I Live in a Haunted House
I live in a haunted house. Where I live, that shouldn’t be too surprising. There is an abundance of old farmhouses that were occupied for generations. People lived and died there. Sometimes they were buried there, too.
The home buyers’ disclosures didn’t say that the house being haunted. Of course, it might have been, and I just didn’t read that part. Neither of the real estate agents said, “We need to warn you, Mr. Stoops, that this is a haunted house. There have been rumors… but you should have nothing to worry about. I’m sure the ghost is harmless.”
I lived the first couple of years there, completely oblivious to any spectral presences. There was no tingling presences, no moaning or chain rattling in the night. No one showed up at my breakfast table asking for a cup of coffee.
That either means I’m not terribly sensitive to ghostly beings (on a scale of 1 to 10 for other world sensitivity I am sitting at a definite 3), or that I just wasn’t interesting enough.
My wife felt a presence within days of moving in and told me, “We have a presence in the house, dear. I think she’s checking me out, but seems to be OK with having another woman in the house.”
As we were doing some digging on our property, my wife found a large, obviously carved stone and called me over to look at it. We flipped it up and what did we find?
You guessed it. Mama.
No other markings. No date, no other names, no ‘preceded in death by’. Just Mama.
Naturally, we discussed what to do with the stone, and after a moment or two’s thought, I grinned that grin that says I’m up to something that could be fun or dangerous or both.
“What?” she asked, looking at me.
We were working on a strawberry patch right up against the house that was just the right size, so we placed the stone in its proper place and let Mama rest and have all the strawberries she wants.
Are We Haunted by Papa as Well?
We found only the bottom half of another cut slab. Is it Papa? We haven’t figured out what that says about him. Or what Mama might have done with him. Ginger hasn’t felt his presence yet, so it might be we only have the bottom half of him around.
Our Ghostly Pet
I’ve always heard noises in the house. You know the kind. The scurrying of little feet, the chittering of an animal, the sound of gnawing through electrical wires. And then there is the other obvious evidence of the presence of unwanted animals in the house.
I’d always assumed it was just mice. So, when the sounds appeared again, we dutifully went out to buy traps to assist the little creatures into better, happier places. We assisted a few.
And the sounds persisted. And got louder.
What confounded us the most is that whatever these things were, they were running around in the walls and between floors and ceilings at will, as if nothing impeded them. Rolling balls around was the first sign that we were dealing with something else, something with some intelligence.
Being highly intelligent ourselves, we resorted to scare tactics and started pounding on walls and ceilings. I did, anyway. Ginger soon realized the futility of this endeavor.
“There he goes banging again. I’ll lie low long enough to let him think he succeeded, then it’s play on.”
Traps. Bigger traps. That’s the answer. But where do you put them? Because we can’t find any of the “other” kind of evidence anywhere around the house. We tried in the basement crawl space, an open space in an attached workshop, outside. Traps with all the inviting food that rodents crave and write reviews about.
Nothing. No takers. No volunteers for free rides to better and happier places.
That Doesn’t Sound Right
Any dog owner has his or her adorable pet tearing across hard wood floors chasing a ball around. They don’t stick to the walls or run in straight lines. Wide open floor spaces mean running all over it in irregular patterns at breakneck speed.
And that’s what we were hearing. Ginger and I repeatedly looked up at the ceiling and said, “That’s not possible.” Floors and ceilings have long, thick boards between them at regular intervals and joined to other long, thick boards at 90-degree angles. It’s not possible to run diagonally from one corner of the floor/ceiling to the other corner.
And that’s the sound of enormous claws on hardwood floors, not the small claws of rodent feet running across drywall or lathe board.
We’re Haunted by a Frisky Puppy
Just to be clear, the cute puppy here is not our ghost, and I didn’t tell all of this just to show a cute picture.
The problem is that we haven’t been able to actually see, much less take a picture of, our frisky ghostly puppy.
He’s been pretty quiet lately, though we do occasionally hear him. I’m assuming it’s a he. That’s probably because I have a female ghost, a female cat, and my wife in the house and I’m the only male. I need someone to even things up a bit. There is Papa, but he’s only half the man he used to be.