This is a story from Terra, and I think this is a pretty cool story.

Recently, after listening to one of your older stories from a woman named Trish in the Caribbean,

about the horses galloping that shook the house, I was reminded of some things that happened

at my best friend's home when we were kids. It began when we were 9 and it kept on until we were 13.

We live in the town of Hastings in the southeast of England by the sea,

it's known as 1066 country due to the battle of Hastings fought in 1066.

My best friend had just moved there from London with her mom. People from the UK, we call them

mom, M-O-M, and they used the word mom, and I stumbled on that sometimes so I'm sorry,

back to the story. They had taken over a restaurant near my house and were living upstairs

above the restaurant. We met at the beach during the summer on school holidays,

and that's where most of the locals spent the holidays back in the 1970s. It was cheap and

it was easy and relaxing and sociable. And my friends and assistants, we became best friends.

She was an only child whose parents were breaking up. I came from a family of five.

My dad was chronically ill with PTSD, bipolar disorder, and lung cancer. He was in the SAS

during World War II, and he suffered for years after. It must have been very hard on my mom.

She was beautiful and quiet, but she was strong.

I began to spend much of my spare time at my best friend's home upstairs from the restaurant,

while her lovely mom, who was like a second mom to me, worked hard downstairs in the popular

restaurant. We often heard strange noises like crashing bottles in the wine cellar,

but when we went to look, none of them would be broken. Sometimes we heard wardrobe doors being

banged repeatedly, then they would stop when we crept up to the stairs to have a look.

There were strangely creaking floorboards and there were strong smells.

...