This story a part of the True Ghost Stories page on Obiwan's UFO-Free Paranormal Page. Please do not copy or distribute without permission from Obiwan and/or the original author!
Date: Thu, 24 Jul 1997 00:02:02 -0400 (EDT)
To: ghost-discuss@aurora.cdb.com
From: Abbe Vance (vance@auracom.com)
Subject: Another Story
Wow! What a response! I guess I'll share another one with my adoring fans (joke)! This is yet again another story told to me by my step-father. It's a little creepy, so hold on to your computer mouse for comfort **squeeeeakkkk** oh no! you de-squeaked your mouse! It's not THAT scary!!!
About 20 years ago, my step-father and two of his friends were renting an old house in Liverpool, NS, Canada. It was rather remote, I guess, and the locals had tagged it as being "haunted" (ooohhhh!!!). The men scoffed at such notions, and moved right in, forgetting all the silly warnings.
A month went by no with no real problems. Everything seemed calm and serene. One night, however, my step-father and one of his friends decided to stay up late, light a fire in the fireplace, and sip some cold ones. They assumed the fire was out after dumping soot on it, so they went to bed...
At 3am, my step-father felt something cold, almost icy on his shoulder. He bolted awake and he could smell something smoldering. What could it be, he asked himself. Oh no! It must be the fireplace! He raced downstairs and got there just a split second before a big log was just about to roll onto the floor, flames shooting every which way. He ran over (a lot of action words here :)), and flipped the log back into the fireplace with a pair of tongs.
Yet another two months went by without any other happenings. One of the guys had the bright idea of using an iron to iron their clothes for work the next morning. Well, they did not unplug the iron, the wiring malfunctioned, and blew a fuse. My step-father was again woken up to the touch of icy fingers on his shoulder, and was able to fix the problem without much difficulty.
Two weeks later, he was shuffling through some old things in the ancient attic when he found a diary. It seems that 50 years before, there had been a girl living in the house named Theresa who had kept a diary when she was about 14. She had watched her drunken father drive over a nearby cliff with his horse and buggy one night, and she went hysterical. Her mother, a cold, unloving creature, decided her daughter was insane, and locked her up in the attic, only giving her bread and water once a day.
My step-father turned the diary into the local museum where they told him Theresa had eventually died in her room, where the attic was now. It didn't take long for these three grown men to pack their bags and leave!