In the seventies my parents decided to leave the rat race of the DC area and built a home in rural southern Pennsylvania. Generally, it was not a creepy place. But, over the years there, a few things happened that could not be explained, this is one such thing.
When I hit my teenage years, I started to think about my spirituality more than usual, as I assume a lot of people do at that age. My parents were not particularly religious but some older family members were. Since I was a child, I'd gone to church with them on occasion - both Catholic and Protestant services - but did not feel moved by them. I found some beliefs to be unbelievable and others just plain silly. I wanted to learn more about spiritual philosophies and so, began to read books on the subject. I thought this would help me to make an informed decision and enable me to give myself the appropriate label. Like I needed another label, right?
So, my room was the only one in the basement. It was cool in summer, warm in winter (due to the wood stove being down there) and afforded me my privacy for the most part, I liked it. I spent a lot of time there reading my books over the course of a few months. Buddhism, Hinduism, ancient religions now long gone, books on the afterlife, near death experiences, even the Satanic Bible, I read them all. While reading the last one, things got weird.
I was always hearing strange noises outside my room, clicks and bumps in the night. I could hear my beaded curtain being brushed aside when the lights were out. One night, after reading, I had just put the book down and turned off the light. My head barely hit the pillow before there was a loud POP, followed by another, then a gushing sound. I turned on the light to find my fish tank draining through a large hole in the glass, fish flopping helplessly in the puddle. I quickly ran and got something to put them in and the shop vac to clean up the mess. I examined the tank. Three cracks all the way across the front. They intersected in a way that formed a sort of triangle, the triangle of glass was missing. The next day, I cleaned up the mess more thoroughly, along with the rest of the room. I never found the missing triangle of glass.
That night, again, just after reading - another POP. I turn the light on and look around. Fish are good, in their temporary bowl but, as I scan the room I see pens and pencils on the floor. I kept them in a glass, one of those thick, heavy beer glasses. The base of the glass sat right where it had been, but the top three quarters of it was scattered on the table and floor below. I left the clean up for the next day and went to sleep.
While cleaning up the glass the next morning, in broad daylight, another POP. This time a small dainty brandy glass filled with tiny seashells. Again, the base of the glass in its place, the bottom half still holding shells. The top, literally exploded into tiny shards.
I could rationalize the tank, tanks failed sometimes. But all three of these incidents in less than two days? That day, I got rid of the book. It was not so interesting anyway so I did not feel like I was missing out. No more noises at night, no more exploding glass.
So what do you think - merely coincidental?
Has anyone else experienced something like this?