Readers Contributions

Still Waiting For Someone...

When I was a child, in Massachusetts, I lived next door to my grandparents. The lived in an old colonial house with rough beam rafters and rickety old stairs. My Mom grew up in this house. My grandfather was notorious for tell tall tales and his favorite was about Mr. Barker. He was the man who owned the house before them. He had died at his kitchen table. He always said that his ghost haunted the house. I never knew if I should believe him or not. I believed in ghosts but not necessarily the story.

When we were children, my mom and my aunt asked us (my cousins and myself) to get something out of the garage directly facing my grandparents home. As I looked up at the house I could clearly see a bookcase we kept board games in. When I looked up a second time all of the board games were moving in and out of the case. I was terrified. I pointed it out to the rest of the group and we ran home screaming. I did not think too much of it later. I chalked it up to an over-active imagination, the sun, and my grandfather's stories. This would change when I would live in the house.

My family and I moved in when I was in college. My grandparents were selling the house and we were going to temporarily live there. I came home from college and set myself up in the front room. I believe that this was the formal parlor when the original owners were there.

One weekend, my family was all on vacation. I had stayed behind to work and look after the houses. It was, of course, a dark and stormy night when this story happened. We lived out in the country; the nearest store being about 15-20 mins away.

I got home from work late that night, about 12:30 am. I went through the motions and nothing was out of the ordinary. I was watching tv in the living room- it was adjacent to the front room I slept in. I started to hear noises- scratching and some light banging. I figured this was the branches on the window and noises from the storm, so I turned the tv up. The noises got louder and this time they were not something I could write off. It was coming from either the second floor or the attic. It sounded like someone was walking around and picking boxes up and dropping them. I was so scared I was paralyzed. It was late and there was no where for me to go, so I sat in the chair and tried to concentrate on the tv. I tried to turn the volume up, but the noises just got louder as I did this. I decided I did not want to anger the "ghost" so I left the volume where it was and slept with a blanket over my head in the chair where I was. I don't know why I thought the blanket would protect me!

I obviously made it through the night okay. I told my mom when she got home what had happened. She told me a story i had never heard before: When she was a little girl things would go missing in the house and then they would find them right where they had been looking. This could be explained so they thought nothing of it, but she could not explain the noises she heard. She would be the only one on the second floor and would be able to hear someone picking up her mother's hand-held mirror and putting it back down, repeatedly. She would check and there would be no one there. This happened all the time. I was shocked that she had never shared this story with me. I believed in ghosts and might have given second thoughts to staying alone in the house.

Well, I did not have any other occurrences until the end of the summer before I went back to school. I was sleeping in my bed, which was cornered in by two windows. I woke up because I felt like someone was there with me. When I opened my eyes, I saw the translucent figure of a short man standing in my bed - right where my legs were! I was so scared- I was once again paralyzed. I closed my eyes hoping he would go away or I would realize I was hallucinating. I opened my eyes again and he was still there. The closer I looked the more comfortable I was. He was just a sad old man looking like he was watching or waiting for someone. He was wearing a white shirt and brown pants and he never once looked at me. I distinctly remember
feeling very sad for him and hoped he someday found what he was looking for.

I never saw him again and I never told my grandfather. I don't know if he really believed his story or if he would belive mine. The house was sold not long after that and I always wonder if the new owner has seen or heard from Mr. Barker.

~ Katie K.

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Jenny