We have always been interested in the subject of things paranormal. We still enjoy the ghost investigation shows on TV. In the past we have traveled to and enjoyed haunted sites and locations and still do. The story below relates an encounter that Maj had in 1975.
Picture a small frame house, built in 1865, located at the top of a small rise next to a river. The house is a typical story and a half: two bedrooms upstairs, gabled ceilings, accessed by a very narrow and steep stairway. The top of the stairway faces the door to one bedroom, turn sharp right and you are in the second bedroom. Downstairs are three rooms and a bathroom (of course a newer remodel). As you look at the front of the house (south facing), you see a porch, formerly screened but now glassed in, leading to the main room. To the left, or west facing, there is a door from the kitchen leading to a concrete “deck” covered with a roof and screen. At the time of my encounter, the front porch was just screened in, and there was nothing but a concrete deck on the west side.
My dad and stepmother lived here for a time. During one of my visits, the subject of ghosts and hauntings came into the conversation. Dad mentioned that he and my stepmother have heard a ghost inside the house, usually within a day or two of them hearing an owl hooting in the middle of the night. Hmmmm, I thought. Well, the next night we heard an owl. Hmmmm, I thought again. After a hard days work, I was bushed, and fell asleep upstairs almost immediately as soon as my head hit the pillow.
At approximately 2:30 in the morning, I awoke, realizing that I was troubled, and frankly afraid, for no apparent reason. I lay in bed, and then I heard a door open and shut. (As I write this, my hair is starting to stand on end!) Anyway, after I heard the door, I then heard “heavy” foot steps. The steps came out of the kitchen, into the living room, under the bedroom I was in, and then back to the bottom of the stairway. I’m really starting to freak out now, and then the footsteps started up the stairs. Slow, heavy, and very clear. I’m looking, but the room is pitch black. The steps come to the top of the stairs, go into the other bedroom, back out and down the stairs. The sound of the steps stopped in the kitchen. I did not get much sleep the rest of the night.
Next morning over coffee I asked Dad if he had heard anything. He hesitated, and then said “You heard him too, huh?” The ice broken, we shared our versions of what we had heard. Both of our versions matched, except Dad had not heard the footsteps going into the kitchen on the way “out”. We decided to do a little experiment, as we did not know which door our visitor had entered during the wee small hours of the morning. There are two different doors leading into the kitchen, by the way. I went back upstairs, lay down in bed, and listened while Dad opened and closed both doors. I had him do each twice, as the sound of neither door sounded like the door I had heard open and close! Thus, another mystery.
That evening the three of us were sitting on the concrete deck off the kitchen, enjoying a beautiful end to the day. As we were talking, I happened to look at the side of the house, above the kitchen door. There, faint but visible, was evidence on the side of the house that was obviously the remnants of where an old porch roof or shed had been attached to the house. I pointed this feature out to Dad. He sat there a minute, then said “That can explain the door sound you could not recognize.” I had thought the same: the sound of the door I heard was in fact the sound of a door that was not there anymore.
Our visitor was benevolent, I’m sure. He was, in my opinion, just checking on someone or something. I heard him one other time, as he was on the way downstairs. Guess I slept through his walk up the stairs. I never heard the door again, but I am sure for whatever reason, he is still checking up on this house.