I was eight years old when we moved to Colts Neck, New Jersey in 1976. My parents had the house built on about an acre and a half of property. The homes in the area were pretty new although the town itself dated back to the seventeen hundreds. My family is large so we were all excited to move into the six bedroom colonial. My two brothers were the oldest and my parents gave them the two downstairs bedrooms that jutted off the wing of the garage.
For the first year, things were normal until the day my brother Mike began complaining of noises outside his bedroom window. At first, he said it sounded like bushes rustling in the wind and scraping against the siding and glass panes. My mom was skeptical since there were no bushes or shrubs planted in the back of the house.
As months went by, the noises continued and increased to a soft thud and then a sliding sound, like a person bailing hay against a barn wall. He didn't seem to mind the noises all that much but when his closet doors would open by themselves it really freaked him out and he tried to tell our parents that he thought something was in the house but of course, they were cynical, since no one else had experienced anything. My tough seventeen year old brother began sleeping with the lights and his t.v. on.
Before long, things started to disappear and reappear in very odd places. Car keys would disappear from the table and turn up in the kitchen cabinets. My brother's watch vanished for two weeks before ending up in the garage under a box of christmas decorations. Even my grandmother's false teeth went missing never to return. (They weren't in her mouth!)
When my oldest brother Rene left for college, I would stay in his room sometimes. He had a great t.v. and an even better stereo system. The room was cold very often and when I slept there, I would have the most vivid dreams, not scary but incredibly real. On several occasions, I would wake up freezing to find the blankets piled on the floor at the foot of the bed. Despite that, I really enjoyed that room until my brother's girlfriend came to stay one weekend.
We were eating breakfast when she asked my dad if he came into the bedroom the previous night. My dad said he hadn't. My brother Rene grew very quiet when I think back to it. She went on to explain an eerie story. She said she woke when she heard her name being called. It was a man's voice and when she answered there was no response. Attributing it to a dream, she drifted back to sleep only to be called again. This time she saw the figure of a man standing over her. She said he was tall and thin and on further groggy observation, noticed he had sharp features and was wearing a floppy brimmed hat and a frockish type coat. She could not see his eyes but he was illuminated by a faint bluish aura. He stood for a moment and then made his way to the foot of the bed and out the wall. Thinking it was a dream, she went back to sleep.
By this time my brother was pretty pale at listening to her story. Rene is a pure cynic, black or white only, no gray area need apply. He hesitantly told of an identical experience that had happened to him a few weeks before leaving for Glassboro State. He never mentioned it for fear we all would think he was crazy. His girl was pretty mad that he hadn't told her and let her sleep in the room. Night lights became a staple in that back bedroom from then on.
Not long after, my mom was in the kitchen. She turned to put something on the counter when she saw the figure of a little girl dressed in period clothing, bonnet and all staring out our picture window. As soon as she saw her she vanished. Like I said, Colts Neck is old. Phalanx Rd was a main thorofare for the original settlers. Archeologists would do digs in the surrounding areas and find old glass medicine bottles, farming yokes and remains of old homes that used to be. Back in the woods by the reservoir there is a grave monument. I was young and can't remember the name or the inscription but it was very old and very out of place back there in the undeveloped woods.
Was it the spirit of a farmer that used to live and farm on the land our house was built on? Was that his daughter? Did they die in the rumored fire at Phalanx and don't know they've gone? I guess we'll never know. We moved out in 1984 and settled into a very unhaunted house in Whippany.
I wonder if the people that took our place have had any experiences and if my mom who passed in that house in 1983 has left her impression there. It certainly opened my eyes to the mysteries that our human form cannot not fathom or solve.