(Video of ghost at bottom of post)

I don’t believe in ghosts. Let’s start with that. I have recently moved into the house my mother grew up in. 5 generations of my family have lived in this house over the years. We haven’t always owned the house, and there was a gap of about 40 years where other families lived here, but serendipitously the house wound up back in the family.

It is said that my mother’s grandmother haunts the small room upstairs (now my daughter’s bedroom. Please don’t tell her). My great grandmother didn’t approve of my parents’ marriage and on the morning of their wedding her ghost made her displeasure known. The small room upstairs is L shaped and on the far wall, around the corner of the L, was stacked some collapsible chairs. Those chairs had somehow moved around the corner and wedged themselves against the door so no one could get in. All of the wedding stuff was trapped.

Fast forward to present day. Last weekend my sister and her son moved in with me. My sister looks a lot like my mother, and I look a lot like my uncle. My sister, being of the hysterical type, is convinced that her being has stirred up the ghost.

“She’s going to think I’m mum!” she bellowed, like a mad twenty eight year old toddler.

“Ghosts aren’t real. Please move. You’re blocking the telly.”

“I was taking a picture of the cats yesterday and a ghost walked past the camera. I shit you not.”

“I’m trying to watch QI.”

“A real ghost.”

“You’re not going to move are you?”

“We should film me and see if there’s a ghost. What’s the best way to do that?”

“I think you have to play the trumpet while listening to Wagner.”

“Ok. Let’s do it.”

“You’re mental.”

“You’re just scared.”

“Fine. Go get the trumpet.”

And so it was that we came to film the video below. And lo and behold, at the end of the video, a fucking ghost flies out of the trumpet. Personally I think it’s a piece of dust with a sense of humour. My sister on the other hand is still crying.

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