Open­ing win­dow

Fortean Times - - Letters -

From 2000 to 2012 I lived in an old ter­race house in Syd­ney dat­ing back to the 1880s. I never had the sense that there was an oth­er­worldly pres­ence – although the woman in the ad­join­ing house claimed that the ghost of a boy had pushed her down the stairs. I had a won­der­ful con­verted attic with a large win­dow built into the pitch roof. The win­dow opened with a han­dle that you had to turn. I was in my thir­ties at the time and even though I had been a rugby league player and con­sid­ered my­self to be rea­son­ably fit, it took quite an ef­fort to open and close this win­dow. You could see the win­dow from the court­yard and there must have been 20 times or more when I would be in the court­yard and would look up and think, “Oh, I’ve left the attic win­dow open. That’s strange, I’m sure I’d closed it.”

One over­cast day shortly be­fore I moved out, I was work­ing in the attic when I no­ticed that it was start­ing to rain. I quickly closed the win­dow, us­ing two hands to wind it shut, and ran down­stairs as I had wash­ing on the line that was prob­a­bly dry and I wanted to get it in. As I fran­ti­cally pulled the clothes off the line, I looked up at the attic win­dow and no­ticed that it was open again. I stood there in the rain, star­ing up at the open win­dow and thought back to all the other times that I was sure I had closed it only to see that it was open again. John King Syd­ney, Aus­tralia

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