Reflections: Living in a haunted house – Part 13

When I was younger, I was the only person who couldn’t see the mysterious Jesus figure standing in the photograph with Uncle Pete. Uncle Pete would die of a heart attack within the week, and everyone would be amazed, but me. I’d still be studying the picture, hoping that somehow the tree to the left of the now deceased might somehow transform and I could join the “able to see spiritual beings in places they don’t belong” club. I felt left out and I kept trying to see the unexplained whenever the opportunity presented itself, but eventually, I admitted defeat.

Finally, I grew up, had children, and bought a house. It came with no history of dead people walking around in it, or dying in it. Maybe my body chemistry was altered in childbirth, or maybe changing dirty diapers wasn’t doing it for me anymore, but suddenly, my life shifted. I was elated when very soon after I moved in, I ran across many unexplained events. Furniture moved by itself, items picked themselves up from the floor, and cigarette smoke followed me around the house and even into my car, although I am a non smoker. I wasn’t scared by the events. I was so happy to finally be initiated into the “club”.

A few years later, I decided to do some renovations. In the middle of painting the living room, my aunt and I caught a whiff of Marlboros, my deceased father’s favorite brand of cigarettes. We decided that it was he who had been trying to get my attention, and that perhaps now, he was saying goodbye. Disappointed, I realized that the dead don’t belong here anyway, and let go of whoever had been keeping me company previously. I was grateful for my 15 minutes of inclusion, and decided to move on.

It was quiet for awhile, and I have to be honest. I missed my invisible roommate. While I led a very full life, there was just something to be said for the paranormal events. They made me feel special after not having been able to participate for so long.

One weekend, my kids slept over at their grandparents house. They were having a great time, and I was loving my freedom, but I still missed their faces and loud laughter. Little did I know that late at night I would discover that I was not really alone.

My son was a very restless sleeper and would toss and turn and get up and walk around at night. My son was also a slob. Toys were strewn all over and I often marveled at how he was able to steer himself through that obstacle course each night as he wandered. That Saturday