Where do you stand on the existence of God?

[Pat Mustard]

Right.

I'm standing there. Nobody else around. Not a single logical reason for the knocking sound.

I close the door and turn round to go back to bed. In the halflight I can see a small rectangular object at my feet. It's a payment book - against my better judgement Sam had taken out a loan of shopping vouchers at ridiculous percent interest. I suddenly remember that the agent is due first thing to collect the next instalment. But I'd left it propped on top of the thermostat box on the wall. It couldn't... could it?

Underneath the thermostat control was a large wooden box used in amateur stage shows, which came with the flat and now served duty as a side table. Light began to dawn in my head.

Worked it out yet?

I put the book back on the thermostat where it came from, then gave it a gentle push. It toppled and fell, hitting first the 'table' and then the floor. Bang - bang. Like that. Two raps and nothing more.

I smiled at the solved mystery. No ghosts, no magic.  It probably would have gotten away with it if it hadn't been for this meddling kid. But - and this is the real point - what story would I have written if I'd stayed in bed, unwilling and perhaps too frightened to investigate?

My guess was that it was old Mr Jones down the road pretending to be a zombie head crab goast in order to drive you out so that he could dig up the Spanish Armada treasure he knows is hidden below your floorboards. But then again, one of my mottos is "When id doubt, pick the most Scooby Doo of all possible options. And make sure to beat the living daylights out of Scrappy."