I think my flat is haunted

My phone ended up on the floor in front of a chair whose seat sloped upwards towards the front. I’d left it in the middle of the cushion while I vacuumed, so the obvious explanation that it had simply slid off didn’t make much sense to me. I was a little spooked, even in the middle of a sunny afternoon.

By the time I shared this story in 2022, we’d lived in our Kent flat for over a year. I’d been excited to move into a building I described as about 400 years old, because I loved the history and the idea of living somewhere so old. I hadn’t given much thought to the possibility of it being haunted. Then a few strange things started happening in our home office.

The bag in the alcove

The first event that really stood out happened while I was trying to write a speech for my dad’s memorial. I’d lost him at 27, and sitting at my desk trying to work out what to say was difficult. I was frustrated and struggling when a loud noise came from the alcove behind me.

We’d been piling things into that awkwardly shaped space rather than finding proper storage for it. There were spare bits of technology, cords, batteries, props and craft things, along with a plastic bag. The bag suddenly crinkled so loudly that I jumped and my heart started pounding. It seemed to compress, rather than make the little rustle you’d expect from a slight breeze.

I checked the windows, which weren’t open, although I thought an old property could still be drafty. Then I wondered about mice and dug through the alcove, but I couldn’t find droppings or any other evidence. The bag hadn’t been chewed and had no holes. All I could really say was that it had made a very loud noise, and if that was my dad, it wasn’t very funny.

A phone that didn’t stay put

The phone incident happened later, while I was vacuuming the flat. My sweatpants had no pockets, so I put my iPhone down on the office chair. Perhaps 20 or 30 seconds later, I heard it fall and turned to find it on the floor quite a distance in front of the chair.

I’d placed it in the middle of the seat, which tilted upwards towards the front edge. I considered whether it could have fallen off a side, but its position on the floor didn’t seem to fit that either. I hadn’t received any notifications that might have made it vibrate, and I had vibration turned off for nearly everything anyway.

I went downstairs to my partner and explained the phone and the earlier bag incident, which had happened a few weeks, perhaps a month, before. I’d more or less forgotten about the first one until this happened. I wanted him to understand that I wasn’t exaggerating or playing a prank.

My partner had a story too

He then told me about something that had happened to him the previous day. In the same alcove, he’d tried to pick up a shoebox containing a few tiny screws. It wasn’t heavy, but he couldn’t lift it upwards. Thinking it must be caught, he moved the things around it out of the way, yet still couldn’t pick it up.

Eventually he dragged it out of the alcove and could lift it. I suggested that a nail or screw sticking out of the floor might have caught it, but he asked why he’d then been able to slide it out. I was sceptical enough to test how heavy the box was myself. It was very light.

I made him promise that we wouldn’t prank each other about any of this. A mysterious noise was enough to make me jump without somebody deliberately adding to it.

Apparently even the ghost wanted exercise

His next story involved the treadmill under his desk in that office. One morning, while I was still asleep, he got off it to go to the bathroom and heard it turn off. According to his account, its weight-sensing feature normally stopped it shortly after he stepped away.

While he was in the bathroom, he heard it start again and stay on. He checked the app on his phone and saw steps being recorded, then returned to find it running. Faulty technology? Maybe. Or perhaps the ghost wanted to get its steps in. He simply got back on and carried on working.

There was also a morning when I thought I saw a human-shaped figure at the end of the bed, possibly a woman. I didn’t put that in my main list: it wasn’t in the office, I’d just woken up and I didn’t have my glasses on. Maybe it was something left over from a dream. Whether what I saw was real remained uncertain.

Perhaps all of these events could be explained. I still loved the flat, its history and its character, and was happy to stay. Just in case there was a spirit listening, though, I meant no offence by telling the stories. I was perfectly willing to coexist.

Watch my original video about the strange incidents in our Kent flat.