HEY MOE, LOOK......SPOOKS!

Every person eventually will make up their own mind about strange things. UFO's and ghosts to be precise. Now, there are two ways to base one's opinion. One could base his opinion on, let's say, a 'hunch' or a 'feeling'. Or, one could base his opinion on 'fact' or some piece of 'hard evidence'.

Let's take UFO's for example. I think that considering the size of space, and the recent finding of more and more galaxies and suns and planets, it would be kink of arrogant of mankind to think it was the only life out there. I think that there is at least a possibility that life exsists somewhere else out there. So, if there's life out there, there could be UFO's. In this I believe based on my own hunch, ain't no evidence there. But, it's just as possible to me.

Now on the other hand, let's take ghosts for example. I believe in ghosts. In this I base my decision on fact. And the fact is: on two occasions I believe I was in the presence of ghosts! The following isn't meant to be a joke, and it's not some made-up stuff for your reading pleasure. It's just the events of two totally different occasions; and in both cases, as you will see, there were other witnesses. I would also like to add that I don't think that I am some kind of whack-o or something, or, that I came from a family of fanatics.

Although at one point my mom thought that her sister, my Aunt Sandra, put some kind of curse on the appliances in our kitchen by bringing one of those magic books that you could buy at the cash register of any super market in the 1970's into our house.

Now as I remember it, Aunt Sandra didn't actually cast a spell on our appliances, but, according to the story, shortly after her visit, one by one all of the appliances started konking out. Mom was convinced that the magic book had powers, and must have possesed our appliances. I got this story directly from mom upon trying myself to bring one of those magic books into the house. She said, "What--are you crazy! Last time we had one of those things in the house, all our appliances quit!"

Anyway, let's get back to the business at hand. Mainly, my own personal brushes with the supernatural. On the first occasion, I was about sixteen years old. We lived in Austin and our house was surrounded by rolling hills. On these hills were winding trails that really went back to the boon docks. For those of you who are familiar with Austin, this took place around loop 360 and Spicewood Springs Road on the northwest side of Austin.

I was with five of my friends. We were riding on these trails in Darrin's blazer. We would often ride down these trails. They were very secluded. The terrain was so rugged that police or regular traffic wouldn't just happen by. This made it a perfect place for me and my friends to drink beer and smoke pot.

It was about five o'clock in the evening. The sun was just barely above the horizon. It was getting dark, but there was still plenty of light to see. Usually, we would drive up this trail about a mile or two and then pull over and do what we had to do. On this occasion we stopped at a place that we often partied at, so it was familiar. We were parked in an opening of the trees, I'd say, about 30 yards around. Twenty yards in front of the truck there was the starting point of a hill that disappeared into the tree line. The trail we were on went straight about that 20 yards and then turned left to miss the hill.

This time I was in the front seat. It must have been my lucky day (considering that it was always a battle to get the front seat with the pack of wolves that were my friends). We were passing the bong around in a circle, and we were each waiting patiently for our turn to take a hit. I'm sort of angled in the front seat towards the driver, so I could talk to the people in the back seat more comfortably. We were engaged in some sort of conversation about whatever 16-17 year old boys would be talking about.

We were probably shitting on each other. Having jokes at each others expense. We were all such good friends that we would rarely take offense to such jokes. To a teenage boy, being accepted by a group of piers was important. It seemed like you were always being judged by some group that had deemed themselves 'cooler than thee'.

That's why I was glad to have my own friends to laugh with me. Although sometimes these jokes were at my expense, it was O.K., because I could dish out the cut-downs too. In this way, I believe we all learned not to take our short-comings too seriously. After all, it's a lot easier to get along with your life if you don't feel you have to live up to someone's expectations.

We had been there about 10 to 15 minutes when the unexplainable happens. Looking towards the back seat, the side of my face was just about parallel to the front windshield. Just in the field of my peripheral vision. Something white catches my eye about 20 yards in front of the truck. I turn my head to look and I see,...what looks like a white cloudy form moving down the hill towards the truck.

It was somehow transparent, but it was definitely cloudy white and somewhat the shape of a man, but rough around the edges. Sort of like what a guy with a sheet on would look like, except it didn't look like a sheet, it was definitely cloudy. One more added thing: This thing seemed to float along the ground, with the cloud kind of floating up in the back. Kind of like the speed of it's motion was billowing up in the back.

I had looked up just in time to see this thing come from behind a bush and move down the hill towards the truck. It took a sharp left and cut up the trail away from the truck. It moved up the trail about 15 yards, then cut back into the woods and dissappeared as quickly as it had appeared. The whole thing lasted about 6 or 7 seconds. During this time, I am speechless.

Even after it happened I just sat there and stared. That's when someone in the back seat said, "Did you see that?" I answered, "yeah." Two other people in the back seat didn't see anything, and said, "See what?" I said, "I think it was a ghost." From the back seat came the re-inforcement, "Yeah, I think it was a ghost." Darrin, the driver, said, "Let's go after it," and started up the truck and down the trail to where we had seen it go into the woods.

I wasn't too crazy about the idea. Face it, I had seen this thing and I was scared. But Darrin followed this thing upon the urging of the people whom hadn't seen it. We had stopped right where this thing went into the woods. I was getting more scared by the second (considering my door was the closest to where we last saw this thing). I started throwing kind of a fit, saying, "Let's get out of here. I don't want to mess with that thing." Upon further whining, I got my way, and Darrin left the place.

Still to this day, out of the five of us, only 3 of us say we saw anything, and are sure it was a ghost. As for the other two, they just think we were making it up. But let me tell you, I know what I saw, and for me that is proof in itself.

The second occasion in which I think I was in the presence of a ghost took place some 14 years and 2,000 miles away. It must have been about 1995, and I am employed by a successful painting company in Gloucester, Mass. Our company had been doing some work for a local millionaire. As it turned out, he was happy with our work and wanted us to do some painting in all of his houses. He had about five huge houses. All mansion types.

One of the houses he wanted worked on was in Bittiford Pool, Maine. About a three hour drive from Gloucester. It was pointless to drive to work there and then drive home at the end of the day. My boss set it up so that two of us would go there and stay until the job was done. Being single, and somewhat of an adventurer, I had no problem volunteering to go. I enjoy getting away and seeing new places, even to this day, I love to stay in hotels. I don't know why, it's stupid I guess, but I just like it.

On this occasion there wasn't going to be any hotel room. We were to stay at the house that we were to be working on. It had been described as a mansion by my boss, so I had pictures of somplace nice in my brain. I wasn't prepared for what was instore for me. It was to be me and a guy named Joe that were going to be doing the work, so we went to Bittiford Pool, Maine with my boss and the owner of the house.

Bittiford Pool is right on the east coast of Maine, and is some ten or 15 miles north of Kinny Bunc Port, Maine. You know, that place that George Bush always vacationed at. We get to the house, and it was a mansion alright, except this place was built in the late 1700's. It was a three story, 30 room, old-as-the-hills, right on the ocean mansion. This place was nice, but it was run-down at best. If that makes any sense. The owner used it for a summer vacation house. Maybe one month out of the year. So it would sit idle for eleven months a year. The front door is no more than 100 yards from the ocean.

The plan was to have my boss and the owner show us what needed to be done, and then they were to leave us there to do our thing. So a tour of the house was in order and that's what we got. The first floor consisted of a big entry hall that had a stairway going up to the second floor. The entry hall also had two doors on the first floor. One door was actually 2 glass doors "french doors" if you are familiar with that term. They opened up to the living room. The other door opened up to the dining room. This room consisted of a large antique table and a fire place with a mantle, of course.

On the mantle along with various antiques was a photograph. It was an old photograph of an old fisherman. It was like a snap shot, like 3 by 5 or something. It was really old. I mean this thing could have been the first picture ever. It looked like any other old man, grey hair, skinny, kind of frail looking. He was wearing black clothes and he was sitting on an old timey fishing schooner. I mean old timey. This thing had sails on it, ain't no moter there.

At first glance, there was nothing that should have been considered frightening. Except, have you ever looked at people in really old photographs (like pre-l930's) and looked at the peoples faces? It has been my experience that most of these people loook like idiots. I mean like in-bread, retards, or something. I think it's the eyes that make me say that. Anyway, this sailor was no different. Something about this guy's eyes bothered me. They were disturbing, if you can catch my drift. So, I'm looking at this sailor and I realize that this guy is bringing me down. So, I ask the owner who the guy is in the picture.

As I understand it, the house had been owned by the owner's family for some 79 years or so. But before that the sailor owned the house. At the time, it didn't occur to me to ask if this guy died in the house. But after the events of my impending stay, that would have been my first question.

Anyway, on the other side of the dining room, there was another door that led to the kitchen and laundry room, basement door and than back door respectively. Oh, and also a back stairway that led up to the second floor. This concluded the first story tour.

The second floor consisted of different sized bedrooms, mostly small ones. But there was a lot of them. The owner said we could sleep in any room we wanted to, and there was so many to chose from. But we left that decision for later. The tour goes on to the third floor.

To get to the third floor, you have to go up the stairs. But these stairs were different. They looked older than the rest of the house. They went up, say about eight steps then,took a sharp right and went up another eight steps. Then the hallway makes a "Y" into two separate bedrooms. I think, maybe what made these rooms scarry to me was the fact that they seemed isolated from the rest of the house. Anyway, when I was in this room even in the daylight, I would get an uneasy feeling. I couldn't tell you why, but I didn't like being on the third floor alone.

So the tour is completed, and the owner desided he wants to take us out to eat before he and my boss went back to Gloucester. At this point, it is still light outside. We loaded up in separate cars to go to the restaurant, because they were to leave directly after dinner. It got dark outside during our meal, and everything looked a little different to me on the way back to the house. I know it was the first time I had been to Bittiford Pool, Maine, but this place took on a whole new look at night.

Despite almost getting lost, we arrive at the house. Yes, there it was. As Joe turned off his headlights, I realized for the first time just how dark it was outside. It was a quiet neighborhood, and I could hear the waves crashing against the rocks in the distance. It was cool, and just a little damp out, as it always is by the ocean's shore in the fall.

I look up at the unlit house and I realize just how big this place really was. Joe opened the door and turned on the light in the entry hall. It was about 9:30 pm and time to make arrangements for the night. I asked Joe, "Which bedroom do you want?" He didn't answer at first, he just sort-of looked up the stairway to the dark second floor. He nonchalantly looked back to me and said, "I'm not slee[ing u[ there. I'll slee[ on the couch, in there." He points towards the living room.

I didn't want to go upstairs either, and as it turns out, there was two couches in the living room. Face it, this is two grown men that are afraid to sleep upstairs in a strange house. I have sle[t in strange houses before, and never had a problem. I'm telling you, something about this place just isn't right. But I couldn't put my finger on what it was.

Taking the living room for our haven had it's good points and it's bad points. On the good side, It was the closest room to the front door, therefore, also the car and freedom. Good news if you needed to bid a hearty retreat. But on the bad side, it was also the closest room to the dining room, therefore, also the closest room to the picture of the old sailor that had freaked me out earlier.

Joe was tired and went right to bed. I, on the other hand, am a late night person, and usually stay up until 11:00 or 12:00 pm. This night was no different. I went out on the porch, and sat in an old swinging chair. I left the porch light out, so as not to be spotted by the neighbors as I smoked a joint. After about fifteen minutes, I went back inside.

There was a small 13-inch black and white television in the living room that only got like two channels. I sat in a rocking chair as quietly as possible, as not to wake up Joe, and proceeded to watch the tube. The chair I was sitting in was facing away from the dining room. I didn't plan it that way, It's just the way the T.V. was positioned. I'd say I was watching the T.V. about 20 minutes or so before things got out of hand.

I was nice and relaxed from the joint, Joe was asleep, and the T.V. was playing as pretty-as-you-please, when all of the sudden I hear a huge thud coming from what sounded like the kitchen. This startled me. I turned towards the dining room trying to see through it, as to maybe see in the kitchen. Nothing out of the ordinary. I look to Joe. He's still sound asleep.

I think nothing of it and return my attention to the T.V. A few seconds later, I hear a couple of softer thuds and what sounded like pots and pans clanging lightly, as if someone had picked up a pan and set it on another one. Nothing too loud, just about the level you would expect from anyone that was moving pots and pans. I turned back towards the dining room, and then back to Joe. He's still sleeping. It was then that I noticed that the hairs on the back of my neck were standing on end. My head was tingling, and still the noises continued getting louder by the second.

Somebody must be in the kitchen, is all I can think. I look back to Joe. He's definitely not waking up on his own. I consider waking him up. Somehow I thought the noise would stop if I woke Joe up, and I would look like a fool or something. So, I ruled out Joe as a support factor. I look back to the dining room. I hear more thuds now, along with the pots and pans. It started to sound like someone running around the kitchen with a stack of pots and pans.

At this point I'm really starting to get freaked out. I've got ice running through my veins. By now I couldn't wake up Joe if I wanted to. I'm considering calling out to the kitchen, I guess 'hello' or something, but I'm speechless. The noises keep escalating until it sounds like a full blown fight has broken out in the kitchen.

Good God, what the hell is it, I'm thinking. I stand up from where I am sitting and look to Joe once more. No luck. Still sleeping. Literally sleeping through a brawl in the next room. Something has to be done, but what? I'm scared as hell. My body is tingling all over. Now I am just looking into thedining room considering my options. Keep in mind, it's dark in the dining room and the kitchen.

First things first, I've got to get a hold of myself. I manage to catch my breath, still looking into the dining room, concentrating on the noises. I'm not sure why, but I was slowly walking to the kitchen. Very cautiously, mind you. One step, then check out everything around you, and then another step.

After all, one can never be too careful when dealing with spooks. Any fool can tell you that ghosts are famous for sneaking up behind you. The last thing I wanted was to have something or someone sneak up behind me, cutting off my path to the front door.

So, despite all the checking-the-surroundings, I manage to make my way through the dining room, and to the kitchen door. It's open. The kitchen is dark, but the noises were still going strong. I could only see into a small portion of the kitchen from my vantage point, but I could see the light switch. At this point, I feel like is this reality, or am I in the middle of one hell of a nightmare?

My whole body is charged with what seemed like electricity, but it was nothing more than fear. After staring at the light switch for what seemed like hours, without making a concious decision to do so, I see my arm moving toward the switch. Finally, I'm going to see what the hell is going on here.

I flip the switch and stick my head inside the door. The noise has stopped, and nothing is disturbed in the kitchen. From all of the noise, this place should have had the walls ripped out of it. Pots and pans should have been thrown all over the place, and yet, nothing. This kitchen didn't have a hair out of place. What? Was I hearing things? Had I smoked some bad weed and finally gone off of the deep end?

A cold chill came over me, and I literally had the shakes. I shut the light off and ran back to the living room. Still not sure if what I thought had happened was my imagination or not, I lay down on my couch and go to sleep. With the light on, of course.

The next morning I awoke still not sure of what had happened the night before. I decided not to tell Joe about it. After all, what proof did I have? I figured there was no need to come across like some kind of lunatic, or fanatic or something.

During daylight hours, the house didn't bother me too much, but as soon as night fell again, the uneasiness came back. This uneasiness would be worse on the second floor. After dark this feeling was so strong that it became impossible to work up there. Now the third floor was a different story. I never made it up there after dark. The third floor made me feel uneasy evem during daylight hours, so I had no desire to be there after dark.

Anyway, this day progressed into night and nothing too strange happened, except the uneasiness, of course. It becomes time for bed once again, and there's no way in hell I'm letting Joe get to sleep before me tonight. As I remember it, he was watching T.V. as I fell asleep. I awoke the next day relieved that it was an uneventful night for myself.

As Joe and I worked together on this day, I kind of got the feeling that Joe was different today. More quiet, less talkative. Somewhat withdrawn, maybe even a touch of concern was crossing his brow. It wasn't long before Joe broke the ice and proclaimed, "Kev, I know this sounds crazy, but I heard some strange noises last night coming from the kitchen." "You mean like fighting, or something?" I asked.

Well, to make a long story a little shorter, our stories were exactly the same. Everyone can make up their own minds as to whether it was coincidence or something, but once again, There's no doubt in my mind this house was haunted. Joe and I worked our asses off to finish the job quick. In fact, we got a big pat on the back from our boss for finishing faster than he expected. But what he didn't know was that we just wanted the hell out of that haunted house.

Kevin

dkw@texas.net
www.texas.net/~dkw/homepage.htm