Anne Dickens | The Day After Yesterday

Have you ever seen that Sherlock Holmes' film, The Hound of the Baskervilles? You know the one; where Sherlock spends his whole time chasing a herd of dogs over misty fields and moorland because they have alledgedly (even mutts are inncoent until proven guilty) mauled a few hapless victims to death (they were probably dressed provocatively anyway).


Well it's been a bit like that here in Forest Hill, Oxfordshire. Except without the mauled victims.

For the last couple of days, a heavy fog has hung over the village, muffling sounds, reducing visibility, and making everything look a bit eerie. I was even able to recreate some elements of The Hound of the Baskervilles by taking Naughty George for a walk in the misty fields, but luckily he was more interested in rolling in fox shit than biting people to death.


That small black dot on the right hand side of the field is Naughty George of the Baskervilles. It was actually mistier in real life than it looks in the photograph.


I didn't realise until I got back home just how wet mist actually is. It is basically the equivalent of walking through a low flying cloud and because of that I had damp jeans and droplets of water dangling precariously from the ends of my eyelashes.

Anyway, I digress. If all that mad mutt and mist stuff wasn't enough, something really spooky happened later in the evening.

It was 8pm and pitch black outside. Izzy and I were in the house on our own and it was her bedtime. Now as you probably already know, my house was built over 500 years ago, in approximately 1546 AD, and as such, has a plethora of history associated with it.


"Bedtime Stinkbomb!" I said to Iz, holding out my hand. She took it, and I led her up the creaky old stairs and helped her climb under the duvet.

"Someone else has come up the stairs with us," she mentioned matter-of-factedly as I was tucking in the covers around her. WTF? Goosebumps properly prickled my arms and legs.

I steadied myself. "What on earth made you think that?" I asked nervously.

"His footsteps made the same crackling sound [she meant 'creaking'] on the stairs behind us, and I could hear him," she said.

"Are you sure sweetheart?" I stuttered.

"Yes. In real life," Izzy said with annoyance in her voice.

I'll just go and check it out," I said, walking towards the stairs, a tad freaked out.

"No you don't have to," she said simply, "there's no one there anymore."

CHRIST! It was like something out of that film, 'Sixth Sense' where the kid says, "I see dead people."


Now. I am not superstitious nor a supernatural believer, but that whole scenario left me all a bit 'woah! what happened there?'

Answers on a postcard please!