Bumps in the night

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The house was up in the bush above the street, 87 steps up in fact, with the neighbours on either side some distance away. Glorious views over the northern Wellington hills, and on a certain kind of day we could look down on the cottonwool cloud hanging in the valley while we were up in the sunshine.

I was alone in the house one night when strange noises woke me. Bumps, thumps, creaks. I lay there frozen with fear, realising how isolated I was up there in the dark bush. Grabbing the phone beside the bed I rang my brother-in-law in the next suburb. "Ring the police," he said. "Don't muck around, ring 111."

A reassuring voice told me they'd come up and check things out. "Don't answer the door until you know it's us." A short time later I heard more noises, footsteps, and then knocking. I leapt out of bed and went into the hall, looked through the fuzzy glass in the front door and no one was there. Terror - someone's out there, what's going on?

Knocking again and I realised it was at the back door. "Police." Shaking with relief I opened the door and there was a solid, safe-looking policeman with a torch. "We've been all around the place, my mate's just up the back having a look there." They came in and my cat, a small ginger fellow with the grand name of Jefferson, wound around our legs, overjoyed at this delightful interruption to the tedium of the long night. He was shut in the back porch at night. We looked around the porch where we were standing and I realised that several cardboard cartons that had been stacked up were knocked down all over the place. Aha - I think we've solved the mystery - my things-that-go-bump-in-the-night was one awake, mischievous cat doing a demolition job in the porch. Creaks? - well, that was just the normal night sounds of the house cooling down.

All right young Jefferson, you can have lots of hugs, it wasn't your fault, you were just having fun. I was never afraid there again, it was like the house and I made our peace and knew each other.

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