2003-01-23 at 9:04 p.m.

I live in the house of haunted whitegoods.

Some of you may remember my encounter a couple of months ago with 'The Eggs That Time Forgot'.

Yesterday, I had a run-in with 'The Ghost of Flatmates Past'.

Natalie and I have been using Ivan's old microwave of late. It's a hulking great behemoth of a thing, manufactured shortly after the invention of the microwave, and possibly just after the discovery of electricity. It also made a disturbingly loud, high pitched whirring sound when not in use. This caused the benchtop to vibrate alarmingly, and prompted dogs four blocks away to howl and whine in agony.

I usually kept it switched off.

Yesterday, Ivan's dad returned to pick up the microwave. (He needed a semitrailer to take it away, I kid you not). So Nat and I were compelled to use the other microwave, which had remained unplugged for several weeks.

Last night, I made pasta for dinner. I grated some cheese. I smothered the pasta with grated cheesy goodness, then opened the microwave, ready to create melty pasta perfection.

That's when I encountered The Thing.

I have no idea what The Thing was, originally. It could have been pancakes. It could have been crumpets. It could have been rice cakes. It could have been ramen noodle. It could have been some form of alien life.

All I know is that it was round-ish, covered with greenish mould and blackish ooze, and breathing quietly.

Obviously, Ivan microwaved The Thing at some point in the past, then promptly forgot about it upon the arrival of the other microwave.

I quickly shut the microwave door.

And ate my pasta and cheese, unmelted.

A short while later, Natalie came home, and wandered into the kitchen.

"I'm not feeling very well" she said.

"Well", said I, "for the love of God and all that is Holy, don't open the microwave door". Then I explained about The Thing.

"Urgh" she said.

"I'll clean it up. I just need to do a thorough exorcism of the microwave" I said. "Let's see... the ritual dance, the purification ritual, the banishing spell, twenty three minutes of standing at the microwave door saying 'Eeeeeeeeww'... yup, not going to have time tonight. I'll clean it tomorrow morning".

Then I went to the pub.

This morning, with much trepidation, I approached the microwave.

The Thing could sense my intentions. The microwave gave an alarming rattle, and blackish smoke began to seep from under the door.

"Back, vile fiend!" I shrieked, brandishing a handful of religious symbols, and wafting incense smoke towards the possessed appliance.

The Thing growled quietly.

I summoned up all my courage. Then, in one fluid movement, I wrenched open the microwave door, removed the revolving plate, grabbed the Blessed Divine Spatula of Antioch, and prised The Thing from its resting place.

It slid down the glass, leaving a black trail of ooze behind it. It clung to the edge for a second, then lost its purchase on the plate, and, with a final despairing wail, it fell into the bin.

'Floomp' suggested the bin.

Then, to the sounds of tribal drumming, I donned a silly headdress and did the Ritual Dance of Purification.

Then I bleached the absolute hell out of the microwave.

You'd think my ordeal would be over.

It wasn't.

Natalie and I had sat down to watch 'I Am Sam' on DVD. I reached for the remote. My hand closed on air.

"Nat, where's the DVD remote?"

There followed a 25 minute search of every room in the house. Neither of us could find that elusive controller.

"Argh" Nat exclaimed, kicking the beanbag.

'Foomph' said the beanbag, disgorging both the DVD remote and the VCR remote.

So, not only do I have to deal with possessed microwaves, but I also have to cope with Remote Control Eating Beanbags.

One of these days, my bed is simply going to consume me as I sleep.