K8 the GR8

I joined a choir about a week ago.  It’s a church choir with lots of kids in it and it makes my heart pump honey to hear their little voices sing off key.  I play the guitar to accompany the organ.  It sounds crap but who cares?

 They just told me that they’re doing a gig tonight for the communion kid’s mass.  (During which each child has to go to the alter, remove shoe and sock, and have priest wash their feet… is it just me or does that sound strange?)  It’s an ‘emergency’ gig, last minute sort of thing.   The thing is, my other half has worked like a dog all week and was invited to a game of poker tonight.   I’m giving up going camping on Saturday night so that I may perform with the choir for Easter Mass.  AND I’m completely shagged out from entertaining my friend and our kids today.

 Am I being tested here?  Is the Good Lord having a laugh at my expense and taking bets with his Apostles?  If I tell my boyfriend he can’t go play poker, I don’t think I could bear the look of dissapointment on his little face.  I got to go last week, so it’s only fair Christian.

Ok, so I think I’ve just answered my own question.  Let him play poker, at least there might be some capital gain out of it.  I’ll sleep on a bed of pins tonight to make up for it.

This isn’t a joke, there’s no scrolling down to any punch-lines for you, I’m afraid.  This is just something that happened to me that I can’t explain, and that weirded me out a little bit.

We lived in Wicklow Town for a few years, renting a house that had been owned by our landlord’s uncle.  Let’s call this uncle ‘Mr. Murphy’.  Our next door neighbours told us that Mr. Murphy was a religious man, who loved classical music, and cycling.  He would cycle about 75 miles a day, and for an octogenarian, that’s not to shabby by my standards.  He had set up a very elaborate sound system with large speakers set in to the living room wall which we could never get to work.  Apparently he would play his electric organ loudly for hours and hours every Sunday, thus pissing his neighbours off no end. 

There was a bit of a mystery as to how and where Mr. Murphy died.  As nobody would give me a straight answer, I presumed he’d died naturally in his home.

I remember walking in to the house for the first time when we were sussing it out with a view to renting it.  The house felt warm, homely, and had a familiar smell.  It was as though we were welcome there.  You could almost feel a kind sort of energy in it.

We had been living there for about a week, and were watching television in front of a coal fire, when the noises began.

BANG… BANG BANG BANG. BANG.  Not rhythmic, but sort of sporadic, and very very loud, trailing off to quiter taps at the end of each set.  Sort of like as though somebody was hanging pictures next door.  Next door was empty that night though.  This banging lasted for about 30 minutes, and then stopped.

The same thing happened the next night we lit a fire.  That got me thinking that the chimney must be heating and expanding, causing such loud cracking noises.  It happened again and again, on various nights, fire lit and unlit.  We got used to it.  It was creepy, but what can you do?

I discovered one night that the source of the noise seemed to be upstairs, as it was pretty deafening up there.  So, up I went to where the chimney breast continued into our bedroom.

BANG BANG BANG. BANG… As I opened the door, the noise stopped.  Iwas really starting to get irritated now, I mean- not only was this noise disturbing our peace, but you have no idea how un-nerving it got when I was alone in the house.

4:00am.  The last straw.

 BANG! BANG BANG BANG BANG

 I woke instantly with a shocked “WTF?!?!” and drew the duvet to my neck.  Cold sweat.  I listened to the ominous din for about 10 minutes before I was able to move.  It wasn’t the chimney breast at all.  It was coming from the old carved wooden wardrobe in the corner of the bedroom.

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG.  BANG BANG.

I went to the wardrobe door, sucked in a tight breath, opened it quickly and jumped back Kung Foo style.  There was nothing there, save the usual stuff you find in wardrobes.  (BANG BANG) I grabbed a chair, dragged it to the wardrobe (BANG BANG BANG BANG), and was about to stand on it, when the sound suddenly got louder… then stopped.  To say that I was bricking it would be putting it mildly.  Empowered by adrenaline, I stood on the chair, and reached up to the top of the wardrobe to feel around in the dust.  My hand rested on a spanner, the only thing to be found on the surface.  I took it down, and examined it closely.  Just an old, rusty double ended spanner.  I tapped it on the wood that decorated the top of the wardrobe door.  BANG BANG.  Fair enough.  Stepping off the chair, I put the spanner into a drawer, and went back to bed.  As I pulled the duvet around me, I spoke into the darkness.

“I don’t scare that easily.”

The atmosphere seemed to lighten instantly.  I went to sleep.  We never heard the noise again.