The Cottage

It was a fine, late summer morning, in a small village in central England. I was just calling in at our recently purchased 18th century cottage to get some measurements for a room to see whether or not it would accommodate some furniture. I did not have the keys as yet at this point in time, even though we had made payment for the cottage. I was on my own and had to squeeze in through a small window to gain entry to the house and open the door from the inside. Once I was inside the house, I felt a strange uneasy feeling descend upon me. I thought to myself that it was nothing and that I was just being foolish, and continued to proceed through the cottage to the lounge. As I moved about the lounge, taking measurements, I noticed that every time I passed through an area just to the front and right of the fireplace, I felt a distinctly cold patch. There were, no drafts, or open windows nearby, I soon became, both fascinated and apprehensive, and deliberately passed through the area of this cold spot to confirm my original impressions, this did in fact prove that there was genuinely a cold spot in the room. I became more and more uneasy, and was certain that I could sense the presence of some kind of being. Eventually my uneasiness came to such fear that I ran from the cottage without even bothering to lock up properly.

On later visits to the cottage, the cold spot was still there, after some discussion with the previous (widowed) owner it turned out that the cold spot had been the precise place where her now deceased husband used to sit in his armchair.

This is in fact a true story and we lived there for the next eleven years, the cold spot stayed for a further nine months or so after we moved in, before it vanished completely.