White Coat - Why is it There?

 

Copyright © Mark R Kelly 2025

What I am about to impart took place over the last week, maybe a few days more; at the time of writing, today's date is Saturday 18th October 2025.

There is a routine to our homelife at the close of day - I'm the last to retire to bed, and the dogs will have followed my wife upstairs, Aldo in his basket, Chica on hers. Sometimes I'll watch something on one of the streaming platforms, and usually when I start getting drowsy I'll call it a night. I might clear the dishes if any have been left, then check all doors - front and back - are locked, before turning in for the night.

Over various nights of the past week (or so) I've been heading off to bed around 2330hrs, sometimes after midnight. In a previous post I mentioned how the dark bothers me, but I move through the house as often as I can in the dark. I'm just stubborn, I suppose, not wanting to be beaten by some latent irrational fear born of early life experiences with the dark. So, I'd reach the foot of the stairs and to my left is the short recessed area - roughly six feet in length - leading to the downstairs toilet and shower, and doubles as a 'cloak room', where we place coats and several pairs of footwear.

I feel that familiar tingling along my scalp, and the unsettling sensation of being watched while passing the area on my way upstairs. But apart from the black shapes of the coats hanging on either wall within the darkened recess, there is nothing untoward. Even so, it makes me shiver slightly. Not out of fear, more out of surprise.

This would happen on several different occasions as I set foot on the bottom step as I make my way to bed. I think nothing of it, as the 'vibe' isn't one that causes concern.

Things change: the subtle shiver, a sense of presence, familiar coat shapes, but now there's the addition of a white one. I wonder what coat my wife has pulled out of the loft for Winter this time, making note of the white mass hanging amongst the darker coats. 

On Thursday (15th) night, around 2330hrs, I check the front door. Locked. I turn to my right to head up stairs and stop. I look directly at the coats again. Why I keep looking I have no real clue, it's as if my eyes are drawn to that space. But I see the white amongst the shadows. My gaze lingers. I head off to bed.

It's Friday morning, my wife is working from home. I notice her white coat isn't hanging up. Curiosity gets the better of me, so I ask, "Have you been hanging up a white coat downstairs with the rest during this week?"

My wife looks at me and frowns, "I don't have a white coat. Never have. Why?"

I hesitate.

"Oh, come on, don't do that. Tell me."

Reluctantly I explain. Her reply, "Oh, well."

"What do you mean, 'Oh, well'?" I'm confused by my wife's total lack of concern.

"Well," she begins, "you're always seeing weird things. Why's this one any different?"

I stand there silenced for several seconds. I shrug and mutter, "I don't know," leaving the room feeling both surprised and deflated.

And there you have it - an anticlimax to the bizarre presence of a 'white coat' neither of us owns?

Still, every time I pass that spot, even in daylight, I can't help but glance - just to be sure?

To close, I leave you with the hauntingly mesmerising, "Some" by Nils Frahm. Enjoy.