THIS HOUSE IS HAUNTED

In sleep you know this house well, it’s every quirk and corridor, its ancient furniture, the dust and mustiness.  It’s because you’ve been here before, every night since you made the decision and nights previously, from far in your past that you’ve blocked out.

You’re in the bedroom, a close personal friend has texted you to say that this house is haunted, that this place is cursed.  You text back; “Don’t be daft!  I don’t sense anything!”  But you are slightly unsettled and the feeling grows as the evening stretches on.  You’re starting to feel your aloneness and hear the creaks, bumps and footsteps along the corridor.  Somewhere nearby, a door slams.  You turn the key in the lock to shut out the ghost.  When the key falls to the floor, you grab it quickly before it can be dragged underneath.  You pull a chest of drawers against the door, struggling with the weight of it.  You gasp for breath.  Safe again?

Then the lights begin to flicker and suddenly you’re plunged into darkness.  You realise your error.  You haven’t barricaded the ghost out, ghosts can walk through walls.  You flick the switch desperate for light, but nothing happens, you can’t see anything, but you can sense that something in the room close to you wishes you ill.

Waking, you deny me, you bury yourself in work, relationships, parties.  You’ve kept yourself busy since the decision, haven’t you?  Since you pulled the rug out from under your own feet?  Is there a reason for that, I wonder?  Well, you can’t escape me in sleep.  I am the haunted house, the sense of menace, the ghost that creeps up on you.  I am your intuition and I’m trying to tell you something very important about a choice you’ve made.  Ignore me at your peril.