Pet Shop Poltergeist

James Morrison

My father was the 'Pat' of Pat's Pet Shop in Maryhill Road, Glasgow. When I was a kid in the sixties the shop was my second home.

My father did not just sell pets and pet foods, as a shrewd businessman he bought up any stock bargains that were going and sold them too. Thus, one day there was a deep line of assorted crockery along the floor under the birdcages and fish tanks. Pat proved right, for the dishes sold well.

One summer morning, in 1969, after unbarring the door, my father entered the shop in front of my mother, Esther and I, to see an alarming sight. The crockery had been smashed and strewn across the floor. Someone had obviously taken great pleasure in smashing the cups, saucers, soup bowls and plates over the entire floor as well as counter tops. He ran into the back shop; the door there was secured as was the high window overlooking the backcourt. There was no sign of forced entry or exit. He joined us in the front and we tried to work out how a vandal could have entered and exited without leaving any signs. He would have to have a full set of keys and have taken the trouble to lock the shop up afterwards. It did not seem plausible.

Pat looked up at the parrot. He had engineered escapes previously by slipping up the catch on his cage door with his beak, until my mother had bent the catch such that only a human hand could only open it. Besides, Polly could not possibly have thrown all the dishes about. I watched my father think about it for a moment more before deciding that it was definitely impossible. He turned and looked at Mickey the monkey who was absorbed in tearing at a cabbage leaf with his teeth. The long metal rod that slipped between the loops of the cage, locking it, was still in place. We were flummoxed. My Dad eyed the entire ceiling. He examined the walls, thumping areas with his hand, and walked, making test stamps with his foot, all over the floor until he began to feel silly and stopped. Everything was as it should be. He muttered something about Houdini.

As she served the customers, my mother began to bring up the topic of poltergeists. Pat thought it inconceivable yet admitted it was the only apparently viable explanation.

Settling the shop up ready for closing that evening my father whispered to us that he was going to attempt to solve the mystery by hiding in the shop overnight. Esther agreed that would be a good idea - she was worried by her developing belief that the shop might be haunted.

Pat closed the inner shop-door first and dropped down behind it as we went outside, closed over the big doors and locked them up. Making himself as comfortable as he could in the cramped conditions, my father settled down for a long wait - he felt he had endless patience as far as this mystery was concerned.

He opened his eyes with a start, then realised where he was. He must have fallen asleep. As the thought occurred to him to wonder if something had caused him to wake, he heard a definite noise. It was the rattle of dishes.

Pat angled round and peered through the glass panel of the door. Mickey the monkey was in the process of selecting which piece of crockery to pick up. Pat was mesmerised by the sight for a moment and watched dumbly as Mickey finally settled on his choice. He lifted a scalloped-edged, willow-patterned soup bowl above his head then, with a joyous yelp, hurled it to the floor. It smashed to pieces and Mickey jumped gleefully away from the shooting fragments of pottery. He turned quickly, grabbed a plate with one hand and in one continuous motion smashed it to the floor. His other hand was already reaching for a cup when Pat blasted through the door. Mickey looked up, eyes frozen wide in disbelief, and in an instant, he dashed across the floor and jumped back into his cage. Mickey pulled the cage door over and held it closed.

It was then Pat's turn to stare in disbelief as he watched Mickey reach an arm through the cage and upwards towards the top of the counter. Pat looked at the counter top; the metal rod that secured the cage lay across its top, one end overhanging the edge as if laid there in preparation for the little hand that now gripped it and drew it towards the cage. Pat saw that Mickey kept his eyes fixed on his during the entire operation. The monkey reached out of the cage with his other hand and guided the end of the rod through the first loop and then the second. The cage locked again, Mickey sat in a corner and became suddenly absorbed in a nibbling a cabbage stalk. He seemed totally unaware that Pat was looking at him.