Funeral Ale Preparations at a Beautiful Farm Around the Turn of the Century.

Funeral ale preparations were underway at a beautiful farm around the turn of the century. During the day, we had been in Sundsvall to make purchases, but when my wife and a helper tried to carry some things to the storehouse, they couldn't open the door. They met some kind of resistance that was inexplicable to them, so they came in quite frightened and asked the master of the house and me for help. However, the storehouse door would not open when I pushed it. I then felt compelled to announce to whoever was defying us that I was on a legitimate errand, and so I forced the door open with all my might. The storehouse was inspected, but we could find no reason for what had happened. – Towards midnight, an invisible helper began to rummage around in the stair office, but that 'help' obviously only caused unrest in the camp. It helped little that I repeatedly went into the stair office and conveyed our shared opinion. My old friend, the master of the house, then uttered the remark that is quoted in the title above. – We continued the preparations past midnight, and the unrest lingered in the air. The women dared not go out alone. When my wife and I were to go home at 2 o’clock in the morning, there was a shushing and crackling sound up the walls and ceiling, back and forth. But nothing was to be seen. Was there a fire? No, but we heard the sound for a long time on our way home. Well, there was a funeral, a funeral ale, and again late evenings for tidying up and after-work, but no more oddities were reported. Perhaps there is still something that we cannot fathom.