Disappearing objects: the "borrowers" phenomenon
Something's missing - and then it's returned
I think just about everyone has had this experience. You put something (maybe your keys, or a pair of scissors) the same place you always do. But when you go back for it, it's gone. You search everywhere, tear your home apart, to no avail. Later - maybe minutes or hours, maybe days - the object turns up again, right where you (should have) left it, or in another obvious place.
It's easy to dismiss these incidents as being just a mistake, or an error of perception, or something else. "There must have been a sheet of newspaper on top of it," we tell ourselves. Or "I must be getting old." But you have the uncomfortable feeling that this isn't the case, you know you thoroughly searched that area.
What happened?
Sometimes called "disappearing object phenomenon" or "the borrowers," this phenomenon has been observed throughout human history. Every human culture has come up with a story to explain it, it's that ubiquitous. Many cultures blame this problem on hidden gremlins or goblins, spirits which range from "harmless pranksters" to "downright malicious."
In the contemporary west, this phenomenon is often attributed to poltergeists. And yet, unlike classic poltergeist phenomena, it does not seem to be tied to the presence of a teenage girl.
Have poltergeists been responsible for this phenomenon all along? Or is "poltergeist" simply the framework that we choose to explain it? An easy metaphor, swiped from any number of popular films and books.
In many cultures, the creatures responsible for these disappearances can be appeased with small gifts. If you find a lot of your things going missing, you can set out a dish of wine, or rum, or milk, or whatever your area's creatures are said to like.
In 1952, English children's author Mary Norton published a YA book titled The Borrowers which was later made into a movie. The novel follows the tiny people who live inside the walls of an English home, swiping small objects and later returning them. Norton put a charming spin on this strange phenomenon, by ascribing it to friendly people who are basically just like us, but tiny.
The Borrowers are the protagonists of the book, and the conflict in the stories arises from their interactions with the large, often oblivious, and capricious humans who own the houses, essentially grappling with the way that adults often seem to children. But one has to wonder if that's just so much pleasant fantasy. Who's really calling the shots in this relationship: us, or the creatures who keep taking our stuff?