Im Back....

It's been a while, and so much has happened in the three weeks that i haven't posted a blog
- or logged into facebook and spoken to anyone. I assure you that there is a very good reason,
or reasons as it would turn out. Its crazy how one thing can change so much in a persons life,
i think they call it chaos theory.

On the morning of Sunday the 24th of August, my father suffered a stroke. I found him laying on the living room floor,
crippled in pain. What could i do? Nothing, but call an ambulance. The paramedics arrived and took
him to the closest hospital which is The Royal Hospital in Whitechapel, it was a terrifying time, not knowing what may
happen. My worst fear was that i was going to loose him there and then, not having shared enough
with him. I sat in the waiting room, my mother was pacing the halls, she was in a worse state than
i was, she was holding back the tears, holding her mothers crucifix in her hand, silently speaking
to her god, praying for my fathers health. I wanted to scream at her, telling her that if there was even
a god, why would he have done this to dad, but i didn't. It's not the time or the place to have a
debate about religion, plus, i already know the answer.

Lets go back a couple of days:

Friday the 22nd.

Me and my father went to St Martin-in-the-field to meet an old friend, the Vicar of the church. He had called my father
because he was getting a strange sound coming from the cellar of the church. My father said that
i should come along. We were not going to kick off a new investigation, because we had so many long running
ones going, it would be foolish to bury ourselves in work, but we would go and just check it out.

Churches are notorious places for spirits to hang around, because that's where most of them may think they
need to go to get into heaven or whatever version of the afterlife they believe in.

We headed there and upon our arrival we were met by Rev Nicholas Holtam, my fathers friend. He showed us
through the church, one of the most beautiful churches i had seen in a long time, and then he showed
us the basement.

If we have learnt anything from scary movies people, it is, DO NOT enter a basement alone, especially
not one that may be haunted.

We descended into the basement, armed with a torch, a digital camera and a Tri-meter. Upon entering there was
already that feeling of something. It may have been the slight drop in altitude, or the steep
drop in temperature, but it was defiantly something.

We didn't have to wait long before it showed itself. Footsteps not belonging to me or my father could
be heard coming towards us. Slowly, one after the other they crept up. We held our positions in the hope that it would show
itself. It didn't. We waited and waited to see, but the footsteps just kept coming and coming
until the sound of them stopped. My father pointed the torch all around the room to see if he could see anything, but there
was no sign of what was making the footstep sound.

"Is there someone here?" My father asked in his soft, rasping voice.
"If you are here, please could you give us a sign?" He asked.

Sure enough, a sigh was given in the form of tapping. It sounded like the tapping of metal against metal, maybe something tapping
the pipes.

"Are you OK? If you are, please, give us a sign"

Again, the tapping of metal could clearly be heard. My father took the torch and pointed the light beam to where the sound was coming from.
A copper pipe ran the length of the far wall and disappeared into the wall on the left. The heating pipe.

Sure, the sound could have been the heating, but we would later find out that those pipes had not heated
the church for five years or more. Again, another theory would be that, as it was geting later in the day, and the temperature
in the basement was cooling down, the pipes could be contracting, but this was not the sound of cooling metal, this
was clearly the sound of someone, or something tapping. Almost like Morse code. Short taps, followed by longer, delayed taps.

"Would you like us to leave you?". My father always said that if you ever make contact with a spirit
who is inhabiting a place, always ask this question. Sometimes, they are doing no harm to anyone,
and they deserve to be left alone.

The tapping was clear. This one wanted to be left in peace.

We left the basement, and the church with electricity running through us, excitement. We loved this
part of investigating, the part where you make contact, and you are re-assured that you aren't just
some crazy nut.

On the way home, my father was speaking to me, asking me questions about this whole social networking thing,
how the blog, facebook and youtube thing was working out. I told him that i was really enjoying it
that there is so many people out there who want to, or already do believe. He said that he had been reading the
blog, and that people at the museum had been reading the blog and that they really liked it. He said that he's really proud of
what i was doing and that he hopes one day, i can type up all his stories and share them too. That's
when he gave me a small book. It was one of those A4 sized moleskin books, a notebook. He said that
i should keep a notebook with me at all times because i will never know when i need it to jot down something. I smiled back at him
that was my way of saying thank you.

Back to the hospital

The following are notes i wrote in the book my father gave me whilst sitting in the waiting room.


Good, i fucking hate the hospital. I hate the sterile smell that reeks through
the halls. I hate the white noise of the vending machine, the wheels of random
carts being pushed around the shiny floor. The mumbling of doctors and relatives,
it's driving me crazy.
I think about the worst. I imagine that my father is already dead, and that the
doctors are now deciding who gets to break the news to us. It can't be an easy job.


That's it.

So, my father came out of hospital thirteen days ago, and i am pretty much spending my time looking after him. That's why i haven't been
online. That's why there hasn't been a blog for nearly a month, but my father has said that i have to come back to it, that i have
to make sure i continue investigating and sharing, no matter what.

Later on, in the back of the notebook i found an envelope. Inside it contained a cheque from my father for a great deal of money.
I tried to give it back to him, saying that i don't need it, but he told me that i must take, i must take it and make sure
that i can keep up the investigations and the blog, without having to worry about work. I handed in my notice to work and left
at the end of August.

So, now i am a full time, paid Ghost Hunter - let the journey begin.