Footsteps by Paul Carter MD

by Paul Carter MD

 

I promised myself that, when the time was right, I would take my dear old mum back to England and sprinkle her next to my brother. Unfortunately, Covid got in the way, so when we left the farm, we took her with us to the new house instead. She is on a shelf in the cellar, next to some old photo albums.

There are new people living in her old house on the farm now, and it was about the time that the trip back to the old country got scrapped that they started complaining. All night long apparently, they were hearing footsteps up and down their passageway. 

‘You’ve got to do something about it,’ they pleaded. ‘We can’t get a wink of sleep. Your mum is driving  us barmy.’ 

‘My mum!’ I exclaimed. ‘It’ll be rats for sure.’

‘So how do you explain the cupboard doors being opened and closed, and everything in the kitchen being moved about then?’ they asked. ‘She’s just annoyed you haven’t taken her back to England. Bring her back here for a bit and let her settle down.’

I didn’t believe a word of it,  but they looked at me through pale faces with large dark rings under their eyes so, just to humour them, I took my mum back over to her old house, and put her on the mantlepiece. 

‘Brilliant!’ they beamed a couple of weeks later when I went over to pick her up again. ‘It worked like a charm. Told you it would.’ 

Unfortunately, although things at the farm stayed fine, it was now Gilly and myself who started hearing footsteps every night. They woke us up, and spooked the bejeezus out of the dog so that she would jump on the bed between us, and shake until her teeth rattled.

‘It’ll be rats,’ I would repeat in response to Gill’s enquiries.

‘Do rats usually make dogs do that?’ Gilly would then ask. ‘Perhaps the folk at the farm were on the right track.’

‘Rubbish,’ I would snort.

At three o’clock the next morning, Gilly dug me in the ribs.

 ‘Your mum’s at it again,’ she giggled. ‘I can hear footsteps across the ceiling,’ and she was quite right.

‘Rats,’ I stuck to my diagnosis as I turned over to go back to sleep. ‘It’ll be rats.’

‘Well they’ve got bloody big feet then is all I can say,’ Gilly replied.

The next day, I climbed up into the roof space and scattered an entire bag of bait by throwing it all in every direction. The following evening, as we’re watching TV there was suddenly a huge commotion above our heads. It went on for ages and when it finished, we had to pull the dog out from under the coffee table and comfort her. 

‘The bait obviously worked well then,’ I said to Gilly with a nod of my head.

The next day I went up into the roof again, fully expecting to find small furry mammals lying on their backs with their little legs in the air, but I drew a blank. 

‘You probably didn’t look properly,’ Gilly suggested. 

I am the first to admit that I have had my looking failures in the past but, on this occasion, I felt that I had nailed it. I had looked in every nook and cranny, and peered under every batt, but had come up empty-handed, apart from untouched baits. 

‘Very odd,’ I thought, so later that day, and just to cover every base you understand, I went down to the cellar. I pulled my mum off her shelf, and told her all about the pandemic, and promised that I would keep my promise. She didn’t answer me of course, but the weird thing is that there have been no more footsteps since, and the roof is now as quiet as an undiscovered tomb.