Ghost Writer

Over my dead body would I stay here again

Date of travel: 29 October – 1 November 2024

I’ll cut to the chase – your house isn’t haunted. Yes, it sent shivers down my spine, but I’ll attribute that to the woefully inadequate central heating system rather than any ghostly goings-on. I still can’t believe I let myself be tricked – hoodwinked by your website listing. I’m so furious, I’m spitting literal feathers.

‘Come stay at Gallows Lodge, the most haunted property in York – if you dare.’

If I dare. What poppycock. I’ve experienced greater anxiety parallel parking the Volvo outside the school gates. My heart rate rocketing when I spot the other mums lowering their Chanel sunglasses, hoping to catch me clip Arabella’s new Merc.

Now that’s real fear.

It’s the children I feel most sorry for. Theodore and Minty were fizzing with excitement when I told them I’d planned a Halloween to remember. And remember it they will – as the worst holiday since our dreadful Kenyan safari experience. We had to cut that trip short because we discovered they don’t cage the lions at night. It’s hard to believe a company could have such blatant disregard for our safety. Appalling.

Anyhow, I digress. As I said, we didn’t encounter a single ‘ghostie, ghoulie or long-legged beastie’ during our lackluster three-night stay at Gallows Lodge.

Oh, the children tried to make the best of it, get into the spirit of things. They’re rather marvelous like that. But it was almost too much to bear seeing their disappointed little faces.

“I hear something! There’s something outside,” whispered Theodore.

“No darling,” I replied, ripping open the stained and threadbare curtains. “It’s just a branch rapping on the window.”

You should really cut that oak tree back before it causes any damage. Not that you can see much through the grimy, smeared glass. And goodness knows what sticky nastiness was on the latch. Disgusting.

Minty was beside herself when she heard wailing coming from the basement.

“It’s a ghost, mummy,” she squealed, jumping up and down on the creaky, uneven floorboards. “There’s a ghost downstairs in the cellar.”

As I suspected, it was nothing more than trapped air in the boiler pipes. I bled the radiators and voila, problem fixed.

I could go on about all the other areas of neglect like the flickering lights (you’re using the wrong wattage bulbs) and doors that open and close by themselves (the catches don’t work), but I’ll just say the entire house feels unloved and shabby. Highly disappointing.

It comes as a surprise therefore that you bothered to send round a cleaning woman. She didn’t bother knocking, just let herself in. We’d come downstairs in the morning and find her wandering about, fiddling with our possessions.

The place was still grubby, so she certainly wasn’t doing much cleaning. Instead, she lounged on the settee and bored the poor children rigid with her dreary tales about growing up in York . Apparently, she lived down the street from Guy Fawkes. As if.

In the end we left her ‘mopping’ and went to the Railway Museum. At least you know where you are with trains.

Camilla Acaster, The Witterings, West Sussex

Ps – Don’t even think about charging me an additional cleaning fee. I won’t be paying it.

Jennifer, Host:

Thank you for your review, Camilla. We’re so sorry our property did not meet your expectations. Just one thing – we don’t have a cleaning lady.