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: Mon, 26 Jan 1998 18:59:10 -0600
To: ghost-discuss@aurora.cdb.com
From: "T. J. Wise" (midgard@dragon.org)
Subject: Ghost Story as promised part 1 of 3
When I was a kid, my parents had our ranch style split-level house built far out in the rural areas of Illinois. This was back in 1959 to 1960. Then the place was nothing more than empty fields far as the eye can see. Naturqally, this area was also Native American land at one time. It was said that arrowheads could be found in that area, and indeed they were during the placing of the house' foundations.
It was also true that during the pouring of the foundations, a criminal had escaped state custody and was on the run from the law. This individual had been shot and wounded by the police during attempted reapprehension. Unfortunately for them, or the individual, he was not found. Days after the foundations were poured, the authorities searched our new home's foundations for possible signs of this missing individual. They chose not - due to expenses involved - to have our foundations ripped out. The individual was never found - though traces of the individual's blood was found near the site.
Not long after the house was built, ours being the second, other houses were constructed by the same Ed Lee Land Corporation. Within two years, we were no longer the only people on the top of the hill near the lake. Not long after this population growth, a curious figure showed up around the town. He was called "the Corn Cob Man". Why he was called this was simple: He had corn cobs sticking out his ears. People said they saw him staring into their windows, in their backyards, and so forth. He was a tricky one to catch too. His appearances were as unpredictable as his vanishings. Eventually he too faded from sight or found rest. But the energies in our house on the hill were just charging up.
When my older brother turned four, he began having night terrors (as they are clinically called and differ from nightmares). He had bizzare visions of someone with an axe in the basement. This axeman would pursue him up the basement stairs, having come from the backdoor. He could hear the steps as the man took them two at a time. The axe was a large looking one by his accounts, not at all like a tomahawk. It frightened him so much that even upon being woken they would continue.
Timothy Chakos, Client Services, Help Desk.
Date: Tue, 27 Jan 1998 18:39:22 -0600
To: ghost-discuss@aurora.cdb.com
From: "T. J. Wise" (midgard@dragon.org)
Subject: Ghost Story as promised part 2 of 3
My mother became the resident alcoholic, drinking herself to a peaceful slumber, and causing great stressors in our house. When I was four, my eldest brother took his life in the basement, blaming it upon her - she was a step mother to him and his sister. My parents claimed it was an accident. But the truth was never discussed. A suicide note was found by my sister, but she chose to hide it rather than disclose to the family the shameful truth of those days. My sister blamed it on our mother.
By the time I was five, odd sounds in our house could be heard from in the basement. Searches went without fruit. Banging of a pair of fists from the basement back door resounded throughout the house. The windows upstairs that looked directly down upon the entrance revealed no persons, yet the sounds could be heard. My father sought the church's priest for a house blessing. The priest came, performed his rituals, prescribed candles to be burnt, icons displayed, and palm leaves to be hung. it did no good, though the religious regalia remained.
When I was seven, a woman appeared before me in the basement. She had beautiful long straight black hair. Her face was plain and unadorned. She had a gentle, yet mischievous smile. I recall her looking at me. Then a frightening thing occured. From her face, long needles errupted (kind of like the face from one of the hell raiser fiends). Then, from around the needles, boild rose up the length of the 6 inch spines, and when they hit the tips of the spines, popped, spraying blood everywhere. So frightening was it, I screamed and fled the basement. I told no one, thinking it was something from my own imagination. My mother had detoxed by this time.
Later, my brother that had the nightmares, told me of another experience he had. He lay in bed, trying to sleep when a woman's face appeared above his bed. He described it as a hideous hag, whose face was all of blood and needles. His story forced my own confession from my lips. We compared notes. He said he covered his face and couldn't sleep from fear of her.
Our parents' television took a mind of its own, turning itself on and off at will, changing channels, and such. It was replaced because it refused to be fixed. Radios also would decide to turn themselves on and off in the house. The electric garage door would take to opening and closing itself. The motor was replaced twice, and the controls rekeyed to no improvement. My parents decided to have the house rewired since we were getting a swimming pool installed that summer.
I began finding money in my school pants at this time too. I would find sometimes odd bits of change in the pocket, some time whole dollars or more. I never got an allowance so was thankful for it, and never told anyone. i know my brothers often wondered where I got my stash, and this continued well into adulthood.
Date: Wed, 28 Jan 1998 12:03:30 -0600
To: ghost-discuss@aurora.cdb.com
From: "T. J. Wise" (midgard@dragon.org)
Subject: Ghost Story as promised part 3 of 3
Meanwhile, the knocking at the rear door of our basement continued. My father purchased a security attack dog, and let her loose in the yard to keep it safe - thinking it was kids. The dog found nothing, and the knocking continued.
When I was 8, the bedroom I had which was upstairs, above the basement door, began opening itself. We were forced to lock it and paint it shut.
When I was 9, a rancid smell of rotting flesh erupted from my upstairs closet. My father thought it was the shoes, or foot odour, and had all the shoes replaced, and got foot powders for all of us. it was no good. And no amount of work removed it.
Another visit from the priest borught a prescription for an easter egg to be placed on top of the frame of the icon. The egg was to be red as blood, and be made for easter no later than the Friday before Easter. It was to remain on the icon for 1 year, and replaced thereafter annually. This was done so, with no ill effects, the egg not rotting, nor growing foul of smell.
Items throughout the house would find themselves missing for dsays on end, or gone for good. My father's jewelry was displaced, and found behind furniture, my mother's wedding rings vanished. Her christening crucifex hidden in the pantry.
We owned a large painting that stretched 6 feet across one wall. It weighed over 100 pounds, and had hung there peacefully for 7 years or more, then one day it was found to be dropped from the wall onto our television that had just be replaced. It destroyed it, requiring replacement again. There was no sign of wall damage, faulty hook, or even of the hanging wires being broken.
Our basement, meanwhile had taken on its own life. At nights, music could be heard from it, great dance hall style music with orchestras and conversations, and chatter drifted its way up to our upstairs. No one chose to investigate.
Our house, meanwhile had gained its own reputation from our neighbours. The kids would cross to the other side of the street rather than cross our own side. Children would refuse to come to our house out of fear of "it".
Eventually we moved from our home, having dropped the place $10,000 below market value - this was not during a recession time.
Our move to West Virginia proved no relief. Within 3 months, the odour had followed us, emanating from below our home. Scurrying int he walls, the cieling, and voices could be heard from above in the attic that had no access to it. We swore someone lived up there. My father paid an individual to inverstigate the beneth side of the house, look for dead animals, their nests, anything. None was found. the front door of this house proved to be the intruder's next target. The violence at the door growing! broken glass and shattered windows were the next evidence of our family having some resident haunting. We fled, moving to Arizonma after having lived there a scant 9 months.
It took us 6 more months this time for the odour to return, complete with other odd manifestations in this home. Doors opening of their own accord, voices in empty halls, and such. This nuisance behaviour continued on and off for a period of 5 more years, eventually ending with my parents divorce, and then following myself when I moved from away from my family.
The odours that once plagued our homes continued on and off. I welcome them rather than call upon priests, or flee attempting to outrun them. I have learned to call one of my guests Thief, as it has liked at times to remove items and hide them in my back yard shed. Thief is playful, I suppose, enjoying hiding things on both myself and my roommates. Thief has not caused any serious damages like what had occured when my parents were married.
Recently, I moved from Arizona after 19 years, and found myself happily in a little town in Missouri. I was pleased to find that Thief had followed me once again, this time the odours emanates from the spare room. At times it is absent, at other times quite pungent and needing an open window. But, no harm is done, nothing broken my latest roommate has not even really noticed Thief, though he knows that we have "guests" that come to call.