I met one of my new neighbours today.
This is what happened:
Him: "Hello. Are you new?"
"Yes, I moved in a few weeks ago."
"Nice to meet you. I'm C---, what's your name?"
"That's a lovely name."
"It's my late partner's name."
"Ohhh er ah."
An awkward silence, broken by:
"Do you like the house?" sez he.
"I love it." because I do. It's not my wont to be particularly enthusiastic about anything outside of Wolf Hall but I really love this house.
"Oh, that's strange. Most people hate it."
"Do they? Why?" Incredulous I am.
"The bad vibes."
Here he starts to walk off. I stop him.
"What do you mean? What bad vibes?"
"All the suicides."
"WHAT? WHAT SUICIDES?"
"Well, there has been one since I've lived here."
"How long have you lived here?"
So, like. One.
One suicide in 14 years.
That does not qualify my house as the 'Suicide House' of the neighbourhood. That is probably statistically quite normal, I'd say. With my vast knowledge of such things.
But I mean, people die. My dad died in our house. But because no one who has lived in since knows that, they don't go round calling it the 'sudden death house'.
"Right. Any others?"
Here he gets vague.
"My friend came round. He's very sensitive. And there are strong energy lines in the garden. Strong. Not in the house. But in the garden. Your part of the house was the nursery, of course, but I expect you know that."
No. How? How would I know that? What? HOW?
So now I have the man in the tower and the little ghost babies in my flat.
"Do let me know if you need help with anything. Lovely to meet you Debbie. Bye!"