Much confusion over an unexplained squeak T

HE day started with a squeak in the dining room and became more confusing.

All houses have squeaks and groans but this was different.

I noticed it whilst reading the papers over breakfast. I looked round but could see no obvious cause. It came again. I tried to ignore it but it sapped my concentration and, as I read, I found myself anticipating the next interruption. And it came again. My wife Maria looked into the room and I held up my hand like Caesar demanding silence.

My wife has never been responsive to imperial commands and said: “What?” in a manner that could be interpreted as either inquisitive or confrontational, depending upon my answer. “There’s a squeak in the room.” We both listened. The room squeaked. “Perhaps it’s the clock?” she said. I examined the clock, which was a modern reproduction of the type that once adorned every grandma’s mantelpiece, but no mouse had got stuck behind it whilst playing nursery rhymes.

We investigated other places, looking for sources or reasons, pursuing logic and coming up short, and all the time, at minute intervals or there about, the squeak persisted.

Was it a trapped spirit trying to make contact?

My wife got bored and left and I went back to the newspapers and a fresh cup of tea.

In the car on the way into town, I heard a rattle.

For a moment I wondered if the spirit was trying a different form of communication, then realised the noise was being made by one of the clips on the child seat that has permanent residence in the back. Even then I had doubts. Was it tapping in morse code? As we began the ascent of Newsome Road my ears blocked.

This is a normal phenomenon usually encountered in aeroplanes but that’s at 20,000 feet and this was Newsome. A bit steep, but come on.

“My ears are blocked,” I told my wife.

“Pardon?” Sense of humour, my wife.

“How long have they been blocked?” “Just now.” She was not impressed. Was the spirit still trying to gain my attention?

On the way home, the car began to ping loudly and repeatedly. Was it getting cross?

“You’re short of petrol,” my wife said, to the dash warning symbol.

Which was a relief, even at £50 a tank. We unpacked our shopping and I was checking emails when my wife said:

“That squeak is still there in the dining room.”

I did what everybody does and Googled squeak.

It provided a choice of chinchilla, hamster, guinea pig, rabbit, hare, mouse, rat, or a male hedgehog squeaking out of excitement whilst attempting to seduce a female. Oh yes, and a rhinoceros beetle. Let’s hope it’s gone by tomorrow. In the meantime, I’m hoping it’s a lost spirit rather than a rhino beetle.