The Gap Where …?

My house is old – very old. So old that we have to have planning permission to change the use of the cupboards. Well, perhaps it just feels like it because planning for the new extension took on biblical proportions

When I was younger – er young – I used to babysit for this family who lived in a really old house and you get seasick walking along the passage to the child’s bedroom upstairs. I always vowed I would live in a house with floorboards that had grown wonky with age.

Everything about my house is old and quirky which is how I like it. I love history and things that have a story behind them. I am fascinated by the fact that I am touching something that has been touched by someone who lived long ago and had a life, perhaps good, perhaps bad. I try to feel them through handling the object. (Don’t judge, we all have a thing, that’s mine.) I scour the flea markets for interesting items that I need and look good in my house. No IKEA here.

But …

Beware what you wish for.

Imagine facing this when you come up stairs in the dead of night.

I always imagine that one night I shall see feet in the gap beneath the door.

That I shall hear heavy breathing from whoever waits for me to get close enough …

That I will hear the click as the latch is pressed …

That the door will slowly swing open …

I have to admit to never, and I mean never, walk upstairs after dark with my eyes open.

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