The story of Vic, who patrols my halls at night

A ghost story. I can just imagine people rolling their eyes, but read on. 

I’ve lived in my home for 62 years. It was built in 1905 and from 1929 until 1945 had been owned by the Church of England until my husband’s family bought it, and it was given to us in 1955. I was just 17 when we married and my husband, John, was 25. 

I’ve been a widow for 23 years now; the anniversary of John’s death was on the 8th April. 

Just after we were married a man named Mr Hooper called in to talk about the Progress Association, and during the conversation he said, “poor Vic; I used to call in to see him.” Of course, I wanted to know why he was “poor Vic” and he told me that Vic had hung himself here, and his family gave the house to the church as they wanted nothing to do with it. When John came home that day I was quick to say that I don’t think we should stay where someone had taken his life. However, John trotted out that old chestnut, “The dead won’t hurt you; It’s the living you’ve got to watch out for.”

Over the years all three of our children have had inexplicable experiences, as well as John and myself , and visitors and neighbours. Everyone has heard the plodding of footsteps in the hall when there was nobody there, and thought of poor Vic.

As it happens, my hearing is depleted so I take my hearing aids out at night and haven’t heard those footsteps for some years now. I know the more learned of the readers will be saying that it’s just the house settling down, and perhaps it is.

Nevertheless, I like to think of Victor being here, patrolling the hall even if I can’t hear him.

However, on the morning of the 10th of  April I had an appointment to go to, so the hearing aids were put in place early. At 7 am I heard the tread of feet in the hall. My dog, Maggie, who is most docile gave a low growl but didn’t bound out of her chair as she usually does to greet visitors. I went into the hall, wondering how anyone could come in as the doors were locked but there was no one there.

I could say that it happened on the anniversary of John’s death, just to pepper my story up, but it didn’t. I think it was Victor reminding me he is still about, and I’m glad he did. 

Do you have any spooky or unexplainable stories of your own?