cobbled streets of Farnham, looking for our hotel while turning a map around and around because, quite frankly, it didn't make a bit of sense and everything was beginning to blur.

"Uh-huh," my husband replied. He was understandably exhausted and not in a conversational mood. I dropped the subject and put the brochure aside.

Farnham has such a lengthy history (dating back to the Stone Age; mammoth tusks have been found in the area) that it's hardly any wonder the Georgian hotel we stayed in is known to have a ghost. The first night, however, the ghost didn't disturb us. He was probably too annoyed by the drunken revelers loudly making their way home from a nearby pub to bother haunting anyone. I distinctly remember longing for one of our noisy American hotel room heaters during a night that we seemed to hear more than our fair share of drinking songs.

The next night, still weary, we decided to head to bed early. I was in a chipper mood because that day; I overheard the word "crikey" used in conversation twice and had an all-around fantastic time exploring little historic corners of the town while my poor, deprived husband had to work.

"Maybe the ghost will visit us," I said after reading the remainder of the hotel brochure. "I'd like to see a ghost." Big mistake. Never invite a ghost into your room.

During our first evening in Farnham, the electricity in our room worked fine. After I invited the ghost in for a visit, on the second evening, the lights went haywire. We'd turn on one light and another across the room would go off then turn back on while the light near the switch popped off. Lights went on and off for over an hour, while we took our baths and got ready for bed. After one last battle of the bulbs, during which David kept turning a light off and it came back on repeatedly, we settled under the covers. David promptly went to sleep while I lay awake wondering if the electrical disturbances had anything to do with an invisible apparition with a bad sense of humor.

After about an hour, the bed frame creaked and there was a slight "whump" on the bed, as if a large dog had just jumped onto the mattress with us. I hadn't moved and David was sleeping like a rock, quiet and still. I had my hand on him and knew he hadn't stretched his feet out or shifted. Since I hadn't moved, either, I was a bit spooked. What made the bed creak? Nothing happened for a few minutes and I'd almost succeeded in convincing myself that I was being wildly imaginative when I felt something press on the covers a second time. The bed creaked a tiny bit. Whatever it was, it was moving closer. First, at the foot of the bed, now around my ankles.

Every few minutes, I felt something shift the covers again. David still hadn't budged by the time I felt the slight shifting near my waistline. That was enough for me. I sat bolt upright and gave David a healthy shove. The light switch was on his side of the bed.

"Turn on the light!'

David muttered unintelligibly and promptly went back to sleep.

"David! Turn on the light!" I shoved him, again, and he grumpily sat up to switch the light on.

"What? What's the problem?" He gave me a bleary-eyed look after grudgingly turning on the light.

"The bed was creaking but neither of us was moving and I could feel the ghost moving closer and closer..."

"Take a breath, babe. There's no ghost. Go back to sleep." He moved to turn the light back off.

"Don't you dare!"

"I'm not going to leave the light on." Wow, was he grumpy.

"You have to," I said. "If there’s going to be a ghost in bed with us, I want to see him. Not that I want to see a ghost; I just want to know what's climbing into bed with us. Okay, admittedly, I'm freaked."

"No kidding." David sighed and sank back under the covers. I was still sitting up, clutching the blankets.

"Would you just go back to sleep? There's no ghost. Now, I'm going to turn the light out..."

"No you're not!"

We eventually came to a compromise. I left the bathroom light on so that we had at least a little light in the room. David snored contentedly, as always, and I fitfully tossed and turned. The bed ceased its creaking and there was no sensation of anything moving on the bed, but I was ready to dash out into the hallway screaming, if necessary.

I didn't sleep a wink, that night, and I learned an important lesson. Never invite a ghost into your room. Even if the ghost is a figment of your imagination, it can still keep you up all night.