Thank you all for the generous and kind responses on the first of my events with this deep frightening voice. I now shall tell of the second time I heard, sensed or felt that same voice.
After the tremendous fear from first hearing the unearthly, deep, thunderous voice, I found I could not speak of it, not even to my Dad. Little did I know, I was to hear it again, only about six months later.
The winters in the hills, at times were unbearable, the old wood stove (yes we had two stoves) made our large farm kitchen cozy. Our boots and shoes placed under it, a rack screwed onto the wall behind it drying gloves, and socks. However, if you travel down the hallway a few steps the temperature dropped quickly, the furnace unable to cope with the New England frigid winds. How fortunate I was to have the closeness of our farm dog Shadow sharing my sleeping quarters, my dog by night, my Dad's dog by day.
On this particular night, she lay in a deep sleep, off duty, and I also, doing the same beside her. The time was after midnight, my Dad also asleep across the hall and around the corner.
I jolted up to a sitting position, eyes watering, oh not again. The same loud sound in my brain, "FIRE-GIRL-FIRE" not again... Oh please not... Instantly leaning my head out my bedroom door and down the hallway to where our wood stove had been overfilled with firewood, hardwood gathered by my Dad, off the land on an earlier fall day.
A glow of red coal around the stove pipe, small yellow/orange flame catching fire to our kitchen paneling. Dad, Dad, wake up-get up. Once the over worked man was finally awake he moved with unnatural speed, getting pans from the cupboard and I trying to help, he barking out, throwing me instructions. The man worked with urgency, the vital cold water spilling oddly on the wood floor under the stove.
In truth, the immediate danger was passed quickly, the additional fire contained within the chimney. Taking the last filled pan, he took the stairs two at a time, and as a precaution wetting the hardwood floors by the chimney, the unfinished rooms empty, around him. That done he raced down from top to the bottom myself following closely, opening the metal door at the base of the hot bricks, small chunks of glowing creosote that had created inside the pipe over time. Floating down.
Later,sitting at the kitchen table we both calmed down over a cup of tea before returning to bed. "what made you wake up, how did you know?" Shrugging my shoulders and looking down, I replied, "I don't know I just did" knowing that I could not speak of this fearful communication I had developed with this unusual lifesaver.