Turning my keys in the door, I felt a jolt of excitement as the lock clicked open to our new home.
My partner, Chris, and I had moved from a poky flat to a spacious fisherman’s cottage in Bognor Regis, West Sussex, that was brimming with character and charm.
‘We’re living the dream,’ I beamed at Chris as we gazed out of the window at the sea.
Despite my contentment, I barely slept that night, tossing and turning at the sound of footsteps creaking up and down the stairs.
‘It must be the kitten, Marley,’ I thought.
Two weeks later, I was wide awake yet again when the mattress sank, as if someone had sat down next to me. I could just about see an indentation on the bed before it disappeared.
‘I’m exhausted, I must have imagined it,’ I thought.
Then other weird things happened.
Shoes I’d put on the rack in the wardrobe ended up on the floor, like they’d been thrown off it, and I’d enter the kitchen to find every cupboard ajar.
Plus the cottage was always freezing cold.
Then one night, I saw a huge shadowy figure looming over Chris as he slept beside me.
Seconds later, it vanished.
I’d seen a spirit during my childhood, so I knew instantly what it was.
Something was in the house and it didn’t want us there.
Eventually I decided to tell Chris, but he thought I was winding him up.
When my mum, Sharon, came to stay for the weekend, she picked up on it too.
‘There’s something in this house, I can feel a presence,’ she said.
Now, even Chris couldn’t deny that strange things were happening.
‘We have to get rid of whatever it is,’ I told him.
A split second later, a picture flew off the wall and landed with a clatter on the floor.
Then a candle shot off the shelf, smashing down next to the picture.
The colour drained from Chris’ face.
The spirit wasn’t going to leave – we had to. Four weeks later, we moved out to a rented flat in Cambridgeshire.
As we left, Chris posted a photo of the cottage on Facebook and he received a message from a friend saying her mum used to live there.
She, too, had been forced out by the spirit, who had locked the patio doors every time she went out on the sun terrace.
‘At least we’re leaving it behind now,’ I told Chris.
But I was wrong. Spooky happenings began in our new place. Objects would fall off windowsills and, just like in the cottage, shoes were chucked off the rack.
The entity had followed us.
I decided to stop giving it attention. ‘I’ve had enough,’ I said, throwing away the shoe rack. Thankfully, the spooky happenings soon petered out.
Now I’ve decided to embrace my gift. Chris, Mum and I have set up our paranormal events company, Simply Sacred Paranormal, where we respectfully engage with spirits on hunts.
We never discovered who the spirit was in the cottage, but I’d love to go back to investigate.
But for now, it’s good to finally feel welcome in our own home and I have to thank the shoe-throwing spirit as, without it, I might not have listened to my calling.
