The Boy Who Lived With Ghosts: A Memoir by John Mitchell

like a dog!” shouted Margueretta.
    “You’ll understand one of these days,” Mum replied. “Your father is your father, and that’s all I will say on the subject. It’s entirely his fault that we are in this God-awful mess.”
    “I’m going to search for hidden treasure when we get to the new house!” I announced.
    “Well, don’t get your hopes up,” Mum replied. “It’s a council prefab from just after the war.”
    “Does it have a cellar?” Margueretta asked and looked over at me and smiled.
    “Actually, no. It’s got a coal bunker by the back door. But no cellar. Why do you ask?” Mum replied.
    “Oh, no reason.”
    I will never be locked in the cellar again. Now I am really excited about our new house. I’m not sure what a coal bunker is, but it can’t be as bad as a dark cellar with that thing in the corner that goes drip, drip, drip. And I’m sure that the thing can’t follow us to our new house. It will stay behind in the old cellar and maybe kill someone who goes down there to take a look. They won’t find anything. But the thing will be in the corner, waiting.
    Drip, drip, drip.
    But even though I am glad the thing will not follow us to our new house, I have been crying a lot lately because I miss my dad. And because I kept crying for my dad, Mum gave me a robot. She got it from the Methodist Church jumble sale. It has scenes of alien planets on its chest, and they move from left to right while the lights flash. Its legs don’t work anymore but its arms swing up and down. I will keep my robot with me at all times, especially in the dark. At night, I will turn it on and frighten away anyone who comes near me. Ghosts are frightened of robots because you can’t scare a robot.
    I expect Dad will be angry that Mum gave all of his clothes to The Irish, but at least he will still have his underpants. He needs to come home soon because it is very scary being the man of the house.
    I have not told Tommy our new address. He has a box of matches, and he says he will burn down our new house with us still in it. He’s still jealous about the shed. And that bright red fire engine that went clang, clang, clang.
    And I’m glad I never showed him my robot.

The Attic
     
    The Garden City of the South, England
July 1965

25
    M y robot has run out of batteries. I have also taken it apart and I should have known that I could not get it back together again. I cannot expect to get another robot. So I am therefore hiding under the blanket because there is always something to hide from in the night.
    I am not in my new bedroom because Mum found some small creatures making their way across my bed when I was down on my knees, trying to say my prayers. She caught them in a matchbox and I will have to sleep here on the sofa in the front room until the man comes round with the special poison to kill the other creatures that are still running loose.
    I don’t like this new house. The toilet is just as scary as our old one but now it’s right next door to my bedroom and I have to run past it when the door is open otherwise I will see that green rubber handle that’s swinging and twitching on the end of a rusty chain. And then I will see a dead man hanging there with his eyes bulging out like my big green marbles. I know it’s just my imagination because that thing is still back in our old cellar where it will stay forever, I’m sure.
    But the worst thing is that door on the ceiling above my bed. I don’t know how my mum can say there’s nothing in the attic when she hasn’t even been up there to have a look. And it’s easy for her to say I should ignore any stories my big sister is telling me about an evil murderer who has left a child up in the attic. It starved to death and now it’s trying to get out through that door. Mum told me not to stare at the attic door or it will give me nightmares.
    Then there’s that madwoman next door called Joan. She came round with a pot of tea this afternoon because Mum has