I remember sprinting through our house in the middle of the night, trying to get from the bathroom to my bedroom before the boogieman could get me. I would long jump into my bed, always careful to not get too close so the monsters underneath couldn’t grab me. I tried not to look at the shadows lurking in the corners or to think about what could possibly make my white, iron rocking chair slowly rock back and forth. Was that house haunted or was I just a kid with an overactive imagination? My parents no longer live in that little house on Fourth Street, so there is no way of knowing if what I experienced, or thought I experienced all those years ago was paranormal or not. It was some 20 years later, in my own home, that I had my first real brush with the other side.
My husband and I bought a house out in the country just before we were married. It was a fixer-upper, but quite spacious and within our budget. We began work on the house immediately, painting, tearing out old carpet, and removing the most hideous powder pink tile you have ever seen. I had noticed things, shadows, out of the corner of my eye, but chalked it up to my new life in our new home. I didn’t mention anything to my husband out of fear that he would think he had married a nutcase.
A few years and a couple of children later, we decided to paint the brick exterior of our home. It had some discoloration after many weatherworn years and spots where previous owners had spray painted items that had been leaning against the walls. We chose a really nice chocolate brown and got to work painting our home with rollers and brushes, as you can imagine, this took quite a while and was very hard work.
One night my husband took our daughter to her room to sit with her as she went to sleep; I sat in the living room on the opposite end of the house with our infant son. The lights and televisions were all off and all seemed quiet. About 45 minutes had passed when my husband came into the room to tell me Lindsey was asleep and that I could go in to put Jacob in his crib. He had the strangest look on his face and told me to come back to the living room after putting him to bed, that he had something he needed to tell me. I thought he was acting a bit odd, so I hurried, thinking he was ill. On my way back through the house, I noticed he had all of the lights on. Upon entering the room I saw that he was clammy and pale. As calmly as he could, he asked me if I had been in the hallway to the kids’ room before he had come to get me. I told him that I had been the recliner the entire time, his eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He then told me how he had seen a shadow in the hallway and that he thought I had been up walking around. He was convinced that our house was haunted, but I was skeptical. I hadn’t really seen anything substantial enough to say it was a ghost, hadn’t heard chains rattling, or moaning from the attic. He was just tired and must have fallen asleep and dreamed it.
It was about a week later, my husband was once again putting our daughter to sleep and I sat in the recliner rocking our son. A while had passed and I saw what I believed to be my husband peek in the door. I asked if Lindsey was asleep so that I could put Jacob in the crib. He didn’t answer, but again poked his head through the door as if not to disturb our sleeping son. I asked once again, though a bit louder, if our daughter was asleep. There was no answer. I knew I had seen him peeking at us and didn’t find his little attempt at scaring me funny at all. I turned the lamp beside me on and took my son to his room. As I entered the room, I noticed my husband asleep in the floor beside our daughter’s bed. A cold chill ran down my spine as I shuttered to think about what I had seen. I woke my husband and told him everything. All he could say was, “See, I told you this place was haunted.”
We still live in our little haunted house in the country. Many things have happened since our first encounter with our spirit friend and our research has yet to tell us who “he” is.