First Night In A Haunted House

Do you believe in ghosts?  Have you ever been in a haunted house?  Not those Halloween ones.  A real Haunted House.

I have always loved old houses so when a big old one-hundred-year-old house in our town came on the market, we moved Heaven and Earth to buy it.  We finally got the keys and went to work painting and wallpapering.  She was in pretty good shape, but she was 100 years old, a beauty slightly past her prime.  My family and I decided to set about restoring her.  The previous owners had done a lot of work to get her back to original and I had decided it would be my life’s work to finish the task.  

I absolutely loved the old house.  I walked around murmuring soft words of admiration to her and lightly caressing her beautiful old woodwork.  The staircase took my breath away…

Those first weeks before we moved in, I spent a lot of time alone with her.  Cleaning.  Painting.  Washing windows and hanging curtains.  I learned her voice.  She had one.  When the wind blew, her old bones creaked slightly.  She had survived a tornado once and, though she had been well repaired, I think she still felt the damage.  Like a broken bone that aches during a rainstorm.

When the townspeople found out that we had bought the old beauty, their first question was always, “You know, it’s haunted?”

I indulged them and their stories of a ghostly figure in the third-floor window of the turret.  

“Oh, I’ve seen her,” they would say.  

“I don’t believe in ghosts.” I’d reassure them that I was not scared.  For truly, I was not.  I have never believed in spirits that are stranded here and can’t find their way to the next world.  That does not fit into my theological belief system.  Besides, by now I had been all over every inch of the old house and knew her well.  There were no dark, undiscovered corners where something could lurk.  I had investigated them all!

People in town told me stories about her.   She had, of course, begun life as a family home but by the second generation had been sold.  She then had spent time serving as a hospital, a boarding house and, I believe at one point, a funeral home.  Then some benevolent family had purchased her and begun returning her to her former glory.  She was looking beautiful and we were dedicated to finishing the job.

I believe she was happy to have my family there.  We all loved her, and she repaid us by letting her true beauty shine through.  Oh, the plans we had!

Finally, moving day came and we got all the furniture in and arranged.  As it turned out, moving day had been scheduled on the same day my husband and sons were supposed to leave for a camping trip.  So it was, that our first night in the old house – the old haunted house – ended up being just me and the house.

Most people don’t believe me when I assure them I was never scared to be there alone.  But I was not.  By now the old beauty and I were friends.  However…

That first night, I busied myself by getting all the beds ready, watching some TV, taking a nice long bath in the old claw-footed tub.  I went to bed tired but relaxed and sleepy.  I was content.  I was home.  I began to doze.  

Just then, I heard a sound.  A creak on the bottom step of the stairs.  Well, I rationalized, the wind was blowing.  The old lady was speaking.  Then ever so slowly, each step in succession creaked, as if someone were treading lightly upon each board.  I was wide awake by now.  

When the creaking stopped at the top of the stairs, I realized I was holding my breath.  I listened for another sound.  I knew that if I were to ever believe in the existence of ghosts, that moment would be right then.  I listened.  No sound came and I began to breathe again.  

Perhaps the apparition had gone on up the stairs to the third floor, where townspeople said she lived.  Or perhaps the old house had protected me.  We were good friends by now.  At any rate, I pulled my covers high over my head and went to sleep.  The ghost, surely, couldn’t get me from under there!  Could she?