10 | July | 2015 | Making memories

Many years ago I and my young daughter were looking for a place to rent. I was in the middle of my postgraduate studies and she was about to start her second year in the Mittelschule. After a long, fruitless search, we found that woman who gave us the keys of her late ex-husband’s apartment and asked for a very modest rent. The man died in September, and we got the keys the following July. The apartment was stripped almost empty, but if we really needed anything, we could ship some stuff from our own home, so I agreed and we moved in.

The worst piece of furniture was an old bed. I timidly inquired whether the old man died in there, but was told that it happened in the next room and his bed was dumped. Needless to say, we made that room a non-living zone.

The said bed didn’t look like the one in the picture, but it was still very old, so I though I would use this image to create some suspense, since the story is actually scary and difficult to believe.

That first night nothing happened – or so I think. I arranged for a children’s bed to be delivered, and until then my daughter and I shared the old wreck. It was our second night in the place. My daughter was already asleep when I switched off the light and joined her. Trying to be quiet, I covered myself with a woolen spread and the same second I heard distinct heavy footsteps coming from the kitchen. I stopped breathing. The footsteps walked into the room and my hair stood on end. I was waiting, breathless – I would fight hard to protect my daughter. The footsteps never stopped and went straight to the next room. I didn’t move. After a minute or so the footsteps made it back and disappeared in the kitchen exactly the same way they came. Here is the path.

I was listening for the door to unlock, but there was no sound. Being completely shattered I fell asleep.

The following day was a torture. I already realized that my visitor didn’t belong to this world, but this realization didn’t give me a clue how to stop him from coming. Besides, I was not sure he wouldn’t venture to our bed to say hello one night. I discussed the situation with my friend, and she suggested lighting a candle in church. The candle didn’t help.

For the rest of the summer, every single night he was there shortly before midnight. I was so grateful that my daughter was always sound asleep by that time. I have never looked at him – I was not sure if he liked attention.

But I did talk to him – after a month or so. “For God’s sake, I would tell him in a hushed voice, why are you walking here instead of resting in peace? You are a grown up man, shame on you! Don’t you know I have a 8 year old child here, and you can scare her! What are you looking for here? Just let me know and I will take to your grave whatever stuff you need.”

He kept coming until his one year anniversary, and I kept giving out to him for that. Then he just stopped coming, and that was it.

Some mysteries can be explained though, like the ones in the books of Sir Arthur Ignatius Conan Doyle

These pictures were taken in the Sherlock Holmes Museum in London, England. It opened in 1990 and is situated in Baker Street, bearing the number 221 B, as per books, although it lies between numbers 237 and 241. The Georgian town house was formerly used as a boarding house from 1860 to 1936, which covers the period of 1881 to 1904 when Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson were reported to have resided there as tenants of Mrs Hudson. The museum is run by the Sherlock Holmes Society of England, a non-profit organisation. I guess they actually have some profit since the tickets are overpriced, but it is not that I am complaining – the museum was a #1 item on my London list.

This is the monster from The Hound of the Baskervilles.

The Red-Headed League

A criminal mastermind Professor Moriarty

I read all the Sherlock Holmes books when I was a young teenager. People read a lot at that time. Not that I am a hardcore Sherlock fan, but I enjoyed reading the novels way before I saw my first movie: for that, I consider myself lucky. And I did want to visit the museum because I love the idea of the monuments and museums dedicated to the fictional characters.

It is why the reviews in the Trip Adviser upset me. Especially one like this:

“I think it’s interesting if you’re a big fan and know all the stories. If you’re not (like me) you’ll learn nothing.”

For Goodness sake! Sorry you learned nothing, man.

But there was one review that I loved. A very long one, and I want to quote a part of it here, because I couldn’t say it better myself:

“…I’m sorry that you probably live in a world where people insist that Sherlock Holmes is not real. I invite you to live in my world instead, my friend. Because in my world, people can fall from waterfalls and 15 story buildings and live to solve crime another day. In my world empty hearses are not creepy precursors to post apocalyptic zombie films. In my world one landlord can be both Mrs. Hudson, AND Mrs. Turner, because the hell with continuity! The difference between fiction and real life is that fiction has to make sense, and when did Sherlock Holmes ever make sense? Never! If that’s not confirmation, I don’t know what is.

Anyway, they’ll try to tell you this is a “museum”, but whatever. You know that the great detective and his dear friend Doctor Watson have just stepped out on a consultation at Scotland Yard. And don’t you ever forget it.”

Bless you, young lady.

I want to share some soundtracks to the different Sherlock Holmes movies. Which of the soundtracks is your favorite?

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (1984–1985), Granada Television, starred Jeremy Brett and David Burke/Edward Hardwicke. Composer Patrick Gowers.

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (1979-1986), Lenfilm, starred Vasily Livanov and Vitaly Solomin. Composer Vladimir Dashkevich.

BBC Sherlock (TV series) 2010. Starring Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman. Composers David Arnold and Michael Price. This is actually a cover, but I think it is brilliant – Sherlock Medley on Violin – Taryn Harbridge