A Haunted Oven and a (probably) Demonically Possessed Toilet

Let’s talk about The Haunted Oven first . . . . .

It’s a very pretty oven, black and shiny with lots of bells and whistles. I bought it pre-loved but ‘like new’ on Marketplace when the one that was here when we moved in reached the point of throwing more heat out into the kitchen than it used to cook the food. I have to admit it did look like new, sparkling clean (unlike its predecessor) and inducing highly unrealistic (for me anyway) thoughts of creating sponge cakes that weren’t soggy in the middle and roast potatoes that didn’t come out looking like they may have been foundation stones for an ancient temple in a past life.

At first, it behaved beautifully. And then suddenly the timer started going off for no apparent reason. I had never even attempted to use the timer. Not even once. That’s what Alexa is for.

At first I assumed I’d accidentally knocked something while I was cooking (it’s one of those touch panel control ones and a bit sensitive). But then it started going off when no one had been anywhere near it. At random times during the day and evening, but thankfully not in the night (I probably shouldn’t have said that!)  

And turning it off isn’t a simple matter of pushing one button. Oh no. It’s a random combination of buttons that changes. Every. Single. Time. Hubs is completely unable to reason with it. I’m dreading the day when it refuses to cooperate with me either, but for now we appear to have an understanding of sorts.

At this point I’m not sure if it’s trying to tell me something important in beep code, has seen the cat’s attention-seeking behaviour and is attempting to imitate it, or is genuinely haunted by the ghost of some long ago dinner (probably pizza) that met an unfortunate end when someone forgot to set the timer.

Oh, and last time I cooked fish I could have sworn I heard it humming ‘you shall have a fishy on a little dishy’. Ah well, it’s part of the family now despite (or maybe because of) its quirks.

So, moving on to The Possessed Toilet . . . . .

Hubs assures me that it’s ‘just air in the pipes’ after the water’s been turned off (which happens annoyingly often here). But when this baby decides to manifest its inner demon the pipes don’t just gurgle, they shake, rattle and roll. I refuse to use it when I’m alone in the villa, because I’m not entirely convinced that I’m not going to be sucked arse first into a portal to the demon realm and no one would hear me scream. And no one would ever find out what happened to me either, because Hubs would continue to insist that the demon infestation is ‘just air’ and that ‘she must be around here somewhere’.

Perhaps I'm being overly cautious. Admittedly a downstairs loo is not a creepy basement with a furnace, but I do keep my washing machine and tumble dryer in there and I distinctly remember Eli telling Rachel that demons can’t resist a washer/dryer combo. So I’m going to continue using it only for very quick visits, my knickers are never coming down past my knees, so they’ll go with me if I do get sucked in, and I’m hoping and praying that the oven isn’t actually communicating with it to plot my imminent demise.

If you don’t hear from me for a few days, please send help (preferably in the form of an exorcist).