There’s this theatre in the park that is known to be haunted.
The stories are quite outrageous from wild zoo-type animals to a satanic cult frequenting the area. Most people discount this by saying “Nothing has been substantiated.” Of course they’re going to say that, they have made a substantial investment in the property with their outrageous homeowners association fees.
I get really strange vibrations from this area, even when I’m driving by a block or two away. Now, there I am right in the middle of the property getting ready to step onto the stage. They were putting on a melodrama and needed a honky-tonk piano player. I wanted to ask what happened to their regular piano player, but knew I wouldn’t receive a straight answer. I also wondered where was everyone. The place looked disserted and I wasn’t sure I had the time right.
What I found strange was all the sound equipment cluttering up the stage.
“Just start playing,” I heard over a loud speaker. “We want to get a sound check.”
I started playing Tiger Rag by Jelly Roll Morton. The speakers behind me started vibrating and bouncing a bit on the stage. I stopped playing and looked around.
“Why did you stop?” demanded the voice over the speaker.
“The vibration of –”
“You’re being paid to play, not talk.” I began playing Chopin’s Nocturn. I started out slowly then put the off beat into the tune to give it a ragtime feel.
“Stop tapping your foot,” the disembodied voice bellowed through the speaker above me.
I didn’t think I was tapping my foot. I felt something behind me. I looked back and all the sound equipment was stacked up. The cords were wound around the legs of the piano bench.
I stood up, walked off the stage and continued walking out of the park and to my car. My cell phone rang as I leaned against my car to calm down
“Why did you leave?”
I answered the question with a question of my own, “Have you looked at the stage?”
“Well, no . . .”
“Where are you?” I asked.
He said he was in a remote location, but could hear what was going on. He had a camera that didn’t have a very wide field of vision except the area where I sat before the piano keyboard and the open panel of the upright piano. Behind me and the floor were out of the camera’s view.
Needless to say I wasn’t pleased by this arrangement and I let him know that either someone was there or the rumors that the stage was haunted were true. This seemed to be typical poltergeist behavior. No way was I returning to that stage.
It was obvious that the spirits didn’t want me or anyone else on that stage playing the piano.
I never heard what happened to make the piano player quit or if this particular melodrama was performed there or at another venue. I didn’t even know why the sound man wasn’t at the park. My friend, Barbara, set this gig up for me — not that I wanted it or needed it. I needed to contact her once I calmed down to get all the particulars of this situation.
On my way home, I had this strange craving for a hamburger and fries. The place I liked was on the other side of town — not that it’s that large of a town, but I didn’t know if I wanted to go that far. There were some old houses I needed to pass by and there was always something strange going on in that part of town — with the spirits and the traffic.
I also had an uncomfortable feeling there was something, not someone, but something in the back seat of the car. I didn’t dare turn around. There was no refection in the rearview mirror.
I decided to call Barbara and have her meet me or just barge in on her at home. Fortunately, she was home and invited me to visit.
That was a relief. I wanted to get out of the car as soon as possible.
Barbara had a smudge stick ready when I arrived. We went through my whole car, including the trunk and even smudged me. I was sure I picked up something at the theatre.
My craving for fast food was gone. The uncomfortable feeling of being watched was also gone. I was no longer upset with Barbara for the fiasco at the park.
“How did it go at the rehearsal?” she asked innocently.
I explained that no one was there except someone giving orders through a loud speaker and poltergeists playing games.
“Alicia said there was a full dress rehearsal and they needed a piano player.”
“Well, during the hour lag time between your call and my arrival at the park, plans were changed.”
I could now feel irritation towards Alicia, but Barbara was ahead of me. She had her on the phone demanding an explanation.
Alicia claimed to not have called Barbara. They had a piano player and their rehearsals were in the evening.
Was this a prank?
I remembered a group of paranormal researchers who asked me a month earlier to help them investigate the park and the theatre in particular. I flatly refused. Could they be behind this?
I was on the phone, “Hi Bob, how’s your research going at the theatre?”
Bob hedged, but eventually came clean. “Stuff always happens around you,” was his lame excuse.
“How did you stack up the sound equipment and wrap the cords and cables around the piano bench?”
“I didn’t do that, I was in the van and Pete was locked in the bathroom, backstage.”
They used me to fish out the poltergeists they believed to be causing all the trouble at the theatre. Pete was to record things from backstage, but he followed the sound of footsteps into the bathroom and got locked in. They got nothing for their efforts.
I never did see the entity that was in my car. I was just glad it was gone. I imagine it’s back at the park hiding in the shrubbery scaring people who are dumb enough to be walking around there.
Yes, I do encounter strange people from time to time. And, I do attract some paranormal experiences I’m not especially eager to have, but such is life …
I hope you enjoyed this little paranormal experience I encountered … and enjoyed how the poltergeists did have the last laugh.
College kids and ghost hunting seem to go together — especially with a media assignment.
I was at my local coffee shop when some college kids came in all excited about an assignment they had to film something. They could have done a political ad or some documentary about just about anything. They decided to go on a ghost hunt to a local elementary school. People have said that at night the swings are swinging and some claim to have seen ghostly children at play. They decided it was better than being in a spooky cemetery or in some other known haunted area.
My friend Barbara and I were invited to go along, but we passed. We thought the kids should enjoy the experience on their own. They were a little nervous about it, but they possessed that youthful enthusiasm I had to admire. I did encourage them to tell me about their experience the next morning.
The next morning they came in tired and a bit down.
They recorded or tried to record the swings swinging, but the cameras wouldn’t work. I looked at one of the cameras they offered and noticed that they did get something.
“Look, off to the side,” I pointed out. “It looks like a ghostly teacher on yard duty supervising the ghostly children.”
“Oh, I see it!” One girl squealed. “Let’s go again tonight and see if we get anything else.”
They were off to class to share what they found with their instructor.
Once again a tired group of college students came to share their ghost hunting experience.
The children on the swings didn’t appear, but the swings were swinging. They captured a little boy with a bat resting on his shoulder as he walked out in the field. They also captured girls jumping rope.
It seemed like a success for their first ghost hunting experience, but they were going out again to get the kids on the swings.
Barbara and I didn’t see the kids the next morning. As a matter of fact we didn’t see them again for about a week.
These students were so determined to capture ghostly children on the swings that they got a bit carried away and decided to have a séance in the playground near the swings. They did this on their own without having a psychic or someone who knew about holding a séance. They believed they could do it on their own from all the movies they’ve seen. They did want to capture it all on tape for their media assignment.
Once they got their candles in place and got themselves seated they began. It didn’t take long for the swings to start swinging. They needed to move out of the way, but they remained where they were not to disturb the spirits and what the camera was capturing.
It didn’t take long for the swings to begin attacking the students and they went running off leaving their candles and cameras behind.
They began seeing spirits wherever they went. They felt as though they were being watched. They decided to stay away from each other and places where they usually went. The problem was going to class and also going into the dorms.
They came in the coffee shop with their personal experiences to share.
“We opened up something,” one remarked.
“How do we make it go away?” was the question on their minds.
“I can’t sleep,” another explained. “There’s something at the foot of my bed watching me.”
Barbara told them to seek professional help and gave them a list of people to call.
One of the college students was sitting off by himself at another table. He had vacant eyes. He was carrying on a conversation with something we couldn’t see.
It wasn’t long after the college students left that something fell in the back room. Several coffee shop personnel ran outside. Barbara and I decided to join them. When we inquired what happened, one young woman remarked that something was in there. “It kept touching me,” she said.
Great, now my favorite coffee shop was haunted.
There are spirits around us all the time. We have been warned about Ouija Boards and calling on spirits when we don’t know what we’re doing. Ghost hunting looks like fun when we’re in the comfort of our own homes watching it on television or YouTube. The big difference is that these programs are documenting events as they happen, not calling out spirits.
That, initially, was what these college students were doing, but as they admitted they got carried away. They wanted to see the ghosts of children on the swings. That was the purpose of the media assignment. They discounted the ghostly apparitions they did capture on film.
The thing is, ghosts don’t appear on demand. They may be there, but it doesn’t mean we’ll see them, hear them, or be able to record them. We should be grateful for what they allow us to capture and not demand more — it could cause trouble as the college students admitted to experiencing.
I didn’t see that college kid who was sitting off by himself and conversing with something we couldn’t see in the coffee shop again. Hopefully, he got some professional help.
I haven’t been by that elementary school where the kids were recording in years — it’s a bit out of town and admittedly creepy to go out there. I remember hearing about the place and going out there when I was in high school.
The swings did swing for us … we did hear faint sounds of running feet and children laughing. At the time I didn’t know if it was real or my imagination kicking in … but when I did see the marks in the dirt of where a jump rope had been turned and small shoe prints, I became a believer. And also a bit sad to realize the number of small children who died young … At least they have this old playground …
Thanks for stopping by. I hope you enjoyed this Real Ghost Story.
Lizzy Borden’s life and trial have been discussed over the years with divided beliefs of her guilt in murdering her father and step-mother that fateful day in August, 1892.
In 1975 there was a movie made with a possible means of how Lizzy Borden committed the crimes and was able to leave no evidence behind for the authorities to find.
I got caught up in it once again by watching a variety of YouTube videos to get a clear picture of what happened. My quest started when I watched a Paranormal Investigation of the Lizzy Borden Bed and Breakfast.
But for this post, I believe it is best to begin with a documentary of Lizzy Borden.
It’s always important to discover what was going on in the Borden residence prior to the murders.
Each documentary brings forth evidence regarding Lizzy, but is that the complete story?
I do like the dramatization of this documentary . .. but some aspects of the story seem to be left out . . . Lizzy and her thoughts and feelings.
Later on you’ll hear some EVPs that state Lizzy was “spoiled”. Wouldn’t that indicate that she always got her way and thus would have no reason to murder her step-mother and father?
And what is the truth . . . something we’ll never know for sure.
Lizzy Borden Documentary:
Did Lizzy murder her step-mother and father? Was it motivated by greed?
Given the “personal” nature of the attacks, it seems likely Lizzy Borden did do the deadly deed . . . But what is the truth?
Paranormal Investigators FAM and Lou Rock decided to visit the Bed and Breakfast to see what they could learn from the haunting that seems to be taking place.
There is definitely some creepy stuff going on and the spirit box EVPs do give one a bit of a chill.
The Paranormal Investigation Video
What do you think?
There were definite disturbances in the basement.
It has been documented that Mr. Borden had once been in the furniture business and later became a mortician.
However, there is no evidence that he conducted any “mortuary” business in his home or that his home had ever been a mortuary.
That would be too easy to explain the “hauntings” . . . Yet, I do wonder what spirits came into the house when the home across the street had been burned own. It is said children came to stay, but was there more?
Did something evil come into the house — maybe possessing Lizzy?
No offense to these paranormal investigators, but I decided to go a bit farther and wanted to see what Amy Allan and the Dead Files had to say about Lizzy Borden and the house that was turned into a Bed and Breakfast.
This took a bit of a turn to my way of thinking.
It does shed more light on Mr. Borden and how he ran his home.
Dead Files Investigate The Lizzy Borden House
What wasn’t Amy revealing?
Lizzy Borden Documentary:
Does this add clarity or muddy the water a bit more?
I believe more information is necessary in the form of another documentary.
This documentary discusses Lizzy’s life after the trial and how she and her sister did move to a mansion on the hill. Lizzy named it Maplecroft and this was where she could live a lavish life — evidently the life her father could afford, but didn’t want to live — even for the future welfare of his daughters.
It also debunks Lizzy’s killing of animals in order to hold a funeral — and all the implications associated with harming animals to a criminal mind.
Yet, what is behind the statement that Lizzy was “peculiar” or “odd” what was the evidence of this? Was it how she was raised . . . yet she did church work . . . or was this after the trial? Or was this because of her shoplifting?
You can decide later what is truly relevant and what isn’t in order to seek the truth about Lizzy Borden and the murders of 1892.
In light of all of this . . . I’m wondering . . .
Emma may have had a lot of resentment of having to care for her sister, or she may have welcomed it.
Yet both women didn’t have the opportunity to meet gentlemen and back then, the only way for a woman to leave home was to marry. So, both Lizzy and Emma may have resented their father for not allowing them to attend fancy balls or for their father to host one.
Without a mother — a true mother who would have seen to it that her daughters were given every opportunity to meet suitable suitors, these women were really nothing more than house servants in their own home.
If there had been “abuse” in the home, then it seems reasonable Mr. Borden would want to hold a tight rein on his daughters — to keep his secret . . . or was it the sister’s secret . . . or was something else at play in the house . . .
I can understand how Lizzy Borden could have gone “mad” . . . but why continue living in that small town — or did Lizzy Borden have something to prove to the townfolk?
And what did she prove?
I would suggest that instead of asking Lizzy if she did the crime, why not ask her for her story and who she was with her goals and aspirations . . . Her feelings of how everything went terribly wrong . . .
I believe there is more to this story. And I believe this rings true with the second Biographical Documentary. There are definitely more questions that haven’t been answered.
Yet I do believe, too, that Lizzy and others who “haunt” the bed and breakfast are tired of being asked the same questions over and over again . . . and may just say “yes” to commiting the murders in order to be done with it.
Thanks for stopping by and please leave a comment.
Sharon
But wait . . .
And what could be said for Maplecroft — Lizzy’s last known residence?
Surely Lizzy Borden would haunt that place moreso than the residence where her father and step-mother were murdered.
I would definitely not want to haunt the old house, but haunt my home, the home where I was free to live and entertain as I pleased.
I would think Mr. & Mrs. Borden would haunt the bed and breakfast and Lizzy would haunt Maplecroft . . . but what do I know . . .
Maplecroft:
A beautiful place, but I don’t know if I’d like to live there.
I don’t know about operating a bed and breakfast out of Maplecroft Mansion, but I think a quaint little paranormal bookstore would be lovely selling crystals and other items of interest.
I wouldn’t really want to do seances in the home other than to discuss Lizzy’s life without mentioning the murders.
As I mentioned earlier, I believe the Lizzy Borden story is a lot more interesting than the murders and the trial.
I’m going a bit soft on thinking of buying such a house with a history . . . it could be a selling point or drop the price down . . . I do wonder what stories this house has to tell . . . since there were several previous owners . . .
Just something to think about . . .
Thanks for indulging me in my search for the Lizzy Borden story.
There is a common belief that 12 midnight is the bewitching hour when ghosts, spirits, poltergeists, what have you will appear.
For ghost hunters, many have day jobs and night is the best time for them. I believe it is spookier at night and having some nice scary pictures to go along with your explorations doesn’t hurt. I believe it adds atmosphere and gets you in the mood. It is also a reminder to be alert.
Remember when you were a kid and how the creepy old house down the street was creepier at night? It may also have something to do with Halloween when we dressed up in costumes and went trick-or-treating in the dark. Maybe at that time in our lives we were only interested in the candy and seeing our friends, but if you remember back it was so very quiet. You could hear your footsteps echoing behind you. The silence was only broken by the occasional chorus of voices calling out, “Trick or Treat!”
There were the creepy lit jack-o-lanterns that adorned porches and fence posts casting an eerie glow to the yard. Some played scary organ music with occasional screams, rattling chains and moaning wind. Things may have changed over the years, but the basic atmosphere and our enthusiasm hasn’t.
In the “still of the night” has been an ideal time to hunt for ghosts.
It is obviously quiet and you have a better chance of picking up something on your recording devices. It appears ghosts don’t like being in crowded places, if they are at all aware of their surroundings. There are haunted houses, hospitals, restaurants, libraries, and open spaces.
There was a mall in a neighboring town that lost its anchor stores and soon became a “ghost town” of sorts. I’m not saying it was “haunted”, but I did feel uncomfortable walking around in there during the day. Others had remarked that they got spooked walking through the empty mall one night after a meeting. So I suppose ghosts prefer to be where we don’t like being.
One personal experience I had recently was at a well known slaughter house in town.
Just the idea of a slaughter house would instantly make one think it would be haunted. The thing about this place is that there have been stories, many have been proven to be hoaxes perpetrated by local teens having fun and perhaps wanting to create an urban legend of sorts.
Well, it wasn’t my intention to go to the slaughter house, but I was out with friends and we saw something that came whoosing out of the sky at us. We followed it to the old slaughter house.
I tried to convince everyone it was an owl, but they gave me reasons why it couldn’t possibly be. So there I was walking along this empty field late at night to this building that had a questionable reputation. The old brick building had been broken into numerous times over the years and visitors would take a brick as a souvenir.
Hoax or not, this was a creepy place. There was this unsettling scent in the air — like death, but the slaughter house hadn’t been used for decades.
The air had a chill in it I didn’t notice until I got closer. I wasn’t thinking of anything in particular, just placing one foot in front of the other, not wanting to fall into a gopher hole and twist my ankle.
All of a sudden there was an ungodly screech and this black mass with a white skull face came swooping down upon us! I took off running! The others followed.
Pity no one had the peace of mind to take a picture, but we’re not the bravest souls who go off exploring in the dead of night.
I truly wish there was a camera set up awhile back when my ghost hunting friends and I came running out of an abandoned house like scared children. You’ll just have to imagine a group of senior citizens running for their lives down a deserted street.
Was it a ghost or something more sinister?
At the time we believed it to be something more sinister, but in reality . . .
It’s important to begin at the beginning.
One of my ghost hunting friends is a real estate appraiser. He was given the task of appraising an abandoned house. He asked the owner if he could bring some friends with him and the owner agreed.
So there we were in an abandoned house. I do find it strange and rather creepy what people leave behind when they move out. Is it something they forgot or intentionally left? This thought was on my mind while I explored the house. I ended up in the basement when my friend Barbara called me down there.
She heard scratching. I told her it was just a mouse or rat. Then she drew my attention to the warm and cold spots in the room.
I could hear the scratching coming from a closet-type cabinet. I opened the latch and the door slightly. I was braced and ready to run out of the basement if anything came out.
Of course, I was expecting a rodent or something evil.
While my attention was on the cabinet, something behind me made hissing sounds.
I shot up the basement stairs with Barbara right behind me. I didn’t stop when I noticed Ralph running from upstairs and Frank from the kitchen. We kept running out of the house, the yard and even past Frank’s SUV.
Once we felt we were far enough away from any danger we regrouped and returned to the house.
The basement hissing was, of course, a cat that caught a rat.
What scared Ralph was something else entirely.
There was a fully furnished room upstairs. The woman who had once occupied the room had it all neat and tidy. Clothes were still in the closet and the dresser still had clothes in it. The night stands were full of odds and ends, too.
The first thing I noticed was a night gown on the bed.
Ralph assured me that it was the night gown that chased him out of the room and down the stairs. He was sure it was possessed. He kept hearing, “I’ll kill you!” as he fled the room and the house. Of course, we didn’t hear the threat on Ralph’s life.
Frank was in the kitchen when he ran out of the house.
He heard the locks on the back door snap into place. He had a feeling of being trapped.
That wasn’t what had him running for his life, though.
He was doing his inspection under the sink. Looking for leaks and evidence of dry rot.
He heard movement behind him.
“It sounded like a family preparing the evening meal, but when I straightened up and turned around I saw something out of a scifi movie. It was huge and had sharp teeth. It seemed to be eating something.”
Frank didn’t want to be its next course and ran out.
I decided not to go into the kitchen.
There was definitely something going on in that house. I wanted to meet the people who lived there before and hear their story.
Most of the time people like to move on and not dwell on past unpleasantness, but Frank was able to persuade the owner to give out the name and whereabouts of the renters and they were willing to meet us.
The family consisted of a man and his wife, his mother and 10-year-old twin boys.
The boys agreed there was something evil in that house. They couldn’t play video games without the controllers taking on a life of their own ruining the game for them. Even playing with toys was no fun in that house. Whatever was there would make them fly off and sometimes chase them out of the room.
They didn’t want to sleep in their room after awhile.
The grandmother explained that something was in the house. She didn’t think it evil until that last night when her bed caught on fire.
The problem with the paranormal is that she saw what she was supposed to see, but when we were in that room weeks earlier, the bed was not burnt.
The parents of the twins explained what happened to them next.
Connie was in the kitchen preparing dinner. Bill was in the basement mopping up a leak from the water heater.
He was just going up the stairs when he heard and felt an explosion.
The explosion knocked him off his feet and he did lose a leg to the experience.
Bill was the only one with a physical injury, but the water heater did not explode. The paramedics were called and they took him to the hospital.
Frank believed that creature he saw in the kitchen had something to do with it, but Bill was sure it was the water heater.
Can one evil entity cause this much trouble to a family?
Evidently so.
But in so many forms?
That’s the problem with the paranormal, once you think you have something figured out, something new comes along.
It’s no wonder the family didn’t return to remove all of their possessions. When Frank volunteered to pack up their belongs and deliver them, the family politely declined his offer.
I couldn’t blame them. They wanted to get as far away from that house and their belongings as possible. They didn’t want some evil entity following them.
With the family experiencing different things and with us seeing things differently than what the family claimed to happen, we concluded that something evil was indeed going on in that house, but we couldn’t explain it and we weren’t going to contradict them.
It is a strange world we live in when evil forces invade our physical realm of the universe.
Fear does come in all forms, we experienced the unexpected as did the family that lived there. It came in different forms to the different individuals to the degree that got us all to run away in fear for our lives.
Barbara and I got off easy . . . a cat catching a rat . . . I do wonder why such a “natural” thing like that when the men had definite paranormal experiences. Or . . . was the cat and the rat what we were meant to see . . . and in reality it was too easy to get us out of the house . . . and where’s the fun in that for an evil entity?
Please leave a comment to share your thoughts about this Real Ghost Story and perhaps tell us of an experience of your own.
I am definitely intrigued by the ghosts of children.
For one thing it breaks my heart that children have died young. Maybe since I’ve been a teacher, they’re attracted to me, or me to them. Whatever the case, I do get my fair share of children ghosts.
I met two young lady ghosts — Emma and Sarah while visiting the local cemetery..
Sarah invited me to visit her Aunt Francis in this old Victorian Mansion just outside of town.
Normally, I don’t want to go ghost hunting . . . or meet ghosts in a creepy, rundown old house . . . but I did.
Yes, I was arguing with myself the whole time. I was definitely telling myself how this was stupid. I knew of this old house and Aunt Francis before inviting my ghost hunting friends on this venture.
My friend Barbara was the only one from my ghost hunting group of friends who could join me on this great adventure. Barbara was all for it, especially since we received an invitation to visit the old matriarch of this old mansion.
I’m torn in telling this “adventure” as Barbara puts it.
You know, I always come out as being anything but brave. Yes, this is no different. You see, Aunt Francis . . . well . . . Aunt Francis is a cranky old woman who nagged her husband to the point where he took an axe to her and . . . goodness, she’s come back as a floating head.
The young nieces dote on their beloved Auntie Francis and she’s insistent on meeting the “human” they’ve grown fond of.
I know the old woman loves peanut butter cookies, so I made some for her. I would have preferred to buy something, but Sarah insisted they had to be homemade.
We needed to time it so that the cookies were “fresh from the oven.”
I don’t know why or how a two hundred plus year old woman would know the difference or care, but it may be her controlling way — as in life, so in death.
So, there I was with Barbara and two ghost girls paying a call on dear old Aunt Francis in a creepy old, rundown mansion in the middle of a thunder storm. Not much rain, but plenty of thunder.
The girls float on up the stairway. Barbara and I walk slowly, testing the boards as we step lightly. Some of the steps are missing so we did our best to continue moving up. Barbara knocked the banister down in her attempt to climb up three broken steps. My hand went through the wall in a couple of places.
This wasn’t unnoticed by Aunt Francis who screamed, “Sarah, tell your clumsy friend to be careful. This is our home.”
Then, a little calmer I heard, “Those cookies better be good.”
Aw geez, now my culinary skills were on the line.
My only thought besides trying not to break my neck was, “Betty Crocker, don’t let me down.”
Barbara and I made it to the landing. I didn’t see the girls, but I heard dear old Aunt Francis.
“Quit dallying, woman. I want my cookies!”
Of course, she had to be another flight of stairs up. Only those stairs were in worse shape than the ones Barbara and I just climbed.
Whatever happened to ladies meeting guests in the parlor? I was getting tired of this charade.
“I sorry, madam, but it’s impossible for me to go any farther. I’ve met you halfway, the only polite thing for you to do is come down here,” I said as forcefully, yet politely as I could.
“Who are you to tell me . . .” she sputtered.
I didn’t wait around to hear more. I motioned for Barbara to go on down the stairs we just climbed.
“What about the cookies,” Barbara whispered. “Shouldn’t you leave them?”
I’m not really up on ghost etiquette, but this woman wasn’t the most hospital ghost I’ve encountered.
“If she wants them, she can come and get them.” I took them out of the carry-all I put them in so she could get a good whiff of the fresh from the oven peanut butter cookies.
“What is that I smell?” the woman bellowed.
“Your cookies. You can find them in the parlor.”
Fortunately, it was easier for Barbara and me to get back down the stairs. Finding the parlor was another matter.
Sarah came down to meet us without Emma.
“Auntie wants her cookies, why can’t you bring them to her?”
“The stairs,” I stammered, “there are no stairs.”
Sarah didn’t seem to understand. Her perspective of the house was locked in time. Too bad I didn’t share her same perspective.
A head bobbed beside Sarah. I almost jumped out of my skin.
“Aw, Francis, I presume.” I said awkwardly to cover up my fright. Her countenance matched the gruff voice I heard.
Barbara wasn’t aware of what I was looking at, but she shared my fright. I must have scared her.
“The cookies!” Francis boomed, shaking the house.
I opened the container again and Sarah picked up a cookie and fed it to her aunt.
It was the most disgusting sight I’d ever seen. Crumbs dropped to the floor. The woman made obscene grunting sounds. I thought I was going to be sick.
I expected a lady of the manor with Victorian manners, but what confronted me was a head that had no resemblance of refinement . . . a head that was badly decomposed.
“What’s that putrid smell,” Barbara whispered.
“Aunt Francis.”
“I need some air,” Barbara said as she bolted for the door.
I wanted to follow, but I had to wait for Aunt Francis’s feeding time to conclude. Four more cookies to go.
Francis nodded for Sarah to take the remaining cookies upstairs.
Why hadn’t I thought of giving the cookies to the girls and save myself all this aggravation?
They just floated away.
“More tomorrow,” Francis said.
“No, ma’am,” I said. “There will be no more cookies.”
“What?” she boomed, knocking me down with the shaking of the foundation.
“Your nieces are polite young ladies. You, madam have no manners at all. I refuse to bake cookies for you again.”
Normally, I don’t stand up to spirits, but there was something about the situation that got my dander up. Maybe it was the lack of appreciation and the demanding tone. I had enough and I wasn’t going to take any more abuse from this disgusting ghost.
I got out of the house as pieces of it were thrown at me under the wrath of a peanut butter cookie craving ghost.
“That went well,” Barbara said.
Was any of this captured in pictures or video . . . of course not — Barbara and I are not professional ghost hunters . . . and besides, Barbara’s camera batteries were drained — I guess Aunt Francis doesn’t like her picture taken . . .
I hope you enjoyed this Real Ghost Story . . . and if you happen to meet Aunt Francis, please don’t mention my name . . . but be sure to bake some fresh peanut cookies.
