You May Think I Live In An Old Haunted House
My house is haunted. It was built in 1956 and is in a good neighborhood. I live on a hill above my little town — or perhaps it is considered a city. There’s a lot of history here — not the best when it comes to the practices of some of the founding residents.
It’s not my place to judge the practices of others. I’ll just say that it isn’t what I choose to believe.
There are a lot of tunnels connecting houses from higher up on the hill. Some of the men wanted to leave their homes undetected . . . Some quiet nights you can hear chanting and if you’re brave enough to look out you will see a group of robed men walking down the road — not necessarily the street that is paved in front of my house . . .
This was a wooded area, some oak trees have survived the construction of this particular development. What I’m experiencing is what happened back in the 1800’s. There are times horse drawn carriages or buggies can be seen and heard either going up or down the hill.
I moved here in 2009. Everything was fine in the beginning. If I came home after dark and forgot to leave a light on, the porch light would be on and there would be a light on in the house. I thought this was quite considerate. At that time I didn’t see or feel a presence in the house.
I don’t carry my house key with me when I’m outside the house and around my yard — front or back — picking up the mail or the paper or puttering around the garden. I had this false sense of security — a nice ghost who turns lights on for me . . . I soon learned that she didn’t want me there. The door would be locked. Furniture would be pushed from one side of the living room to the other. Pictures would be taken off the walls . . . My clothes were removed from the closet and put in the trash barrel. It was time to have a little talk with my resident ghost.
I tried to remain calm, but firm. I explained how this was my home — not theirs any longer. I wanted to lay down some ground rules. I’ve lived with ghosts before, so this wasn’t new to me. I’m not sure exactly what I said, but all hell broke loose — I have this old music box that you have to wind up to play. It belonged to my great aunt. It has one volume LOUD. That thing started playing!! The cupboard doors in the kitchen started banging, kitchen drawers were opening and the contents spilling out on the floor. Books were flying off the book case. When my grandmother’s porcelain teapot raised in the air, I totally lost it and started yelling. I remember demanding they put that down, put everything back where it belonged and to stop this foolishness.
All Was Calm — Almost Too Calm
I took my keys, locked the door and left the house to go for a walk. I went around the block twice, not wanting to go home — afraid of the mess I would have to clean up . . . Would my grandmothers teapot be broken? Did I make matters worse? Should I call in some professional paranormal investigators or a priest to bless my house?
When I opened the front door, walked through the house — everything was in place . . . and oh so quiet . . . Except I could see the faint outline of a woman with her head in her hands . . . quietly sobbing.
I sat down across from her. I remained quiet. She stood up, paced about the room, sat back down and introduced herself. This is when I learned her name is Frances and she worked at the public library. She still spends time there, which is good — I didn’t want her hanging around the house. She did have another home she moved to after living in my house . . . but she didn’t like the people who lived there. She also explained how she didn’t like the previous residents of my house . . .
