Oh go on then - just in the interests of bumping the thread of course. Mine isn't scary either.
I have shared this one before – but I always want to join in. It is a story which my grandmother told me – it was corroborated at the time by my uncle, although his memory now is hazy and he seems less clear.
My uncle, then in his twenties I think, shared a terraced house with several young men. My grandparents lived a little while away and in those days (uncle is now in his 80s) men weren’t supposed to be able to fend for themselves, so Nanna wanted to go and check out his house.
They arrived and sat in the front parlour – which opened straight onto the street. They had been there a little while having a cup of tea when someone knocked on the door. “Don’t worry” said one of the lads “it’s only Mary”. Nanna was waiting for this Mary to come in, but they didn’t open the door and she presumed it was a child playing knock and run.
She then decided to wash up the tea things in the kitchen whilst the men (sigh – different times!) listened to the radio. Someone came and knocked on the internal kitchen door. She opened it but they were just sitting and listening and said they hadn’t heard anything. Then, scarily, there was a knocking on the back external door – even though she had seen nobody walk through the gate into the yard.
She went to the bathroom and someone knocked on the door – she rushed out presuming that someone must be desperate, but, you’ve guessed it – nobody.
During the night someone knocked persistently on the wall adjoining the house next door. (Their bedhead was against this adjoining wall). They got a very broken night’s sleep, (Granddad heard this knocking too) and to cap it all, someone knocked on the bathroom door when she was in there again next morning.
Eventually, she had had enough and demanded to know who was doing all the knocking and why.
All the young men looked sheepishly at each other and then came clean and told the story.
Years before the two adjoining houses were inhabited by a mother and her grown-up son. The mother was very possessive of her son and didn’t like him having lady friends. If she found out he had invited a woman home she used to hammer on the door and tell him to get that floozy out of the house – and she would go to both the front and back doors and hammer and shout to make her point.
Eventually the mother died, but still made her disapproval known until the son moved away. Even when he did move away (and by now must have died) she still continues to make her protests every time a woman enters the house – no matter who she is!