My mother used to claim that the house we grew up in was in some way haunted.
Anyway, 20 odd years ago after a night out I got into an argument with my Mrs and she got home first and locked me out. After much banging and shouting and bawling I decided to call at my Mums, where at the time only her and my youngest brother lived. I threw a stone at his window to let me in and I crashed out there. I woke up quite early and feeling a bit sheepish and still half p`ssed, I sneaked off out and went home (legging it through the nearby gardens to save time)
A few years later, on a car journey, she was telling us tales of why she thought the house was haunted and then came out with the time she heard someone getting up and walking down the stairs and leaving the house but when she looked for someone there was nobody there.....'and to this day I still don't know what it was'. Cue me and my brother with shaking shoulders trying not to pee ourselves laughing.
I never owned up. My mother is Mrs Doyle from Father Ted.