Of all the probs I could have mentioned...

We seem to have a ghost.

I have asked it to be good and not misbehave and hope it hears and understands.

Nothing, and I do mean nothing, explains what happened tonight.

Been here a week and five days, settling in well, doing little jobs as and when they are needed. So far, all is well with the general fabric of the house, no bad feelings, glimpses out of the corner of the eye, as usual, but nothing to suggest unusuality.

Til tonight.

I get a pack of cigarettes, nine in there, from a coat in the hall, walk into the living room, take one out, throw the pack on a sofa and go outside for a smoke. An hour or so later, I decide to have a bath, after another crafty flute. I have been downstairs, from living room to bathroom, since my last drag. Fags? Here boy! Nothing.

Both sofas are taken apart, looked under, furniture moved, rubbish searched through, plant pots outside interrogated while my bath water runs.

In the end, Liz gets some more, along with another bottle of wine (she liked the first so much), and I wait for the day that I find a Marlboro Lights pack wedged under a kitchen unit.

More drinks, TV, Liz gets tired and decides its beddy bye bo-bo time,.I’m online and drunk, the natural prey of Bid Up TV. A voice cries out “Oh yeah, I got em”, and Liz shouts down that ciggies are go! ….

Where?
Trapped in the turnips of her jeans?
Bundled in discarded clothes for washing?
No.
Actually IN the bed, a place where neither of us had been that eve.
Add to that that said ciggies were in the bottom of the bed and only discovered when Liz came to remake the bed BEFORE getting into it.

I have seen ghosts. I have heard ghosts. I have been around when things went missing, only to turn up where they never where..

Tonight does not dismay me. To some, having just moved into a new house, it might
seem like deliberately bad service by old staff under a new manager. I don’t see it like that (even if Word is playing up).

Losing fags is an occupational hazard of smoking and drinking. Not having had a drop until after looking for my eight faggy friends only misses a point.
I don’t intend to smoke indoors, so reserve the right to have my property unmolested.
Anyone wanting to mess with my stuff messes with me.
And, undead, not gone over or just plain devilish, I don’t spook easily.