Hey, remember that time Terry found an angel buried in our garden? Or a cupid? Or a cursed artefact from ye olden days, because that sounds like the kind of thing that would happen to us?
Well, the good news was that we’re still alive, so it probably WASN’T cursed: phew!
The slightly strange news is that this week Terry was, once again, digging in the garden, and this time he found THIS:
(The thing with the face, I mean, not the mug. We found the mug in Cath Kidston, and there’s no mystery attached to it as far as I know: it’s just here to provide some scale, so you don’t go thinking the green head is the size of a REAL head, or something. That really WOULD be weird. Also scary.)
So, we have no idea what the hell this is, how it came to be buried in our garden, or if it has any connection to the glass cupid/angel/demon thing from a few months ago. I WANT to know, though. And I don’t want it to be something totally mundane, like the builder bringing in topsoil from somewhere, and the topsoil being full of glass cupids and green faces with huge red lips. (Which is actually STILL pretty strange, when you think about it. I mean, where would they even find topsoil filled with strange objects? And can we get some more of it, I wonder?) No, I want it to be that the house is built on the site of an ancient burial ground, or on top of a portal to another dimension or something. And then one day Terry and I find the doorway to this other world, and have a thrilling, and only moderately terrifying adventure. Then I write a book about it, and the book is turned into a movie, and, ooh, I wonder who will play me?!
Sorry, I’m getting carried away. As I said, we have no idea what the green face thing is. SOMEONE must know, though, and if that someone is you, please share your wisdom! I can’t offer you a reward, but I CAN offer you the green face thing, if you want it? No? Anyone?
Speaking of our garden, a few weeks ago Terry and I were sitting out there enjoying a rare few moments of sunshine, when we heard some of the neighbourhood children sneak into the garden of the house next door, which has been empty for years now. (No, it’s not another ‘International Man of Mystery Next Door‘ situation, unfortunately. I mean, it would be AWESOME if it was, because think of all the blog posts I’d get out of it, but there’s actually a really boring and not-at-all-mysterious reason for the house being empty, which I won’t bore you with, on account of it being someone else’s business and all…)
“HELLOOO!” we heard the kids shout – they were in the house’s driveway at this point, and we could just see their shapes moving around behind the gate.
“HELLLLOOOOO!” they shouted again, and I thought they were possibly shouting to us (Two of the little boys in the street developed a bit of an obsession with Terry last year. They would write his name in chalk in front of our door and everything…) so…
“Hiiiii!” I yelled back, thinking I was being friendly.
Cue screams of absolute terror as the children all scrambled to get away from the house as fast as they possibly could.
“I TOLD YOU THAT HOUSE WAS HAUNTED!” we heard one of them shriek to the rest of the gang. “THERE’S A GHOST IN THERE! A GHOST! A GHOOOOOSSSSTTT! I TOLD YOU!”
And then we never saw the neighbourhood kids again.
I, of course, was absolutely thrilled to learn that the house next door is supposedly haunted, and only slightly disappointed to know the “ghost” is actually ME. I like to think that in 50 years’ time or something, those children will be all grown up and will be sitting around the fire one day saying to their grandchildren, “When I was a little boy, there was a haunted house in my street…” And then they’ll tell the story of the disembodied voice that was me, and their grandchildren will tell THEIR children, and so on and so forth, down through the ages. And in this way, I will basically live forever.
Either than or one day they’ll come and burn the house down to get rid of the “ghost”, and that’ll be a totally DIFFERENT kind of story for all of us.
Fingers crossed it’s the first option…[P.S. Terry has just looked at this post as is annoyed that I failed to mention the wildflower bouquet at the top of the page, which he picked and arranged for me with his own hands: thanks, Terry!]