by Carson Wood
My mother ran as fast as she could up the stairs of our old farmhouse after I, being a naive five-year-old, informed her I had been sitting in a nice man’s lap and had been talking to him. She found no such person, but had heard me talking to someone or something. Many strange things happened in that old house from the time we moved into it in 1962 until we left in 1979.
I was sitting at our kitchen table with Mom and her friend Jane one night, being up when I wasn’t supposed to be. A thick-stemmed tiger lily was sitting in a vase of water in front of me. To Jane’s horror, the tiger lily snapped right off and fell to the table. My mother had no fear of these things, but was quite taken aback. I really didn’t know what to think. In our big hallway, someone could be heard walking up the stairs, especially on rainy nights. Snoring could always be heard coming from the master bedroom even when no one was there. In the night, if we happened to be downstairs, someone could be heard getting up out of bed, walking across the room, and closing the window when no window had been open. Loud banging could sometimes be heard in our large open unfinished section of the upper level. One time when I was home alone, I heard this banging and went to get a friend to be with me when I checked it out. I grabbed my 12-gauge shotgun, loading it with double-aught buckshot. My friend carried a hunting knife. We entered a back bedroom where a big teddy bear was sitting in a small chair. My poor friend was so startled that he threw the knife right into the heart area of the poor old teddy. We found nothing.
The nights I would have to stay in the house alone while my father worked the midnight shift were the worst. Sometimes my younger sister would stay at my grandmother’s house and I would be left to all the fun. One night, I was awakened by a swishing noise. The Army trunk I had bought had the key in its lock and had a paper tag on a string. That tag was going back and forth like a clock pendulum. I turned on my light, loaded my .410 shotgun (which I kept by my bed), and watched. I knew I could react to my terror and go spastic, or try to be cool. I smoked at that time, so I lit a cigarette and took a big drag. I kept watching until I finally said out loud, “Why don’t you stop?” It continued for another minute and stopped. Afterwards, I wondered why I had loaded the shotgun, seeing as it was useless in this situation. It was a comfort anyhow.
As I started losing my night vision in the early ‘70s, I have always felt I was given a gift from these spirits who scared me so, growing up. I was called from my bed around one or two a.m. by what sounded like my parents. I always felt comfortable when my parents were both home. I went down to our big dining room and saw two figures on either side of the room. The moon was full and our pasture was as light as day. Alongside the pasture stood a grove of fruit trees in which was my peach tree. There were three deer standing around eating peaches off the tree. I was able to see this picture as clear and as bright as if my eyes were perfect again. I could not tell whether the figures in the room were my parents or not. It didn’t seem to matter. My father cannot recall this event happening and my mother passed away not long after that time. I’ve always treasured that moment and will never forget it as long as I live. There were many strange things that went on in that old house on Oak Hill Road that couldn't be explained by logic.