Old Mobile Home

I got married 5 months ago, May 2011. Right before the wedding, my fiancé and I had a sudden change of residence. We had been planning on moving after the wedding and everything had settled, but there was an immediate change in circumstances involving family and we ended up packing everything into my cranky old Dodge Intrepid in one night.

This story varies so much from my other experiences that I hope the people who have read my stories still believe me. I was born and raised in the country in a very old fashioned way, and when I left my parents' home, I was thrust into a new world. Springfield seemed very big to me, very noisy, rude, and stinky. I was extremely homesick. I missed the sights and sounds of the country. My fiancé, realizing this, had agreed to fix up an old mobile home on some property owned by our friends in Avilla. Avilla is a village, not even big enough to qualify for a town. It is a lot of pasture, forest, creeks, and farms my kind of place. There is a post office and a bar on the main road, Highway 96, and that's it. There are a lot of Mennonite families in the area, because of its seclusion and pastoral qualities.

The home I moved into had previously been occupied by some very dirty people apparently. It was nothing short of disgusting when we moved there. I scrubbed carpet for hours on end, spot treating, shampooing, and repeating. I painted the entire house a total of 3 times! I liked it, though, because it was mine, and I had free reign to decorate how I wanted, paint it how I wanted, and I didn't have to answer to a landlord. I was staying at my friend's house there in Avilla on their beautiful ranch while I made our mobile home habitable. I would get up every day, put my cleaning supplies in the car, and work until dark at my place. There was a big living room lined with arched windows when you walked in. The kitchen was on the other side, an adjacent hallway led to the middle bathroom (there was a bedroom directly across from that), the back two bedrooms, and the other bathroom that joined the master bedroom. The bathrooms had to almost be completely redone because they were so gross. There were even strands of black hair in the middle bathroom tub.

One night, after working a long day there, I returned to my friend's house, showered thoroughly, and went to bed. I dreamt that night (SO VIVIDLY) that I had gotten up as I had every day for two weeks, put my supplies in my car, and driven over to the house. I unlocked it, went inside, and started to scrub the middle bathroom floor. I finished that, and was moving on to scrub the bathtub. I pulled open the shower curtain, and there was a corpse of a half- naked man with his head severed, on his lap lying inside. The head was wrapped in plastic wrap, as was the top half of the torso down to the elbows. There was a lot of blood, and the smell was terrible. There were also flies. I could not scream (I can't scream in real life when I'm really scared), I just backed away, stumbled out of the house nauseated, and tried to call the police. I woke up in a panic.

The next day, I was very nervous going over there. I cleaned the bathroom as fast as I possibly could and I showered there only once after we moved in because I was so scared to be in there. That bathroom remained unused most of the time unless we had someone over. After we finally got the place cleaned and painted and up to standard, we moved in. After several weeks, the feeling faded.

Our wedding was coming up, and my excitement and happiness overshadowed any bad feelings I had. When we returned from our honeymoon, life was peaceful. I had found a job at the hardware store in the next town; I was working on my music. My husband kept his job in Springfield, and we were living like a happily married young couple. It continued this way for a while.

One evening I had come home from work and gotten in the shower in the master bathroom. It is all the way in the back of the house. We have two dogs, a little schnauzer and a German Shepard. I was washing my hair when I heard the front door open, and the dogs went racing into the living room to greet my husband. I heard a male voice, and I called out "Hey babe, I'm in here!" but got no reply. I rinsed, got out and wrapped a towel around me. I walked down the hall, and much to my surprise, the front door was still locked and Wayne's truck wasn't in the driveway. I sincerely thought I imagined it all.

Then one evening just as Wayne and I were going to bed, we were lying there talking and he said, "You know the weirdest thing happened to me the other day. I was in the shower and I could've sworn I heard you come in the front door. I hollered at you and you didn't say anything, and when I got out, you weren't home from work yet." Now, my husband isn't much of a believer. He's one of those people who, even when there is no explanation, has an explanation... For everything. So I related my story to him and all he said was "Weird."

So some time passes. This summer was one of the hottest Missouri summers I can remember in a long time. There was no central heating and air in the trailer. We relied on two air conditioners, one in the bedroom window, and one in the living room window. But with no trees around our house, it wasn't enough. It was still hotter than Hades in there. I was off work one day, shut up in the bedroom with the dogs to stay cool. I was watching a movie; it was late afternoon when I heard a crash from the kitchen! I was so startled, I didn't think of it maybe being an intruder or anything, I just jumped off the bed and ran down the hall. There in my kitchen was my flower pot my dad had given me to take home. He had planted some hen and chicks, just for me, and I had them on a little bookshelf... Which was divided from the kitchen by the table. The pot was smashed into a million pieces, my plants were destroyed! I felt so angry. I couldn't explain it. And there were prints going through the dirt, all the way into the living room. So, the only way the pot could've ended up on my kitchen floor was if someone had physically picked it up off the bookshelf, walked all the way around the kitchen table, and thrown it down onto the floor... Then walked through the dirt.

So I swept it up and threw it all away, mopped the kitchen and vacuumed the living room. I was very irritated because I liked those cheerful little plants a lot. They were special to me. I locked myself in my room until Wayne came home. I told him, but he shrugged it off.

I play music almost every weekend from 8 to midnight or 9 to 1 AM. Those are a musician's hours. I would often get off my day job, change real quickly, and drive straight to my gigs and not see my husband until the next day or night. I had an all-nighter like this and came dragging home about 3 AM. I slept late, and didn't see Wayne until he came home at about 5 that night. He told me this story: He said he was in our computer room, which is directly opposite the middle bathroom. Our desk faced the door. He was sitting there on our computer, and he said he looked up at the door just in time to see a dark headed man lean around the open door and look at him, grinning. He leaned back around into the hallway and was gone. Wayne was stunned, and more than a little freaked out. His story scared me. He would never make something like this up, and he doesn't even like to talk about ghosts. It makes him uncomfortable.

Less than a week later, we were in bed about to go to sleep when an awful scratching noise roused us both wide awake. It sounded like it was coming from under the bed. It got worse and it was like there was a wildcat under there or something. Of course, I asked the stupid question "What is that?!" Wayne got the flashlight and looked outside under the house, thinking some animal had gotten under there and was scratching under our floor. Nothing, not even a possum. It couldn't have possibly been UNDER our bed, you see, because it's solid wood. It's an old waterbed frame. I can't even store anything under it.

A few nights after the scratching, I was almost asleep when I heard something I thought was the handle of my purse. My purse has metal rings on the handle and my dog is fond of lying on my purse. I was roused from sleep, and I reached down to push the dog off my purse and felt nothing. I rolled over and watched the doorknob turn, making the same noise I had just heard, and the door slowly swung open. As I explained before, it was HOT, and we shut and locked the door firmly every night to keep the cool air in. I even jiggled it to make sure it wouldn't come open. The door stood open, and I stared into the hallway for what seemed like an eternity. I couldn't see anything because it was pitch black, but I could feel someone staring back if that makes any sense. Then after a long time, the door closed and latched. I tried to wake my husband up, but he's a VERY sound sleeper, so I just huddled as close to him as I could and tried to go to sleep. I was very scared.

The night after that, we were sitting in the living room watching a movie, when I heard a crash, again from the kitchen. I walked in there, and my prized wine glass was broken into a million tiny shards against the pantry door! My mother gave me the pair as a Christmas present. They were beautiful, with black stems that faded into clear as it reached the cup. Again, I valued them very much. Many of my things were broken during our stay there, never Wayne's things. I felt as though something there really did not like me, and wanted to show me just how much.

In August, Wayne had the opportunity to open his own business in Springfield. He asked me to run the office and I agreed. We realized it would cost too much for both of us to make the trip back and forth every day, so we decided it was best to move out. We moved out without incident, leaving only a few things to pick up later. One of those things was our vacuum.

One afternoon, I came back to get the vacuum, and I did a walk through to make sure that was all, leaving the vacuum by the front door. As I went into the kitchen, I heard an awful loud buzzing noise, and smelled this terrible smell. It sounded like a thousand flies buzzing around. If you've ever come upon a dead animal, you know the sound and smell. I thought "My God, where is that coming from?" I looked out the back door and didn't see anything; I opened the refrigerator thinking we had accidentally left something in there, nothing. I followed the sound down the hallway, and I could hear the buzzing on the other side of the middle bathroom door. My heart was beating hard, and I grabbed the knob and pushed the door open. As soon as the door opened, the sound (which believe me was LOUD), stopped like someone pushed a button. There was nothing in there, nothing out of place, nothing creepy. Just a weird rotten smell. I shut the door behind me and got TWO steps away, and the door busted open behind me as if someone kicked it with all their strength. I RAN! I ran out the door, just barely grabbing the vacuum, and didn't even bother to lock it up behind me. I've never peeled out of anywhere so fast. And I haven't been back since. I heard my friend's nephew, his girlfriend, and their baby moved in. All I can say is good luck.

Did something terrible happen in the middle bathroom and it's still there and angry?

Is it a demon?

I don't really know I've never had an experience quite like that in my life. I was told recently the people who lived there before us cooked meth there, and that a lot of bad people hung around. My mom is a spiritual person, who has done a lot of research on meth and addiction due to her brother committing suicide under the influence. She says wherever it's being made, there are terrible things released. I don't know that for a fact. All I know for sure is, whatever is there doesn't want to be bothered. -S.