The Weirdness Gets Weirder
The period of escalation probably started with The Halloween Man.
One night after I had given my son a bath, I took him into the living room, wrapped in a towel, in order to dry him off. (Our bathroom was TINY; drying him off and dressing him in the living room was more convenient.) He was no more than two or three at the time. He was facing me as I dried him off, but staring over my shoulder at the corner behind me (our couch, where I was sitting, was in the middle of the room). Now, there was nothing in that corner — no furniture, no pictures — but my son kept staring into it with this dazed, trance-like expression on his face. He didn’t look afraid, just blank. I looked back there, following his line of sight, and saw nothing, so I asked him what he was looking at.
Very quietly and calmly, he said, “The Halloween Man.”
When pressed to explain, he said nothing. A few seconds later, he lost all interest and sat down beside me to finish watching television.
Shortly after that, the water faucets began turning on and off by themselves. It was eeriest when the laundry sink faucet would turn on; I would suddenly realize I heard running water, at a distance, and investigation would lead me through that black pantry and its strange hidden door into the empty laundry room — and there would be the faucet, going full-blast in an empty room. It happened in the bathroom and kitchen as well — and on one memorable occasion (I was actually on the phone with my best friend at the time), every sink faucet in the house — there were four — turned on at once.
The back door would frequently unlock and open by itself. This happened several times, sometimes right after one of us had walked through, closed it, and turned the deadbolt. I once watched my husband walk through that door, shut and lock it behind him, then while he was walking toward me, the lock clicked softly and the door swung open behind him, without a sound, with nothing but night and empty fields on the other side.
My husband and I had a wickerwork headboard on our bed. Some nights we would be awakened by the sound of light scratching against the wicker. Of course, we thought it might be a mouse, but hanging off our headboard and endlessly scratching it seemed like an odd thing for a mouse to do, and thumping/shaking the headboard didn’t stop it.
For a brief period of time, if one of us went into the bathroom and locked the door, the doorknob would turn back and forth on its own, or the door would be given a brisk shake in the frame — almost as if someone on the other side of the door was testing it to see if it was locked. All the previously mentioned events (with the exception of two major ones I’ll detail in the next part) were fairly consistent once they were introduced and would continue off and on during our entire residence in the house, but the “bathroom door game” was one that appeared only to disappear again just as suddenly in less than a month.
All of these events were witnessed by my husband and me, sometimes together, sometimes alone. My son remembers the doorknob game, but not the Halloween Man. My best friend witnessed the clock and the opening doors, and experienced the voices, the scratching on the headboard, and the mysterious rattling doorknob (the faucets, too, if you count that she was on the phone with me at the time). Other guests in the house reported feeling uncomfortable when left alone in a room, especially after dark — even casual guests who had been told nothing about the strange goings-on in the house.
Continued in Part 4