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My Parents' Second House

 

I recently submitted a story about an unseen presence which made me uneasy in my parents' first home. In a very slow version of what is now called "property flipping," my parents improved that house to make it more valuable, so they could sell it and move into a nicer house a couple of miles away in Humberstone, Leicester. The area had been a village, but it had long since been consumed by the urban sprawl of Leicester City. When we moved there, over thirty years ago, the metamorphosis into a suburb had been completed, but the village streets were still distinguishable from several decades of new construction. I'm fond of the village portion of Humberstone because we temporarily lived in a caravan situated on a dairy farm which had been part of the rural history of the area (much of Elm Farm is now the parking lot for a Tesco's supermarket). We stayed in this trailer while the house's upstairs bathroom was updated with new fixtures and the ground floor of the house was gutted and re-arranged by the reliable builder who'd modified our first home: a scruffy, amiable man named Potter. (When he'd renovated our first home, I'd been about two or three years old, and I'd muddled up a few words resulting in the nickname "Mister Pottermus," which he'd found hilarious. He remembered us from the first house, including our names and his nickname!)

Our new house was a semi-detached one, meaning there was a substantial wall shared with another home, which was built in a mirror-image to ours, but that the two homes formed a single structure. When we bought the house, I think that the previous owner probably had died (as an adult, I've been to enough estate sales to recognize the look). My parents never mentioned this, but the amount of stuff that was left behind in the smallest bedroom looked more like the hoarded odds and ends of a lifetime than a few items abandoned by relatives. I got the larger of the two children's bedrooms, and my brother got the small bedroom, which was tucked under the eaves, on the understanding that both of us would play with our toys and games in my bedroom. After living in a 16-foot caravan with my family and two dogs, surrounded by a cow pasture and a cow byre for about a year, I was thrilled to have some space, so I agreed to this arrangement, and was rewarded with a foosball table: one of the few sport-based games which gives me a fair shot at beating my athletic little brother.

Now, my brother's tiny room was the first door on the right at the top of the stairs, my door was directly across from the top of the staircase, my parents' door was to the left of my door, and at the end of the very short landing was the bathroom door. My brother's room was not only small in terms of floor space, but it also because half of the room was under the steeply-pitched roof. His bed was against the wall, but if he'd stood up on his bed, he'd have given himself a concussion on the ceiling. Because this room was a peculiar shape, and because my brother spent much of his time outside or in my room, my parents used the small space between the foot of his bed and the window for storage of unwieldy odds and ends: primarily plastic sheeting.

These plastic sheets were folded over and stored there because after all of the renovations to create the longer living room and the combined kitchen/dining room, my parents had a couple of unrelated expenditures and had no money to buy energy-efficient windows. Dad used clear, heavy sheets of plastic to seal off the windows in the winter, which was quite an effective deterrent to drafts, but these sheets of plastic spent several months folded up in a stack at the end of my brother's bed.

We'd lived in this house for a year when my boy scout troop went on a week-long spring camping trip which was a hell of a lot of fun, despite the weather. I think it didn't rain on three of the seven days, but the weather report consistently mentioned unseasonably cold conditions, fog, drizzle, rain, and one night of high winds which collapsed the assistant troop leader's tent into a waterproof sleeping bag. When I returned home, looking forward to a hot bath and a good night's rest in my own bed, I had an unpleasant surprise; my aunt had been staying with my family while I was away, but she wasn't leaving for another day or two. She had discovered that my uncle was having an affair, and --in the distraught logic of a heartbroken woman-- had accepted her soon-to-be ex-husband's sister's offer of a place to stay for a week, because it wouldn't occur to my uncle to look for her in my bedroom (I can't fault that line of reasoning; can you?). My parents "asked" me to share my younger brother's tiny room while my aunt slept in my room for one more night. My aunt has always been kind, humorous, and thoughtful, but her independent spirit had been devastated by this betrayal; she'd needed to spend several days secluded in my bedroom, weeping and gathering strength of resolve to face the situation. I tried very, very hard not to be upset by not sleeping in my own bed for the eighth night in a row as it was quite clear that much more important issues than my mattress were at stake.

When we were sent to bed, we'd turned out the light, but my brother and I were still chatting about what had happened while I'd been away when we heard the sudden "crump" of plastic sheeting being compressed firmly and slowly. We interrupted each other with the usual, "Shhh!" "Did you hear that?" "Shut up! Listen!" nonsense of loud kids getting each other to be quiet, while there were two more "crump" noises, about three seconds apart. My brother whispered that he wanted me to turn on the light. I didn't want to move, but I was lying between where he was in the bed and where the light switch was on the wall beside the door; any movement would have meant getting closer to the source of the noise for a few seconds, so I would not budge. While we told each other what to do, there were four more "crump" noises, but they were only two seconds apart. While we were getting upset with each other, the noises were getting louder and faster too. While the noises didn't get physically closer to us, they were getting faster, as though someone were standing on the plastic sheets, then stepping up and down, increasing speed, and running in place in the dark --all in a place where children could not stand upright because the sloped ceiling was in the way. We freaked out, shouting Sunday-school prayers and screaming for our parents.

As my parents opened the door and turned on the lights to discover what the problem was, my brother claimed he heard a screaming sound move from the foot of his bed, over him, through the wall, and down the staircase. I did not hear this sound, but he was quite clear that it wasn't the racket I was still making, nor was it his own screaming because he was huddled up on his pillow, as far from the foot of the bed as he could get.

I do not know what the source of these footsteps was: the deceased former owner; projected psychokinetic energy from my distressed aunt; some sort of poltergeist manifestation of my own discontent over being turfed out of my bedroom; or some other phenomenon I cannot imagine. We did not have a rodent problem (our dogs would have noticed that), the dogs had the run of the downstairs rooms but were trained not to go into bedrooms, the breeze does not create footfall sounds of increasing tempo, people do not break into children's bedrooms to begin their nocturnal exercise routines while doubled-over under the sloped ceilings, and no natural phenomenon I can think of would account for a noise moving toward my brother in order to depart via a brick wall then descend the staircase. Besides, I've got better hearing than my brother, yet he heard it leave and I did not. My uncle's affair was with a woman who was alleged to practice witchcraft, but I never learned if she was a harmless Wiccan who celebrated nature or if she was a malign enchantress who'd signed a pact with Satan to gain occult powers.

If my memory serves me well, the incident I've described lasted a couple of minutes at most, but calming down and refusing to let our parents switch off the light lasted much, much longer. I have no idea why it happened; I had slept next to an allegedly-haunted forest for a week (I think this was more to stop scouts from leaving in the night than anything else) with no effects, but was terrified to the point of gibbering lunacy by an insidious stomping on sheets of heavy plastic while staying in my brother's room for one night.

I do enjoy the analytical discussions here on YGS, so I welcome any questions, observations, or guesses.

Thanks, everyone.

-Biblio.

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The following comments are submitted by users of this site and are not official positions by yourghoststories.com. Please read our guidelines and the previous posts before posting. The author, Bibliothecarius, has the following expectation about your feedback: I will read the comments and participate in the discussion.

Bibliothecarius (6 stories) (748 posts)
 
3 months ago (2017-10-14)
Thanks, Jubeele, that's very kind of you.

To say I "triumphed over the struggles" is probably a stretch, though. I think "self-aware to prevent falling into the same traps most of the time" is more accurate. 👀 Of course, that's the first step to paranoia; I'm under the impression I'm watching me *all the time.* 👀

-Best,
Biblio.
👀
Jubeele (9 stories) (467 posts)
 
3 months ago (2017-10-14)
Hi Biblio

Thanks for inviting me to read this story. It's an interesting account. Now I realise why you mentioned the Buddha statue at your parents' second house.

My mother can get quite indignant whenever she sees the statue of Buddha used frivolously as some kind of doorstop or floor ornament. She once entered a home decorating store, marched right up to the sales counter and lectured the bemused shop assistant on showing R-e-s-p-e-c-t. Then she wouldn't leave the place until they moved the statue to a more dignified spot above waist-level (for someone only 4'10", she can be a real force of nature). I think my mother would also say to you that as the windowsill was above floor level and no offense was meant, it was a good spot for Buddha to watch over you.

I'm very sorry to read about your family troubles, the difficulties with your mother and how it impacted on you as a boy. With all that emotional upheaval taking place in your family at the time, it seems likely that some kind of "critical mass" of negative energy was reached that night and manifested itself to you and your brother.

Maybe Buddha did impart some measure of blessing onto you. After all, you've triumphed over the struggles of your youth and now, despite your many responsibilities and work demands, you still have the compassion to try and help so many others. Perhaps it can be said that you have found the "Buddha" within you and gained an inner state of grace.

Now confession-time: I've enjoyed the crisp, easy flow of your prose so much that I've gone on to read all your other accounts. I especially love the fascinating, lengthy dissertations in the Comments section. Wow. There's always something new to learn. Thank you Biblio!
valkricry (39 stories) (2785 posts) mod
+2
1 year ago (2016-09-11)
Biblio,
Sorry for the delay, I just saw your response.
I think you know that for a long time I have held the position that our paranormal activity (ies) are linked to our emotional status to a large degree. In your particular household there was a lot of emotions at play; 2 boys with growing pains, your mom's mood-swings, plus the effects of this on your dad (I'm thinking also negative) and you've quite a battery going. Add in another negative vibe and it's bound to boil over. "The emotional mayhem was generated by my family...' is spot on to my way of thinking. Emotion is one of the strongest natural forms of energy there is, and it can manifest into poltergeist- type activity, at least that's the theory.
Bibliothecarius (6 stories) (748 posts)
 
1 year ago (2016-09-05)
Hi, Val.

There is some evidence to support your idea; as I mentioned in my response to Randy, "nothing anywhere near that energetic or memorable" happened in that house before or after this event. Perhaps two unhappy people in adjacent rooms (with the added bonus of my mother's pendulum-like mood swings) was too much for a previous owner to handle. Oddly enough, my aunt was the only one who didn't come to see what was happening, and I'm pretty sure that my brother and I made a hell of a lot of noise!

There were plenty of other occasions of emotional turmoil: my uncle moved onto our sofa for two, maybe three, weeks during the actual divorce proceedings; my parents had fights of unprecedented proportions; I began to develop my skeptical identity, separate from my parents' unquestioning traditionalism, which led to arguments; one of my dogs died in unpleasant circumstances; etc. Despite the events listed in this paragraph, I have quite fond memories of the house as our home. I can't recall any other occasion on which it seemed supernaturally active to that extent; usually it was the classic misplaced item and "I could've sworn I checked that shelf 5 minutes ago" routine.

It was a well-lit, airy, and welcoming house, for the most part, with a larger-than-average back garden for a residential neighborhood in the British midlands. There was a small patio off of the dining room, a one-car garage, a normal-sized lawn, rose beds, a vegetable plot, blueberry bushes and an apple tree, a fish pond, and an embankment my dad built at the end to grow perennials; none of this felt crowded. (The front garden was a rockery and beds of small, colorful stones.) It wasn't a palatial showpiece, like "stately Wayne Manor" from the old Batman TV show, but it was nice.

To my recollection, my problems with that house are more closely associated the emotional strife with my family (mum in particular). We've alluded to some of this before on other narratives, Val, so I'm going to presume you know where some of this is headed. I think that the suddenness of the spiritual/otherworldly outbreak was shocking in the extreme: my brother's room was one of those places that felt "cozy" or "snug." The emotional mayhem was generated by my family, I think, not vice-versa.

Thanks, Val, for giving me pause to rethink some of these events and put them into a broader perspective.

Best,
Biblio.
valkricry (39 stories) (2785 posts) mod
+2
1 year ago (2016-09-05)
Biblio,
In my opinion it's totally possible that 'whatever' was reacting to the negativity brought in by your Aunt, and perhaps to your own unhappiness of being ousted from your room.
Spirits/ghosts were people at one time, and it could be that this was an act of frustration, of not knowing what to do to make things better. Or - and this just occurred to me- perhaps the intent was to send you running to your Aunt (or her to you). Solitude in times of great duress is not always the best thing, especially when it carries past a few days of 'sorting things out'. A person can become too focused on themselves and the problem causing more damage than good. Perhaps this was an attempt to force her to look beyond herself. I know that if I heard a child shriek, I'd get to them ASAP, no matter my own inner turmoil. I'd forget the whole 'poor me' and be concentrated on the 'poor you'. I hope that makes some sense.
Bibliothecarius (6 stories) (748 posts)
 
1 year ago (2016-09-04)
Thanks, Minxie; that's very kind of you.

When I was a kid, my parents moved homes quite a bit, plus we'd travel a fair amount, too. I filled in the boring bits of trips with reading, and I found that having familiar novels & autobiographies around was a stabilizing factor in the chaos of moving from house to house, too. I appreciate your telling me you've enjoyed my writing style, because the authors I've enjoyed since childhood all have a friendly, chatty style that make it easy to picture what they're describing. I hope they have shaped the way I write: Jerome K. Jerome, Laurie Lee, David Attenborough, James Herriot, and James Thurber.

I do like to revisit the events of my childhood; the one I'm writing next, though, is one which took place in the U.S. I hope you like it as much as you did this one.

Best,
Biblio.
Minxiekitten (5 posts)
+1
1 year ago (2016-09-04)
I wish I had something useful to add to this discussion, but unfortunately I have to say is that I thoroughly enjoyed the way you related this tale! You have quite the way with words, Biblio! I could very easily imagine the youngster terror instigated by the event that occurred. It's also great to hear stories from the UK, as I find they are even easier to picture. Thank you for sharing!
Bibliothecarius (6 stories) (748 posts)
+1
1 year ago (2016-08-25)
Red, a quick science-related addendum:

Just revisiting your post and thinking about the facts. You stated, "...if the air is dry..." You've not been to Britain, have you?

While seldom humid (and the American stereotype of near-constant downpours is reductionist in the extreme), there's a moist quality to the breeze because of the proximity to the sea which surrounds the isles. It doesn't get terribly cold in winter, and Britain doesn't get anywhere near the American north-east's snowfall, it's a damp cold that settles into your bones most of the winter, and there is quite a lot a rain in the spring & late autumn, too. That year, as I mention in the story, it was unseasonably cold and damp in mid-to-late spring, and my parents' house did not have central heating (brrrr!).

Thanks again,
Biblio.
Tweed (23 stories) (2070 posts)
+1
1 year ago (2016-08-24)
hahha Biblio, I've got a printed copy of that pamphlet and found their name highly amusing too!

I don't know what to say, I'm chuffed you've done all this reading. I've had a right chuckle at your take on the online info!

According to my parents I had a bad reaction to antihistamines as a child, so I've never gone down that road. At that time antihistamines were administered for an insect bite.
My issue is with UVA. The symptoms feel like motion sickness, with the added bonus of what resemble severe hickies on the neck. So all up it's like an all night of partying, not a good look in every day society. All symptoms leave as quickly as they come on, thank god.
Outdoors my best friend and saviour is a big black umbrella. I don't think that's included in the pamphlet, it really should be listed.

Using humour gets me through pretty much anything. I've lived with this for long enough to be used to it. I'm not into sport or any outdoor activity like that, so it's not hindered my lifestyle in a devastating way. That said, it still impacts my day to day in bizarre ways all of which seem to go against the grain of society. So thanks for recognising that. 😊
Bibliothecarius (6 stories) (748 posts)
+2
1 year ago (2016-08-24)
Tweed:

Hey, what are pseudonymous internet friends for?

I did read a link to about how to manage living with solar urticaria; it's a pamphlet printed by the British Association of Dermatologists. If "B.A.D." sounds like a ripoff Bond-Villain organization (their e-mails ARE directed to the host "bad.org.uk"!) you should click the link just to see their logo: www.bad.org.uk/shared/get-file.ashx?id=129&itemtype=document) but I presumed your doctor would already have told you about this, as they are a registered charity.

Their real-world location is much less sinister:
British Association of Dermatologists
4 Fitzroy Square, London W1T 5HQ
Tel: 020 7383 0266 Fax: 020 7388 5263
e-mail: admin [at] bad.org.uk
Registered Charity No. 258474

While everything I'd read last night listed your condition as either "rare," "very rare," or "really rare," there have been cases which have cleared up spontaneously, which strikes me as even weirder than developing the condition in the first place: "Whoops! Sorry about the painful, debilitating skin condition! We really had no idea that was our fault; this is really most embarrassing! Err, I think we should be leaving now. We do apologize..." Basically, your body reacts to specific bands of light (though NOT the same wavelengths for everyone) as though the visible light, UVa, and UVb span of the electromagnetic spectrum included a hidden bunch of stinging nettles, resulting in your getting painful weals. Medscape states that the condition was "Initially described by Merklen in 1904" (emedicine.medscape.com/article/1050485-overview), so doctors have known about it for 112 years, now.

The most useful line in the bad.org.uk pamphlet was: "Once solar urticaria develops it can be treated with antihistamine tablets which block the effects of histamine release. Antihistamines can reduce the symptoms and appearance of the weals of urticaria and can be an extremely effective treatment for some patients." However, there is a whole list of useful tips and suggestions, depending upon the severity of your reaction. I know that "severity of your reaction" is a bit like asking how severe someone's amputation was (it was severe to begin with!) as most of human existence revolves around a dependence on daylight, tv & computer screens, neon signs, digital readouts, lightbulbs, cell phone/tablet screens...

Perhaps your husband could purchase one or two of the D.I.Y. Car window-tint sets, and try it on a small window in your home to see if you can be near that window without a reaction. If you react, then your trigger is *probably* somewhere around the green-through-ultraviolet end of the spectrum, or in the UVa & UVb wavelengths.

Just trying to help.
Best, as always,
Biblio.
Bibliothecarius (6 stories) (748 posts)
+1
1 year ago (2016-08-24)
Hey, Red!

Thanks for telling me! Electricity is one of those subjects I never quite grasped to my own satisfaction; I'm particularly ignorant of current flow, resistance, ohms, Fleming's left-hand rule, etc.

Total sidebar: I did get into a fun disagreement with our physics teacher about a decade ago, when he was showing me something about energy efficiency he wrote down "i," so I asked him what that meant. He told me it was "√-1." I said that you can't have the square root of a negative number. He said it made the equations work. I told him that in literature, we call that "deus ex machina," or --more succinctly-- "bulls#!t." He couldn't stop laughing. 😉

I'm glad that the limited scope of my understanding of electrical flow was accurate, in that the thick plastic wouldn't be generating an electrical current of its own accord simply by being folded into a rectangle and placed upon 4 or 5 similarly folded sheets.

I didn't mean to put you (or anyone else) through an emotional wringer on this story, but it was probably the most traumatic confluence of events that occurred to me around that time. I'd never before considered what we looked like to my parents when they arrived; that must have been pretty traumatic for them, too.

Thanks again, Red, and give my best to the Dead Dads; I'm sure that the approach of Halloween will give your father-in-law a reason to play a prank or two. 😊

Best,
Biblio.
Bibliothecarius (6 stories) (748 posts)
+2
1 year ago (2016-08-24)
Hi BeagleMom,
I am very glad you enjoyed reading it. I have three stories up on YGS, now; I've been adding them primarily to increase the store of information on this site rather than seeking to resolve the situations. However, last time I posted one, the discussion gave me a whole new perspective on the experience which proved cathartic. As the events in this story occurred over 3 decades ago, I just wanted to share them. Having put you through an entire spectrum of emotions while reading it, I can tell you that reading your post put a smile on my face *before* I drank my first cup of tea; that is "high strangeness" indeed!
Best,
Biblio.
Tweed (23 stories) (2070 posts)
+1
1 year ago (2016-08-24)
Biblio,

Wondered if the stomping you guys heard was an attempt to flatten the piled plastic sheets down for storage or space saving reasons. Why that would be so important to a ghost is beyond me. Ha! Maybe they thought it was BUBBLE WRAP! 😆 I used to stomp on that when I was a kid.

Massive thanks for that research link too. I'd not heard of these findings before. Seriously big thanks, it means a lot!
RedWolf (28 stories) (1258 posts)
+1
1 year ago (2016-08-24)
Hi Biblio

Very interesting story as usual. I pictured you and your brother hudled screaming for your parents with tears from fright running down your cheeks. I felt so sorry for you two.

To answer your question about plastic sheeting. No amount of friction would cause static electricity the way you describe.

A rug yes if the air is dry and the temperature not too hot nor cold, but I would rather rub a balloon on a toddlers head and hear them giggle as they feel their hair stand on end.

Regards
Red
BeagleMom (3 stories) (78 posts)
+2
1 year ago (2016-08-23)
Kind Sir,
I enjoyed your account of the night in your brother's room far too much! I was intrigued, worried, scared and so amused by your plight, that I am still chuckling! I am so new to this site I would be loath to venture an explanation of your experience, except to chalk it up to a case of rather high strangeness!
With that I will say goodnight and thank you for your chronicle!
Mother of Beagles
Bibliothecarius (6 stories) (748 posts)
+2
1 year ago (2016-08-23)
ATTN, Tweed:
The National Center for Biotechnology Information at the U.S. National Library of Medicine (8600 Rockville Pike, Bethesda, MD, 20894) has an article written by British researchers (members of the British Association of Dermatologists). You may read the highly-technical abstract here: www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/22428864. Basically, they've been working on a sustainable cure for solar urticaria, and they published their very promising results in 2012. Make sure *your* dermatologist is aware of this research and/or any further studies. (I suppose you could practice a "Bela Lugosi" accent instead, but this route seems more optimistic.)
Good Luck!
Biblio.
Bibliothecarius (6 stories) (748 posts)
+1
1 year ago (2016-08-23)
Thanks, Alli!

At the time, it was terrifying, but -even as I was writing it- I could see the ludicrous nature of the situation. I'm an English teacher: if I couldn't take a joke at my expense, I'd be useless at my job. Laughing is a very healthy way to deal with situations in retrospect; it prevents them from turning into damaging emotional baggage.

Best,
Biblio.
Bibliothecarius (6 stories) (748 posts)
+3
1 year ago (2016-08-23)
Hi, Tweed!

My uncle had his midlife-crisis affair early (I think he'd have been 35-38) because he'd already achieved his career goals, promotions & responsibilities, etc. I think he just looked at his life and panicked. [He's since remarried to a decent woman, but I don't know her very well at all, and he has taken a generous early retirement.] The notion of the other woman being a witch of some sort was information I overheard my mother repeating that she'd gotten from my aunt. While it was nowhere near the severity of the medieval witch hunts, there was a time in the mid-1980s when "black magic," "satanic rituals," "back-masked messages in music," etc., showed up in the Leicestershire headlines once a fortnight. It was probably college kids who'd been drinking, but it was a go-to headline grabber on slow news days for the Leicester Mercury. It wasn't frenzied hysteria, but there was a definite undercurrent of paranoia about the whole thing: "Mysterious Bonfire and Sinister Chant" would be described with speculation and innuendo of evil bacchanalia -- then in paragraph 8 it would turn out to be Romany/Gypsies who were having a sing-along around a campfire before moving on.

I'd mostly dismissed the scout camp story as "just a legend" to scare us into being manageable. It had all the hallmarks of a British-style campfire tale: allegedly there was a lord who wanted a woman of lower status as his lover, she refused & ran off into the woods, he pursued her on horseback, there was a horrific scream and neither of them was seen again (I can't remember if anyone saw the horse again or not). It just sounded like a campfire story to me, but --at the age of 10-- I wasn't going to go wandering off in the woods at night to prove myself wrong, thank you very much. (Only the drunk and the stupid go wandering off in British woodlands at night: there are still wild boar roaming around and nothing in the nocturnal fauna of the British isles beats a badger for foul-tempered violence except Chelsea supporters and Glaswegians 😉).

As for the plastic, while there are similarities to Zephyrin's account, this stuff was *very* thick sheeting, more like the clear plastic that separates a butcher shop's cold storage from the rest of the store (sorry, it's the only parallel I could think of; great-grandpa was a butcher, and as kids, we got special privileges from the nice man who purchased the shop when great-grandpa had retired). I don't know if the thickness of translucent plastic would have an effect on the static charge buildup, such as grounding out the charge before it could generate a spark. (I'm wondering if the inverse-square rule applies in the movement of electrical current through resistant material? Help! I need a scientist over here!)

Thanks for thinking this one through, Tweed, I'm now turning it over in my head, too, but it's my turn to make dinner, so I'll look forward to any additional ideas you have.

Best,
Biblio.
😊
Allicatt (5 stories) (68 posts)
+1
1 year ago (2016-08-23)
Hello, I don't even know where to start... There are so many possibilities that could have caused the mysterious plastic noise though it seems that You and Tweed covered the majority of them. Your description of this situation is wonderful, though I must admit the two of your reactions gave me a bit of a laugh, hopefully that isn't rude. I can mentally picture the small argument of panic playing out. Ah to be a fly on that bedroom wall. Thank you for sharing this with us.

Alli 😊
Bibliothecarius (6 stories) (748 posts)
 
1 year ago (2016-08-23)
Hi, Randy:

Thanks for the compliment, and yes, "Biblio" is fine!

We did have a couple of "oh, that's odd" moments in that house, but nothing anywhere near that energetic or memorable. My brother continued to sleep in that room for the duration of our living there (something like 4 years, in total). In fact, when he wanted to play with toys in my room but I wanted to read, I'd spend time sitting on his bed as the smaller room usually felt quite cozy and safe. Dad put up a shelf in one of the awkward sloped-ceiling areas on which we kept a collection of "Disney Encyclopedias" and "Disney's World of Knowledge" collections, so if I wanted to just sit and learn something new, that's what I'd do (I know, it sounds weird for a kid to do that, but facts and knowledge were how I got approval from my parents/teachers/friends, so I was always learning new things).

Hmm... Perhaps we reacted as strongly as we did because this was a very nice room and the scare-factor was inversely proportional to our general happiness in that room. Interesting thought.

Best,
Biblio.
Tweed (23 stories) (2070 posts)
+1
1 year ago (2016-08-23)
Biblio, far out. Thanks for sharing another thought provoking account.

You've probably already thought of this over the years, but claims of the mistress being involved in any kind of 'minority' belief *could* be the words of a man caught with his pants down. You know, a supernatural version of deflecting blame.

Haven't submitted anything about this yet but my journal is full of unexplained plastic noises. I have a condition called 'solar urticaria' which is a fancy way of saying 'UV allergy'. Currently saving for some fancy velvet drapes (what a total goth). In the meantime our lounge window has black bin bags pegged to the cheapskate thin curtains. The bags block the light way better than the current curtains alone.
Anyway, maybe once or twice a month we'll hear the plastic bags being interacted with. Sometimes it's subtle noises, other times obvious noises, as if whoever's responsible doesn't care if we hear them. It's been going on for a couple of years, longer than I've been keeping a journal.

You may remember this experience from a few months back:
Http://www.yourghoststories.com/real-ghost-story.php?story=23449
Person describes hearing a plastic like noise where there were no plastic bags. However in your case there was plastic present.

As yours grew in intensity, maybe whoever interacted with your plastic sheeting was attempting to create a static charge from it. Perhaps static electricity is useful to ghosts, I don't know.

Also have the same question as RandyM, had your brother ever felt something in his room previous to this? I wondered if he heard the scream because he was more in tune with this entity, just by proximity, maybe it frequented his room.

The timing of this occurrence is very intriguing, whether it was connected to your aunt's situation. Who knows, maybe something followed you back from camp.
RANDYM (2 stories) (266 posts)
+2
1 year ago (2016-08-23)
Hello Biblio,
Hope you don't mind me calling you that for short. LOL

Really enjoyed reading your story.
While I can offer no explanation other than residual energy I can
Only imagine your terror as you described it so well.
I felt as though I was there. Did you have any other "events" in
That house or around that same time and place?
Did your poor brother who had that room all the time ever tell you of any other events happening in there? Was he even willing to stay in there after that night?

Please share more and have a great day and better tomorrow
Randy

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