Continued from Part 1
A Little History
I did some research into the house while we lived there. While I have no idea exactly how old it was, my best guess puts it in the early part of the nineteenth century. It was part of the same farm I live on today, a farm that has been in my husband’s family for five documented generations — and from bits and pieces I’ve picked up in my research, it seems the farm has been in one branch or another of his family since before the Revolutionary War.
As for horrible doings associated with the house, I’m only aware of one: My husband’s great uncle killed himself by deliberately jumping into the old well on the property. He apparently had a stroke, and the family says he was “never quite right in the head” after that. My father-in-law was present when they discovered the body and had to call in assistance to remove him from the well. He said one of the ropes slipped as they were bringing him out and the body tumbled back down to the bottom. He said he never forgot the sound.
Let’s pause a moment to think about that. Uck.
It’s been more than ten years since we lived there, so I don’t remember the chronological order of events. I do remember that things started out quietly (as they usually do) and then slowly escalated. I also remember feeling a little creeped out on that first night, when we went to check out the house. I chalked it up to imagination — it was very old, after all, and hardly in pristine shape — but now? I’m not so sure. I think we all have animal instincts that make our hackles go up — and I probably should have listened to mine.
Bear with me. As I said, things started out slowly.
The first thing we noticed, on the very day we moved in, was a strange impression in the newly shampooed carpet. It was shaped exactly like an old-fashioned walking cane, curved handle and all. There were no other impressions on the carpet. It had just been thoroughly shampooed and had that clean, fluffy look — except for that one weird impression.
Shortly after we finished moving in, more weird shit followed.
We began hearing knocking sounds coming from a cabinet in our living room. This cabinet had been in my husband’s family for many years without a single noise, and we still have this cabinet today, in my current kitchen. Again, not a single thump, crack, or bang. But while we lived in that house, we jokingly dubbed it “the haunted cabinet” because strange pops, knocks, and thumps would come from it constantly.
An old pendulum wall clock in the kitchen started keeping strange time. It would always be exactly twenty minutes fast or twenty minutes slow.
We started hearing voices at night. Low voices. It usually sounded like two people, like a man and a woman or a man and a child; one voice was much deeper than the other. It would sound like a conversation was going on in the “fat hallway” outside our bedroom doors. We would lie awake at night, listening, and at first it was easily dismissed — just overactive imaginations again — but then slowly, the sound would clarify, and we could make out two distinct voices, one deep and the other lighter, almost feminine. The voices were always too low and muffled to pick out actual words. And whenever we would get up and investigate, as soon as we opened the door or poked our heads into the hall, the voices would cease.
Continued in Part 3