I Don’t Want to Die

“I don’t want to die.”

Words you may have heard, I hope not, under tragic circumstances, while holding a hand. It is, perhaps, an existential statement but existential is a long word and I‘m not quite sure what it means. I can imagine hearing those few words in tragic and traumatic circs. I have to imagine because until Saturday afternoon I’d not heard them.

When a uniformed policeman, with back-up safely positioned in the rear, said there had been a report that a cry of “I don’t want to die”  had been heard and reported by a neighbour I was nonplussed, so did what any Brit would do and asked them in for a cup of tea. The lead cop, bravely, came in alone and asked to look around. I, helpfully, suggested that he should search for someone under restraint but not gagged. He restricted his inspection to the ground floor observing I have lots of pictures. Then, worthy of Sherlock Holmes, he deduced I have a dog (empty dog bed). Where was it? Was it barking “I don’t want to die”? GK Chesterton wrote about a dog that barked and Conan Doyle about one that didn’t – so the empty dog basket seemed inconclusive in our investigation.

Yesterday I had lunch with a friend I seldom see but when we meet we are like kids again. I confided twice, very recently, solid objects have jumped a few feet at home. She has had the same experience and I recall my grandfather, not always a reliable source, telling me about a maid at Jenkinstown who was a poltergeist. Now I wonder if the distressed cry reported to the police emanated from a distressed soul? Possibly my ex-wife but perhaps Maud is a more plausible candidate?

“The house I have lived in since 1984 is also recorded in the 1901 census. Walter Steward and his wife Elinor, both aged twenty-eight, are here with one servant, nineteen year old Maud Humphrey from Forest Hill originally.” https://christopherbellew.com/living-on-own-means/

Is she with me, in the room?