BOOM.

Soooooo.....I finally did it.  And by "it," I mean a few different things.  I:

• Put out an open call for help to anyone who knows anything about historical research to help me figure out if my house is built on an old Indian burial ground or the former home of a serial killer or something- anything that would explain the level of activity in the house and on the property.  I've Googled the heck out of this place, and it's just not getting me anywhere.
• Sent an e-mail to one of the paranormal investigation companies that participated in the investigation at our house last fall, asking if they'd be interested in coming out again and investigating further.  (On the condition that they try to research the history of the house, as well.)
• Sent a super creepy, stalkerish message to a prior tenant of the house, who I located by way of mail that still comes here in his name, asking if he knew anything about the history of the house, or if anything happened to him and his family when they lived here.

So, with any luck, one or all of these olive branches will lead to some MOTHER FLIPPIN' ANSWERS.  Because it's time.  It's really, really time.

Within These Walls...

I always tell people my house is “in the country,” but I feel like that’s sort of a lie.  It is, pretty much, in the country.  But it’s also on a main highway that is busy at all hours of the day and night.  So we’re not out in the middle of nowhere.  But…we are cutoff from society, for the most part. 

Our nearest neighbors are across the street, but since our street is actually a busy highway, it’s not like we can just run across the road and ask for a cup of sugar or an extra egg if we need one.  Our neighbors to our west are on the other side of the marsh and a mini-forest.  We can’t even see their house.  Our neighbors to the east of us are close-ish.  If I stood outside and yelled SUPER loud, they could probably hear me- only if they were outside too, though.

I’m telling you all of this to highlight the fact that the only noise we ever hear, besides the insanely loud road noise, is our own.  Lawnmower?  Ours.  Snow blower?  I wish.  Kids being loud and crazy?  Those are definitely ours.  It’s important that you understand this before I tell you what happened to me yesterday.

Yesterday, I had the day off (thank you, Presidents of yesteryear!)  I was home alone, and after spending the morning working on things around the house, I decided to get dressed and go to the store.  I was in my room, half naked, when I heard the unmistakable sound of a chainsaw firing up outside my bedroom window.  A CHAINSAW.  OUTSIDE MY WINDOW.  I almost shat myself.  True story.  With shaky hands and my heart in my throat, I tiptoed to the window in my room that was furthest away from the noise and peeked through the blinds, fully expecting to see Leatherface staring back at me. 

It was my landlord.  He’d come over, unannounced, to chop down the remnants of a tree that fell during our last major windstorm.  Oh, that Bob….

I was thinking, as my pulse slowed back down to a normal pace, about how long it’s been since we’ve had an “incident.”  It’s been at least a couple of weeks.  That’s gotta be a record.  Be careful what you wish for, right?

Last night, I was cleaning up the aftermath of my 14 year old’s birthday party.  We’re talking soda splattered on the walls, food crushed into the floor, holes in the walls, broken glass (P.S. He is NEVER having another slumber party).  As I was cleaning the floor for the tenth time, I noticed that him and his friends had been so rowdy, they’d knocked loose a couple of floorboards that had apparently been cut out of the flooring and replaced years ago.  (Important fact: When we moved into the house last spring, I pulled carpet out of the upstairs bedrooms that had been therefor decades.  So whatever was underneath it had been there for a good long while.) 

I removed the pieces of floorboard, and what I found set my heart racing instantly.  What was hiding under my son’s bedroom floor was a multilayered contraption of weirdness.  Two boards, nailed together so that one was facing north/south and the other was facing east/west, sort of like a cross only not really.  I believe they were nailed together like that so they would be impossible to remove from under the floor without removing all of the nails first.  On top of the criss-crossed boards was an old, dusty manila envelope, folded over multiple times.  On top of the envelope were four smaller strips of wood, all nailed down.  I had to pry them up, one by one, to get to the envelope.

I was giddy, wondering what I would find.  An old love letter?  A murder confession?  Money?  Savings bonds?  Photos?  Gaaaah!  I was so excited, my hands were shaking as I finally broke the envelope free from its shackles.  What I found was…..unexpected.  Baseball cards from the 1950’s, one of which looked like it had been cut from the back of a cereal box.  These weren’t some young boy’s hidden treasures, however.  Each card was folded into teeny, tiny pieces, and had a nail going right through the player’s head.  Ummmm……???

I don’t even know what to say.  Was it some sort of weird baseball ritual?  A voodoo curse?  I have no idea.  I did Google the players today, Eddie Joost of the Philadelphia Athletics and Jim Pendleton of the Milwaukee Braves.  They both lived long, seemingly happy lives, and only died within the past few years.  (I’ll be honest, I expected to find that something horrible happened to them both in 1952, which is the year I’ve deduced the cards were hidden under the floorboards.)

Add another mystery to the list.  We’ll file this one under “WHAT THE HECK?!”  Seriously, I have no idea what to think.  This has got to be my strangest discovery to date, aside from maybe the old arcade games in the barn.  It just makes me wonder….what else is hiding within my walls and under my floors?   And what’s hiding in the attic?  Oh, did I never mention that?  Yeah, we totally have an attic.  What’s in it?  I can’t tell you…..because none of us have ever been up there.  Cue the Twilight Zone theme song…..     

Playtime

I was in the middle of a meeting at work this morning when my phone went off.  Normally, I would have ignored it.  But since The Teenager had called me from school just before my meeting started saying he didn't feel well, I checked it immediately.  It wasn't a call from the school, rather a text from my husband.

"I know you're at your meeting, but I gotta ask you.  Did you hear the two little boy voices playing in our room at 4 this morning?"  (Important fact: None of our children were home last night or this morning, it was just the two of us.)

Say whaaaaat?!  While it was certainly disturbing, it wasn't an emergency, so I waited until after my meeting to respond.  The answer, however, is no.  No, I did not hear two little boy voices in my bedroom this morning.  I actually slept okay last night, for a change.  It was thunderstorming.  Yes, in Michigan in January.  I looooove thunderstorms.  They relax me and help me sleep.  So I heard nothing. 

A stickler for details, I had to know what, exactly, he heard.  According to my husband, shortly after it began storming, he heard two little boys laughing, and then one said, "It's my turn."  "My turn" to what?!  Scare the crap out of these nice people who are just trying to sleep?  Good job, little ghost boys, good job.....

She's Like The Wind. Who Is? You Know, Karen....

I’ve been under the weather all week.  My hope is that it’s just the remnants of the nasty flu bug that tore through our house with a vengeance over Christmas break, and that I’m not getting sick again.  What does this have to do with our haunted house?  Well, nothing really, aside from the fact that I tend to feel worse when I’m at home, but that might just be because it’s the end of the day and I’m exhausted.  It simply serves as an explanation as to why I was having a terrible night last night, which is where the story I’m about to tell you begins.

When I laid down to go to sleep last night, my head was pounding.  Not hurting, but literally pounding.  Pulsating.  Throbbing.  It kind of freaked me out.  I thought I was going to have a stroke or a brain aneurysm or something.  Needless to say, I couldn’t sleep.  I would drift off for a few minutes, but then the pulsating would rip me right out of dreamland and drop me back into my cold, uncomfortable bed in my cold, dark room.  Probably around 12:30 or so, I turned off the TV and committed myself to falling asleep.  I closed my eyes and tried to calm myself with my breathing, attempting to ignore the super bass dance party going on inside my brain.  It was working!  I could feel the weight of sleep bearing down on me. 

And then, right before I fell asleep, I heard it.  “Karen.”  A woman’s voice, in my ear, clear as day.  A voice, I might add, that sounded very much like the female voice caught on many of the EVPs during our paranormal investigation.  She said, “Karen.”  I bolted upright in bed, the pounding in my heart now matching the pounding in my head.  I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and turned on my flashlight app, quickly scanning the room.  Nothing.  Not that I really expected to see anything, as I’ve never seen anything (or anyone) before.  Then again, I’ve never actually heard a voice like that before, either. 

Knowing that I most definitely wouldn’t be falling asleep anytime soon after that, I got up.  I decided to research my symptoms on WebMD and self-diagnose my illness, which is never a good idea. Especially not at 1 in the morning.  For once, WebMD didn’t scare the bejesus out of me.  It informed me that I was most likely suffering from a migraine.  I’ve had migraines before.  Usually they’re really, really painful.  This one was just bothersome.  I wasn’t completely convinced it was just a migraine, but I decided to take a couple Ibuprofen anyway.  Couldn’t hurt.  (I also considered taking a Xanax, since one of our ghosts seemed to be in the mood for girl talk, but I refrained.)

In all the commotion, what with me jumping out of bed, turning the TV back on, surfing the internet and getting up to get medicine and water, my husband decided the couch would be the best place for him to try to sleep since he had to get up for work in four hours.  So he left me alone.  With….Karen?  Super.  (In his defense, I didn’t mention to him the whole ghost voice thing, so he had no clue that aside from being sick, wide awake and crazy, I was also scared.)

I propped my head up on a stack of pillows, turned the TV to a home shopping network (boring enough that I wouldn’t want to watch it , but having a little company was nice), and tried to fall asleep again.  SUCCESS!  I didn’t move until my alarm went off, a whole five hours later.  I took a shower, then went upstairs to wake the boys up for school.  They are still enjoying the newness of our homemade trundle bed, so they were sleeping in the same room together.  At some point (probably during my shower), the puppy had joined them under the covers.  Our other dog, Sammy, was passed out on the couch downstairs.

I sat at the end of the bed, talking to them both and gently trying to wake them.  Turns out, I had some help.  There was a loud crash in the hall outside the bedroom we were in, as if someone had thrown something.  They both sat up straight.  “What was that?”  The teenager asked sleepily.  I assured them that “something just fell.”  (Upon investigation, I discovered that nothing had fallen.)  Then, while they were still trying to wake up, it happened again.

It’s hard for me, sometimes, to maintain a calm façade in front of the kids when creepy things happen at home.  In theory, I know our house is haunted and I’m cool with it.  But when things happen, I get freaked out sometimes.  This was one of those times.  “Mama, what was that?”  E-Man asked.  “Ummmm….the wind,” I answered.  Yeeaahhhh, we’ll go with that.  The wind.  Whose name, apparently, is Karen.

Do We Stay Or Do We Go?

It’s hard to believe it’s been almost a year since we moved into our “spirited” new home.  My, how time flies when you’re being haunted!  The end of our first year in our haunted farmhouse means the end of our lease…..which means we have a big decision to make.

When we first got confirmation from bonafide professionals that our house is haunted, most of our friends and family expected us to pack up and move out in the middle of the night, even though we were only about halfway through our one year lease.  Needless to say, that didn’t happen.

I’ll be honest, I’m definitely glad that we’re renters instead of homeowners at this point in time.  It gives us some freedom.  If sh** ever gets all Amityville Horror on us, we can abscond swiftly without having to worry about things like deeds and realtors and mortgages.  I’ll simply call my landlord out on knowingly renting out a haunted house, forfeit my security deposit, and that will be that.  But….for now….

We’re happy.  Things are peaceful.  And I love our house.  It’s spacious.  It’s got more character than just about any house I’ve seen.  It’s home, even with its quirks.  But with our lease ending in a couple of months, we have a decision to make.  Do we stay or do we go?  Our decision might surprise you.

The only way our house being haunted factored into whether or not we wanted to renew our lease was if A.) scarier, more serious incidents started occurring, or 2.) the kids were too freaked out and uncomfortable to stay.  I’m happy to say, neither has been the case.  So we’re staying.

YOU’RE STAYING?!?!  Yes.  We are.  We have a reasonable landlord who’s flexible when it comes to paying rent a little bit late (and unfortunately, that happens occasionally.)  If something breaks down, we don’t have to cover the cost out of our own pockets to fix it.  Our kids are just now starting to feel at home.  And…we HATE moving!

Reading this, you probably think we’re insane.  But here’s something to consider: this is real life, not a scary movie.  Most people who are afraid to come to our house (and there are a lot of them) are pleasantly surprised by how homey, laid back, and un-haunted it feels when they finally work up the courage to come visit.  There aren’t apparitions hiding in the shadows, waiting to jump out and possess people.  There’s not ominous music playing in the background.  (Although….that’s a good idea. I should try that sometime.)  Ghosty things don’t happen ALL the time.  In fact, they either very rarely happen at all anymore, or I just don’t notice them as much.

Besides, if we do move, who’s to say our next house won’t be haunted?  Who’s to say YOUR house isn’t haunted?  Have you ever had it investigated?  No?  Then you can’t be certain, can you?  Chew on that while you’re lying in bed tonight.  You’re welcome.

               

Unsolved Mystery

Now that we've established that our house is haunted, the question is...WHY?  Unfortunately, the paranormal investigators did not have time to research the history of the house before the investigation, so very little is known about what happened here.  But...

One of the investigation teams that was present has expressed an interest in turning the house into an investigation site, which would mean attempting to determine why the property is a hotbed of so much paranormal activity.  I'm tempted...but also afraid.  I feel like, the more time goes by, the more I'm leaning towards letting it happen.  My curiosity is bound to get the best of me sooner or later.

Also, I've been paying attention to the names on the random mail we receive at the house, as I'm assuming they are prior tenants.  I've been able to locate two of them on Facebook.  I'm toying with the idea of reaching out to them to see what they know, to see if they have any stories.  But I feel like a total stalker/weirdo...so I haven't done it yet.

I feel like the answers are RIGHT THERE.  They're so close, and I know what I need to do to get them.  They say knowledge is power.  I just don't know if I'm ready for that kind of power just yet....

Holiday Spirit

About a week or so after the paranormal investigation at our home, things began slowly getting back to normal.  The spirits settled down, the kids bought into my whole "it was all just for fun" story, and I started sleeping with the TV and the lights off again.  Only every once in a while do I get creeped out now.

Oddly enough, the one part of the house that still really bothers me is the bathroom.  (And not  just because it's disgusting due to the fact that I live with five boys.)  For some reason, when I walk into the bathroom at night and all the lights are off and it's pitch black, it terrifies me.  I start scrambling in the dark to flip the light switch on, which of course makes it that much harder for me to find.  My heart starts pounding so hard, you'd think I was locked in the basement with our grumpy man ghost and the incinerator.  But the bathroom?  The investigators didn't find anything in the bathroom. Then again, they didn't really investigate in there, either.

The other night, I was making one of several middle of the night pee runs (my bladder is seriously ridiculous), and I was too tired to even bother to turn the bathroom light on.  I was so out of it that when I first heard the sigh/moan of a child, I thought one of my kids was outside the bathroom door, trying to get my attention.  It was very loud, unmistakable, and distinct.  It was a little "mmmm" like they wanted my attention, but were too tired to speak.  But.  My kids weren't home.  And the bathroom door wasn't closed.  And the noise wasn't coming from outside it.  It was coming from inside the bathroom, in the corner.  I jumped up so fast, I'm surprised I didn't get pee on myself.  (TMI, I know...but it adds to the humor of the situation.)  I bolted out of the bathroom, almost crashing head first into the wall at the end of the hallway.  I raced into the much-brighter-than-the-bathroom kitchen to wash my hands, then hurried back to my bedroom, buried myself under the covers, and cuddled up next to my husband.

He woke up just long enough to ask me what was wrong.  I told him I'd heard a noise in the bathroom.  He jumped up, still half asleep, ready for battle.  I tried to explain to him that there wasn't anyone "real" in the bathroom, and that I didn't need him to go running in there like a bat out of hell to protect me.  I'm pretty sure the only part he heard was "you don't have to go in there," and he was back asleep.  And I was terrified.  I never fell back to sleep after that.

Last night, while we were sitting on the couch catching up on our DVR'd shows for the week, I told my husband about what had happened in the bathroom the night before.  Before he could respond, the door to an antique Army ammo crate we use as a display piece came unlatched and flying open.  Not creaking open, not swinging open, but bursting open.  With force.  I turned to my husband, who was staring in disbelief.  "You see?!"  I squealed.  It's funny how, even after all the things that have happened, I still feel like people think I'm crazy when I talk about our house being haunted.  Even my husband.  "Did you see that?!"  I asked again.  He let out a long sigh and shook his head.  "Yep.  I saw it."  Validation.  I shouldn't need it, but I do.

I'm not sure what's caused the surge in "activity" over the past few days or how long it's going to last, but I don't know if my nerves can take it.  Maybe it's because I rearranged the furniture and got out the Christmas decorations.  Or maybe it's the time of year.  This is going to be our first Christmas in the house, so I don't really know what to expect from our "housemates."  Maybe the spirits are just getting into the holiday spirit.