Posted: 20 February 2010 at 2:22am
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The Lady of the House
We own this farm house. It's haunted by a ghost named Catherine. The reason we know that the ghost's name is Catherine is because one day this lady stopped by and asked if she could see the house. We wanted to know why she wanted to see the house and she told us that her father and grandfather built the house in 1900. Her grandmother, Catherine, loved the house. Catherine and her husband had to move she didn't want to move because she loved the house and, while she was away she died. I guess her spirit came back to the house. Let me tell you why I believe this.
When we first bought the house, my Uncle Pat was living there. He would sleep in the living room of the house and during the night he would hear doors shut and no one else was in the house.Plus this happened more than one time. Then we rented the house to some people. We never told them about the doors shutting. These people that we were renting the house asked us if the house was haunted because they could hear someone walk across the attic floor, slam a door, walk back across the floor and slam another door. There are no doors up in the attic. When the renters moved out, my grandma and grandpa moved into the house. They said that they didn't hear anything. My Uncle Pat would sometimes come and visit them and stay in the guest bedroom, which we believe was Catherine's bedroom, all night long he would hear something tapping on the window. There is nothing close enough to even touch the window. Also Catherine has stared at my Uncle Pat and even called his name. One thing that freaks me out is that on New Year's day I had a dream and in this dream Catherine told me why she kept my Uncle Pat up at night. The day after I told my Uncle Pat this, he heard someone call his name and everyone else in the house was sound asleep. I know that some of this is hard to believe, but its all true.
This story was told to me by my friend Jone.
Jone and I live in the small town of Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin. It is located about 90 miles east of the Twin cities. one Evening, Jone drove to Minneapolis to pick up her daughter who was attending school there. On the return trip Jone let her daughter drive and they both conversed about school and other events in their lives. It was approximately 10:00 at night and small pockets of fog banks began to develop on the highway. Jone turned from looking at her daughter and yelled at her to slow down and avoid what looked to be a motorcyclist. She recalled seeing a leather jacket and various details of the bike. But she vividly remembers how the headlights reflected off the chrome of the bike yet it went through it at the same time. The motorcyclist was in front of their vehicle for about five seconds and then drove off into the ditch. Jone's daughter pulled over to the side of the road and the both looked at each other and verified what they both had witnessed. Spooked out of their minds they sped for home. They were traveling on Highway 29 which links I94 to Green Bay. Currently HY29 is being expanded to a four lane highway due to the many fatal accidents that have occured in the past.
The House in Germany
When I was a very young child my parents rented an old german house. What made renting this house strange is that German families rarely rent out an entire house, especially to American servicemen and there families. The house is in three levels: the first floor, second floor, and the attic. The house was full of antique furniture. The service couple before us had moved out when there six month old baby died of crip death. So here we arrive. My stepfather, my mother, and me 4 years old. The people that moved in upstairs were ( not disrespect intended) very lowclass people. The wife's name was Cookie, there were two boys, and the father (whose name and face I can not remember).
One day Cookie and my mother, bored in the german countryside and still no furniture to unpack, decided to explore the attic and its treasures. In a very old dresser my mother found one drawer filled with family photographs going all the way back to the turn of the century. Her and Cookie felt amazed at the certainly important heirlooms left in the house by its owners the Hommels. In the next dawer my mother found many crucifixs (excuse my spelling please), in many shapes and sizes. " They were gorgeous works of art", my mother,"They came in many sizes and different wood." The strange thing about them was that they had deathsheads at the bottom of Jesus's feet. (Deathsheads are the sign of the SS)
The next day Cookie and my mother began looking to make a playground in the barn for us kids to play in. They found a well like concrete hole in the middle of the barn. Inscribed in the concrete were the words,"Rommel, 1943" and a swatzika. What made this strange and even more scarry was that in the courtyard was inscribed that the house belonged originally to the Schmit family. My mother never allowed us to play in that concrete well.
Soon after we all moved in my mother and stepfather began hearing loud noises from upstairs, as if the furniture were being moved around. My mother thought that Cookie and her husband were trying to entertain us. With the noises the crucifix's began appearing all ovet the house. You would open a drawer and there it would be, you open a closet door and one would be hanging there. When my mother and Cookie were going to put them back all the crucifix's would be moved to a different drawer!
My memory and only memory of this time is when Cookie's sons tried to scare me by taking me up in the attic and throwing dead mice on me. I heard them screaming as if someone where beating them. When they ran down the stairs, I just had to see what scared them so. I saw a little girl sitting on one of the ancient cedar chest, she was very thin with little hair and very large brown eyes, giggling. Ever since she was my imaginary friend.
But the winds of change came. Cookies husband was arrested for molesting me in the attic, an event that I can no longer recall. The accusations were very ugly and I am glad that I do not remeber. But the German police would not let him be tried by an American system and arrested him under German Law. Cookie and her sons were moved out that day in "Fear for Life"move, for she was the one that turned him in. My parents and myself were being move two days later in "Fear of Life" move. It was those two days when my mother knew that Cookie wasnt the one moving the furniture in the attic, and wasn't telling Ghost stories to amuse us, but was telling the truth.
It all happened so fast that Our furniture had arived yes, but we never opened a box. When we finally got to our new home and opened the last moving box, at the very bottom of the box was one of the most beatiful of the crosses, except for the out of place deathshead. My stepfather took it and threw it away in a field two hours of a drive away.
What about the Hommels? They were such nice people my mother said. She didn't want to ask about the antiques and family heirlooms. She fiqured There was a family member that they did not want to mention. What about the Crosses? My mother found out that The Crosses were strange but the deathshead was a sign of the SS. My mother also found out that there was a fairly unknown concentration camp near by. Is it possible that the house was commandered by an SS officer from a jewish family? What about the Children? Of the four children living in the house in three months one died, one was raped, and two were subject to the harsh dicipline of a father that seemed to change in that house. What about the giggling girl? She stayed with me I remember. Until I recieve a fractured skull from a wild horse. On the way to the hospital I remember she said she had to leave me. I cried more from her saying goodbye than I did the 240 stiches I recieved. But If the horse had kicked me an inch lower it would have broke my neck, an inch higher I would have been blind for life. Was she my good luck charm? Was she a daughter in the Schmit family long dead? Who knows?
The Ghost of the Ship
My family is prone to "paranormal" stuff, and I seem to be no exception. I have quite a few experiences to relate, both personal and heard second-hand through my family. This is usually the first one I tell people:
I served as an officer in the navy onboard a cruiser. One night, while we were in port, I was awoken from my sleep by a "feeling." What I saw hovering before me was a semi-distinguishable face, but better described a nebulous form. What I remember most was the sound which filled my ears: not loud, not soft, very present, but nothing specific. The only way I've been able to describe it is that sound the transporters made in the old Star Trek, but at a constant pitch and kind of muffled. I could feel myself trying to speak, yet could not hear words out of my mouth. I could feel myself trying to move, but again, nothing was happening. The apparition floated above me for what must have been 10 to 15 seconds, then suddenly disappeared. The sound was gone, I could move, I could hear myself speak, and the rest of my stateroom came back into focus. The first thing I did was reach up and touch the pipes which ran through the overhead (my rack was the top rack, or bunk-bed, for ye lubbers) to make sure I wasn't dreaming, for it felt like a dream-state. I had two choices: believe it was a dream, or believe it was something else. I didn't make the conclusion right away. Later that night, I had the mid-watch (from midnight to 4 am) on the quarterdeck. Once the drunks are on-board, this can be a very boring watch. Two other people are up there with you: the Petty Officer of the Watch, and the Messenger. Discussion always varies, and that night, it turned to ghost stories. We swapped a couple, and my mind thought back to the incident earlier in my stateroom. I shared it with them, with no real conclusion, because I had not made one yet. That's when I noticed the pale look on the Petty Officer of the Watch's face.
A year or so ago, on the deployment before my arrival, a young petty officer was doing maintenance on a radar system. He had defeated the safety interlock (a big no-no) on the radar's cabinet, exposing a fully energized klystron (something with lots of power going through it). He was wearing a sound-powered phone set, which is comprised of a head-set, and a mouth-piece which rests on a metal plate which rests on your chest, suspended by a a cord, and rests on your chest. This young man (could not have been over 21) got too close to the klystron, an high-voltage arc of electricity leapt from the klystron and landed on the metal plate, killing him instantly. The spot where he died was two decks above my stateroom, almost directly above where my rack (bed) is.
The petty officer of the watch had the messenger retrieve a cruise book from that deployment (like a yearbook). The first page was a memorial to the petty officer who died, complete with his picture. It was his face I could barely make-out in my stateroom. We all just stood there. I didn't say a thing (outside of what I had to say for duties) for the rest of the watch, I just stared out into the night.
Given my belief in these matters, I figgured he (the "ghost") was trying to tell me something. Typically, they all are. He woke me up only one other time after the first time. I tried to speak to him, but the same thing that happened to me physically during the first encounter impaired any communication. The ship has since been de-commissioned. I only hope he had the opportunity to tell whatever it is he wanted to say to someone else.