So I got woken up at around 4:45 this morning by the distinct sound of something falling and hitting the ground. Immediately, two thoughts ran into my head: there’s either a clumsy burglar or a very social ghost in my house. I quickly recalled what the guy across the hall told me when I met him for the first time yesterday. Apparently, there have been several people who have moved in and out of my unit in the past year. I wondered if it was because they were menaced by a disembodied soul or a Scooby Doo-type creature. Since I just signed a 30-year mortgage on the place, I quietly resigned myself to being audience to regular performances of Casper’s proverbial bumps in the night.
So I got up and went to the living room. Nothing. Checked the den. Nothing. Checked the kitchen. Nothing, either.
I’d seen enough paranormal reality shows to know that a sound as distinct as I heard meant something solid and substantial actually fell; it wasn’t a faint knocking or an ominous creaking. But the Scully in me couldn’t produce a rational explanation for the sound I heard. A little freaked out, I went to the bathroom to wash my face.
There, I found the culprit: the hook I use for my pouf that was suction cupped to the shower wall had fallen into the tub.
Mystery sound explained.
I resisted the temptation to be empirical and to try recreating the sound, in case the plastic hook wasn’t the smoking gun. But for my early morning brain, the explanation was rational enough.
Of course, that’s until the next time I hear another creepy sound in my house.