A few weeks ago, on my grandparents 50th wedding anniversary, the whole family on that side of the family went to Martindale Hall in the Clare Valley. It is an 18th century (I think) mansion surrounded by acres of land. As it was an overnight arrangement, my younger sister and I stayed in a room together. All the rooms were made up as they would have originally been (as the house now is a museum during the day and a overnight experience as well) and allocated to the guests of the party. The man who looks after the house plays the butler during a fancy dinner we were entitled to, as part of the stay, and also gives guests a full recount of the history of the place.
While dressing for dinner in the 'Nurse's Room' my sister and I were given, adjacent to the nursery, I couldn't help but feel cold. As it was the middle of autumn (fall) I didn't think much of it. It was then I heard adult laughter through the adjoining door. I had wanted to see a ghost on this trip (being interested and all) however, no recount of the history revealed any of the young masters of the house ever having children, therefore the nursery had never been used. Completely freaked out, I dressed faster and rushed out into the hall, down the stairs to the entrance and turned left into the library, from which I could hear men's voices. I had thought that it was my uncle, dad and older step-cousin in the library, as it had a billiard table and they had been itching to get their hands on it all day. Unfortunately, as the door swung open, all I found was walls of books and an empty room. A cloud of cigar smoke hung over the billiard table though and there was definitely the smell of scotch (the favorite past time of the last owner: cigars and scotch, he died at the age of 36... wonder why) so once again, I was freaked. This time I couldn't move or run away, and I heard the door swing closed behind me.
All of a sudden, a feeling of warmth swept over me, and I felt inside of me that everything was going to be alright, and I wouldn't be hurt. I spent the rest of the night in that library, sitting in the corner with all number of books in my lap. I couldn't help but feel a person sitting beside me, reading along and smoking a cigar. The library was the young owner's favorite room before he died, and books were his joy. I'm sure he was glad to see them inspiring someone once again.
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