Things That Go Bump In The Night.

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I don’t want to alarm anyone, but my house is definitely haunted. I know this because every night, without fail, something goes bump. Sometimes it goes thud. 

Occasionally it goes scrrrrraaaape, which is the internationally recognised sound of a demon rearranging furniture. According to experts  by which I mean people on the internet who type in all caps  this is a sign that your home is either (A) possessed, or (B) has central heating.Personally, I blame the heating. It makes noises that suggest the pipes are trying to communicate, possibly to warn me about the boiler, which is older than most European nations. But at 3 a.m., when the house is dark and the wind is doing that spooky “wooOOOooo” thing, my brain decides the noise is definitely a poltergeist who died tragically in 1842 after tripping over a chamber pot. 

This is why I sleep with the duvet pulled up to my chin: everyone knows ghosts cannot penetrate a duvet. This is basic science.The problem is that night-time transforms ordinary objects into terrifying threats. A coat on a chair becomes a lurking intruder. A shadow becomes a portal to the underworld. And the cat  who has been asleep for 14 consecutive hours suddenly decides to sprint across the landing like a caffeinated wildebeest. This produces a noise so violent that I briefly achieve levitation.Cats, in fact, are responsible for at least 70% of all Things That Go Bump in the Night. The remaining 30% is split between radiators, forgotten laundry, and your own imagination, which at night becomes a Hollywood special effects department staffed entirely by interns on energy drinks.

You hear a creak and immediately think, “Well, that’s it. This is how I die. Taken by a ghost who disapproves of my recycling habits.”Of course, there are people who claim they enjoy the night. These are the same people who go camping. They will tell you that the dark is peaceful, calming, restorative. These people are liars. The dark is where nature stores all its weird noises. If you sleep in a tent, you will hear rustling. You will hear snapping twigs. You will hear something large breathing just outside the canvas. It is probably a hedgehog, but your brain will insist it is a bear, despite the fact that you are in Surrey.Even worse are the noises you don’t hear the ones you imagine. You lie there, staring at the ceiling, convinced that something is creeping slowly up the stairs. You hold your breath. You listen. Nothing. Then your partner rolls over and snores directly into your ear with the force of a small jet engine. 

This is the moment you realise the real horror of the night is not ghosts. It is marriage.Still, we all try to be brave. We tell ourselves that houses make noises. We tell ourselves that ghosts aren’t real. We tell ourselves that the strange tapping sound is definitely not coming from inside the wardrobe. And then, just as we’re drifting off, the fridge makes that loud “CLUNK” noise it only ever makes after midnight, and we immediately become Olympic-level sprinters heading for the light switch.The truth is simple: night-time is when the universe likes to remind us that we are fragile, nervous creatures who can be startled by our own slippers. But there is comfort in this. Because if you think about it, the things that go bump in the night are really just the world saying, “Relax. You’re alive. 

Your house is alive. Your cat is definitely alive. And your boiler is… well… alive-ish.”And if that doesn’t help, just remember: ghosts still can’t get through duvets.

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