Echoes of a Haunting - Revisited Read online

  Guess who came home with Mike to spend the night: Randy–my spook chaser. He slept in Mike’s bed and seemed to dispel the shadow in the room. Whatever he’s got, I wish I could bottle it!

  Friday–August 10, 1973

  Every time a day goes by without an incident our hopes are renewed that “they” were gone. Just as we’d get some confidence, something new happened. It’s as though they are laughing at all of us.

  Today Phil called before coming home to see if I needed anything from the store and to ask if anything new had happened. Beth and I were in the kitchen, the only ones home. I had just reassured him that everything was fine when we heard a bang from upstairs. After I hung up, Beth ran upstairs to check. A large bottle of perfume which I always kept on my chest of drawers was lying on the floor on the opposite side of the room. Luckily, the bottle had a plastic coating and, so, did not break. Beth and I began to joke about their throwing things again.

  When Phil came home a few minutes later he put two large bags full of bread and his lunch pail in the middle of the kitchen table and we walked out to check the garden. We inspected the vegetables. This is one of my most pleasant chores. I’ll never get over the miracle of a garden. The soil here grows everything I plant and with very little effort on my part. I do not have a green thumb! I leave the upper rows to the deer who regularly come down to partake of my generosity. The only thing I have trouble growing is soy beans. Every time they attain more than a couple of inches in height, all the animals in the neighborhood come to the feast.

  Gingerly, I told Phil about the perfume incident as we walked along the rows, joking about it. When we returned to the house, one bag of bread and his lunch pail were on the floor. The thermos inside the pail was smashed. Beth was standing by the front door, talking on the phone. When we asked her what had happened, she said they had just suddenly slid off the table as she was in the middle of her phone call. She acted as though this sort of thing were the norm, which by now, I guess it is. I wish they’d quit breaking things.

  Sunday–August 12, 1973

  Darlene and Susan stopped down to visit this evening. I sat down at the kitchen table with them. Beth and Jeff joined us. We were laughing and joking. I was telling them of my visit to meet my in-laws before Phil and I were married and how awkward I felt. I, the typical city-slicker, couldn’t seem to connect with Phil’s Virginia hill-bred relatives. The feeling in the house was quite light and normal.

  Phil had left for work a short time before and I was startled when the phone rang and it was him. He asked if anything were wrong at the house. He said that, as he was driving to work, he suddenly broke out in a cold sweat and shook all the rest of the drive in. I was able to reassure him and he seemed relieved. He did advise me to be careful, though. I kind of laughed his advice off. I felt no threat in the house.

  I hung up the phone and sat down at the table again. We resumed our light-hearted conversation. Beth and I had put the parakeets out on the porch for an airing early in the day and though it was after dark now, the temperature was still quite high. We knew that was not what caused them to go crazy in their cages. Suddenly, they began flying around like maniacs. We must have all jumped a foot at the resultant sounds. The only thing we could think of that would cause them to act like that was a sudden wind although none was apparent.

  Beth and I immediately went out and brought the birds in. Since I was in charge of Mary’s bird, Jingles, while she was in Buffalo, I hung him up on his hook in the living room. Mary was no longer able to keep him in her own room. Beth, in the meantime, had spilled some of Pixie’s water and so, was delayed in getting back to the kitchen. I had only just sat down when Beth screamed. I knew that scream and began to run for her room. Jeff and the girls were paralyzed. Such is the effect of the terror generated by that particular scream. I had to dodge all three of them to get to Beth.

  When I reached her room, Beth was huddled on her bed, her face buried in her hands, crying. She kept screaming, “She’s in the window. Don’t look!” I ran over and slammed the window shut and then pulled the shade down. My spine was crawling as I did so, although I could see nothing. Beth explained, between sobs, how she had climbed onto her desk chair to hang Pixie up when she sensed someone behind her. When she looked, she saw the face of a woman with long dark hair in the window beckoning to her. She could not be sure whether she was inside or outside.

  Seeing her condition, I got very angry. I asked Jeff to go with me and we went outside to search. I was shaking, partly from anger and partly because, frankly, I was frightened. Jeff was even more afraid than I was. I challenged the “woman” to show herself to me instead of bothering the kids. Jeff kept muttering, “Don’t call her. Just be quiet!” I didn’t expect to find anything but the activity kept me from getting even more upset. I also hoped that some action, no matter how ineffectual, would serve to reassure Beth.

  When we returned to the house Beth was trying to get seeds for the bird and succeeding only in spilling them all over the floor. She was shaking badly and still crying. The other two girls were practically hysterical. We had three very pale kids for a while. Come to think of it, I don’t know what color Jeff and I were.

  When Beth calmed down she tried to describe the woman. She said her hair was filthy (or wet) and all she really saw was her hair, big dark eyes and the beckoning hand. Shaking and terrified, Beth described the woman’s complexion as pasty white, almost dead looking. When I entered the room I felt as though a fist had hit me in the stomach. It was very hard to go through the door and even harder to walk to the window and pull down the shade. For a long while, just as Mary would not swim in the pond, Beth would not enter a room after dark unless the window was closed and the shade pulled down.

  Monday–August 13, 1973

  I have been hearing such wild rumors as to the strange goings-on up at the house that when Bob, the reporter for the Olean newspaper called and asked if he could do a story I decided to talk it over with Phil. One of the crazy stories was that a picture on our wall was bleeding! We didn’t have enough goofy things happening but people had to make up their own versions. Maybe it would be better if they had the true story even though it wasn’t as spectacular.

  After much consideration, we decided to let him do a story as long as he didn’t use our name or give the location of the house. We figured those who were involved would know who it was and it was no one else’s business. We pictured one of those filler-type articles, buried on the back page. We also hoped that someone might be able to tell us the past history of the house so we’d be able to pinpoint the trouble and, hopefully, do something about it. This was one way of reaching people who might know. We were in for a big surprise!

  Tuesday–August 14, 1973

  Bob came today to interview us for the story. He took some pictures of the house but, since it looks like a million other houses, nothing remarkable about it at all, we figured no one would recognize it. We gave him as complete a story as we could and hoped he would get it straight. At least he didn’t make fun of us.

  Thursday–August 16, 1973

  Last night, I decided to sleep in Mary’s room. Knowing it was foolish, I felt I had to know myself what was going on in there. What I hoped to find, I don’t know. The temperature continued to be oppressively hot and nowhere more so than in Mary’s tiny, airless bedroom. Having been closed up for some time, no fresh air had a chance to circulate. At my usual time, I climbed into her bed, clutching Fluffy tightly to my chest as a makeshift barometer. To my relief, she settled right down in the bed with me and appeared to go to sleep.

  Whether I dropped off or not, I’m not sure. All I know is that suddenly I became aware of a precipitous drop in temperature. At the same time, I saw Fluffy leap off the bed and leave the room at a fast trot. The hair on the back of my neck began to prickle. Sitting up in bed, I looked out the door and directly into Jinx’s unblinking eyes. The unnerving stare could only be described as malevolent. Was this my beloved Jinx? Remembering
a warning from Wally, I decided to remind Jinx who I was. Quietly, while inching from the bed, I began talking to her in a soothing voice. At first, she didn’t respond and I began to think she’d try to prevent my leaving the room. Gradually, though, she began to change in front of my eyes. The rigid at-attention stance relaxed and softened. Incredibly, the evil stare became her usual inquiring gaze and, slowly, she began to groom herself. By this time, I had reached the door. Quickly scanning the room, I closed the door and determined that, unless something changed dramatically, this room would not house another sleeper.

  Friday–August 17, 1973

  The story of the house was in the paper today. They gave it a front page spread! In fact, it took up half the front page and most of page three. In the center of the front page was a large picture of the house itself. On page three was a picture taken from Beth’s window and a shot of the house taken from across the pond. Beth was upset because he took the picture in her room before she had a chance to rehang her just-washed curtains.

  I had to go to Olean so I decided to stop in and see the girl I used to work with. I showed Rita the paper. Debbie, who had been a student when I worked at BOCES (Board of Cooperative Educational Services), was working in the Data Processing Department and she, too, looked at the article. I told them I hoped the publicity would bring some information that would help us but I was also a little worried about the effects such a big write-up would have.

  My worst fears were realized. No sooner had I arrived home and begun to fix supper than the first car came–all the way from Salamanca. I don’t really know what they came to see. We had a steady parade up our road and into our driveway until long after dark. In fact, one family drove up as we were eating, opened the door, walked in and sat down at our table with us announcing “We want to see a ghost!” We had never seen them before! I leave Phil’s reaction to your imagination.

  Imagine how many we would have had come if the location of the house had been given in the paper. Actually, all the secrecy had accomplished was slowing them down and testing their ingenuity. I’ll never underestimate the resourcefulness of the “interested observer” again. I think this may be part of the breed that congregates around accidents and fires.

  Saturday–August 18, 1973

  Unbelievable! The cars just keep coming. Since we’re at the end of a dead-end road, they either turn around in our yard or back all the way up the road. Debbie called today and asked if she could bring her boyfriend, Paul K, up to see the house. He thought he was psychic (doesn’t everyone?) and wanted to find out for sure. How he’d find out up here is something I don’t know. Phil refused to give his permission. He didn’t know either of them so I couldn’t blame him. He was really furious by now and, although he told me I could give the okay for the article, he was now blaming the whole thing on me. We tried keeping track of the number of cars coming down the road but soon gave that up. It was just too much trouble.

  Gordon was staying the weekend at his cabin so I finally called him and he came down to help. He sat on a chair in our driveway with a .22 rifle. It wasn’t loaded but no one knew that. Some of them turned when they saw him and other screamed obscenities at us. I never knew people could behave like that. We couldn’t figure out what they wanted from us. They would drive up from a city one hundred miles away and yell at us, “We don’t believe in ghosts!” No one has ever been able to explain to me–if that were the case why did they come?

  In the evening, who should show up but Debbie and Paul K with Debbie’s brother. I’m still not sure how they conned their way past Phil, who by now had been reduced to a state bordering on insanity. I have since learned to respect Paul’s powers of persuasion.

  Paul was very interested in the supernatural but it really frightened him. He and Phil took a walk outside and he held on to Phil’s shirt the whole time. It was still spooky out at night so I guess I didn’t blame him.

  Sunday–August 19, 1973

  Today Beth and I went to Buffalo to pick up Laura and Mary. I have many misgivings about bringing them home with all the traffic our road has suddenly acquired. Actually, it isn’t so much the quantity as the quality.

  When we got back Phil was beside himself. He had chased 130 cars! Gordon was with him all day trying to help. In addition we were getting all sorts of offers of “help”. These ranged from someone offering to take the spirits into his own body and then exorcizing them to a friend assuring us that some enemy was trying to get us to move. We appreciated all sincere offers of help, but, of course, many made fun of us. One of the secretaries from school was parked up the road watching us and, of all things, a State Trooper from town had his car parked so his family could climb on the roof and watch the house. These were the same people who were calling us crazy!

  Monday–August 20, 1973

  Still no let up. It isn’t so bad during the day when people are at work but after supper the procession starts in earnest. Phil leaves for work at 9 o’clock and Mike and I are usually up until 2 or 3 in the morning chasing people. Sometimes they start screaming and shouting at us. Mike feels responsible for us when his father isn’t home and it’s just too much for a 17 year old. I can see him changing as I watch.

  There was another, smaller article in the paper about the house. In it, Bob talked about the reaction he had received to his first article. From the way he wrote, there are more believers than non-believers, or at least they are more communicative. We are being roundly condemned by many from other rumors I heard. I wish Bob hadn’t printed the second article. We have suffered quite enough after the first.

  Tuesday–August 21, 1973

  Things continue pretty much the same. Every day we chase cars far into the night. We are always afraid some of the people might have guns. Guns are common in the country and we don’t want to have that kind of trouble. We wound up having to call the State Troopers for help and they said they would have the town set up a roadblock. We have been using our car to block the end of the driveway, forcing people to back down the road but even that hasn’t discouraged them. We have no right to block the road, even though we are the only ones living on it.

  An interesting sidelight developed, though, in our talk with the State Trooper who visited us. As he stood on our porch, he confided that he grew up only a couple of miles from the house so he was quite familiar with the area. As always, when we had a “local” cornered, we mentioned the “boy” and he looked shocked. The description closely fitted his brother who died about 20 years ago. The boy had been just the right age, 16, and the clothes he always wore fit the appearance of our “friend”. His brother had been killed in an accident involving a buzz saw. I think the trooper kept a close watch on the road as he left.

  Wednesday–August 22, 1973

  One amusing facet of this whole debacle is that we are seeing a new and entirely unsuspected aspect of Father Al. Since first meeting him, I had regarded him as shy and rather serious. To the delight of the whole family, we were wrong. Several times since the story appeared in the paper he has come up to help chase away trespassers. Attached to the roof of his car was a portable rotating light that he usually used for campus security. Now he used it for our “security”. The sight of the flashing light was enough to send many of the onlookers fleeing, at least the younger ones.

  Some of our “visitors” were enterprising enough to drive up the camp roads and then double back across the hills to our house on foot. Father followed many of them up the road and they promptly left, believing they were being chased by the police. The girls often accompanied him and they had the time of their lives. Maybe it gave them a badly needed sense of power. Certainly, it raised our spirits and provided a few badly needed laughs. Lately we seem to have lost control of our lives. At least in this small matter, we have the upper hand. And Father is having a grand time acting as our protector. The sight of his impish grin when yet another carload of teenagers reacted to the light made my day.

  Sunday–August 26, 1973

 
A Mrs. G called today from Olean, with a familiar petition. Ordinarily, I brushed aside such calls as I can’t possibly talk to everyone who is interested. However, Mrs. G at least deserved to be heard out due to the persistence with which she tracked down our phone number. She had read in the paper that our new station wagon had caused us a great deal of trouble. Her daughter-in-law worked in the dealership that had sold us our car and Mrs. G remembered her speaking of a family that had experienced constant trouble with their new car. She called her daughter-in-law who requested our name from the service manager. From such threads!

  I told her she could stop in after she said she had been looking for some proof of life after death. Besides, such persistence in tracking us down deserved some reward. She showed up this evening with her son, daughter-in-law and a friend who, like everyone else I’ve met lately, claims to be a psychic. This friend, at any rate, claimed to see a Revolutionary War soldier marching through our living room! I’m sure he was very sincere so I won’t comment on his allegation. He then gave us specially blessed candles and told us we would have no further trouble if we burned them in the most disturbed room in the house. We took the candles and thanked him for his concern. After hearing the story of our house, our company left.