The Ghost in my Workshop

My first encounter with the ghost in my workshop, or rather the telltale signs of its presence, was just a few days ago. My woodworking shop is next to our garage and though separate it is connected by a door. There is another door that opens up to the back yard but it is always shut and locked. The last time I used that door was ten years ago. Essentially, I would get to the shop only by way of the garage. There is a sign on the door:

It was the little disturbances at first. The tools and material in the shop, as can be expected from a place of regular activity, are not that neatly arranged but I would notice if an object does not seem to be in its proper place or positioned unusually differently. It didn't bother me too much though I can't stop thinking about it. Then came one huge disturbance.

Two shop-made woodworking jigs, when not in use, are put up on brackets that jut out from against one of the walls, six and a half feet up from the floor. They are seldom used but they're there within reach when I need them. One of them weighs about twenty pounds so it takes an effort to get it up there and must be carefully eased down when I need them. Their weight and bulk notwithstanding, they stayed in place and I was confident of its safe placement for many years. For all that time before it happened those two pieces of table saw sleds stayed true to one component  of Newton's first law of motion on inertia - an object will remain still and unmoved until acted upon by an external force.

Then one morning, I went there after breakfast to resume working on the current project. The door was open. I keep it shut ordinarily even though the two garage doors when closed for the night keep everything secured at the workshop as well. When I turned the lights on, both sleds were on the floor, a clear plastic part shattered and one corner of the sled was badly mangled, pieces of plywood shredded from it. Both sleds had their own bracket support so I can't believe that both fell at the same time.  And the brackets were fine. I put them back up secured with a hook on elastic band (see photo below).

A rational person, and I was one that morning, should look to natural phenomenon to explain what could possibly have happened. Spring gusts had been blowing regularly lately. I wasn't sure if it did the night before but I surmised that such a burst of wind had blown in before the garage doors were closed and a vortex of sort went through the workshop, lifted the sleds off their perch. And that they came crashing down was not such an unreasonable explanation.

There was one problem though. Paper with drawings and sketches on top of the table saw was still there, even the saw dusts were undisturbed.  In other words, aside from the falling sled there was not much evidence of other wind blown items scattered about. But the wind gust effect was all I had. 

I left it at that. I didn't even tell my wife. The following morning I had some errands to do. When I got to my truck which is parked at the garage bay next to the workshop I heard the window-type air conditioner at the workshop running. I was certain that I turned it off the day before (via a remote controller that typically sits at one of the lower shelves above a power tool). I went in to turn it off and can't help but notice a few other things that were moved. Not by much but by a few inches or so away from where they were.  There was no question there was something going on. I went out to take a closer look somewhere else around the garage. Clearly a few pieces of wood, like long boards against a wall were disturbed, one was on the floor, a plastic sheeting that was on a low shelf was unfurled below, an empty can rolled away from where it should have stood.

By this time, the irrational part of my mind kicked in. It was one of those things when we helplessly succumbed to something we seldom give a second thought. If you've read some of my blog, I had incorporated a bit of science here, a bit of logic there, and their peripheral inclusions were indicative of rational thought processes, far from superstition or even hints of paranormal inclinations. But there I was thinking of the unnatural. One can't be too critical because people from all walks of life in one form or another believe on some kind of superstition. Athletes who are known to converse freely on statistical averages, the physics of baseball pitching, how the slice or topspin of tennis strokes can be used to vary the behavior of the tennis ball, the perfect arcs of the golf swing, the wind patterns and the "speed of the green" on a humid day, are also some of the most superstitious individuals. Fortune tellers still make a living, exorcism is still being practiced, coincidences are omens, bad luck is deemed a powerful force, a stroke of good luck a viable explanation that overshadows skill, the tooth fairy had adjusted for inflation and Santa will continue to modify children's behavior every last month of the year. 

So I let my mind take me to do the unthinkable. Late that afternoon I vacuumed most sawdust from the table saw top, emptied the dust canisters of all three dust collectors and, as best as I could, arranged the tools neatly and everything that can be moved I committed their positions to memory.  The idea was to see if the guest/ghost woodworker would come back that evening to actually do a project, perhaps foiled by the falling sled earlier and may decide to give it another go. If he/she rummaged through the wood pile I would know  and  I will detect any attempt at using the hand tools. The newly generated saw dust cannot be missed.

The following day, beyond even a penumbra of a doubt, I had my suspicion confirmed. The character of the night, the cause of my irrational fears manifested itself. Rather than explain it in prose I thought pictures will speak as loudly as the hurried thumping of my heart when at last I saw "it" with my own eyes.

The ghost got thirsty. It tore through one side of a pack of bottled water. Three bottles were partially drained and one was missing.

An empty plastic bottle laid silently next to an equally silent, immovable furry apparition.

And there it is - true to its character, "played dead" as a possum, even after the ruckus I made from removing the outer walls of lumber that were its hiding place. It continued the pretension for minutes.

When at last it knew it could no longer continue to play dead it started to move to the nearest exit - out the garage. The picture is a bit blurry because for a possum it moved relatively swiftly.

All through the process of eviction, the possum was not in anyway harmed or injured, except perhaps for the ignominy of being roused from a deep slumber. Nocturnal that they are, this possum was busily exploring the garage and my workshop.

How did it got to the sleds 6 feet up can only be speculated. They can climb because last year we had one that took up residence in our attic. We hired someone to set up traps to catch it.

The lesson here that I should have adhered to all along is the principle of Occam's razor. I've once or twice mentioned the priest of Occam, in my prior musings, after whom the principle is named after.

"Occam's razor (or Ockham's razor) is a principle from philosophy. Suppose there exist two explanations for an occurrence. In this case the simpler one is usually better. Another way of saying it is that the more assumptions you have to make, the more unlikely an explanation is. Occam's razor applies especially in the philosophy of science, but also more generally".

Or, given a choice, pick the simpler explanation. It is almost always likely the correct one. The possum was the simpler explanation versus the more tantalizing one - a ghostly wood worker.