The Sallie House Haunting: A True Story Page 11
About 8:45 a.m., George was awakened by a sudden thump and a heaviness on his chest. Thinking one of the cats had jumped on him, he reached, without opening his eyes, to pick up the cat and toss it to the floor. To his surprise, he didn’t grasp the neck of a cat. Instead he opened his eyes to see, sitting on his chest and staring at him almost eye level, the stiff and motionless form of the (now infamous) bean bag teddy bear.
Still holding the bear by its neck, he woke Tony and practically shoved the bear into his face. Scared and almost unable to speak, he muttered, “Look, look.” Tony, still in a sleepy stupor and grumbly from being awakened for what seemed no good reason, said, “So what? It’s a bear,” and laughed.
“It dropped on my chest. She dropped it on me!” George insisted. Tony’s eyes widened as his consciousness up with reality. He knew that the bear had always sat across the room and was there when they lay down.
I was just waking and coming downstairs for the day when they told me what had happened. I couldn’t help but see the humor in it and I laughed. George was not amused. When I regained my composure, I had George lie on the couch as he had been and I held the bear over his chest. I then dropped it several times from various heights. We were able to determine, by comparing the pressure he felt each time it fell, that it had been dropped from a height of about two feet above him.
It was also a reasonable assumption that George awakened and opened his eyes a second or so after the bear hit his chest. Had it been Tony playing a prank, George would have seen him. If he had tossed it onto George’s chest, how ironic that the bear landed upright and facing George when he opened his eyes.
Questions flooded my head. Had Sallie meant to scare George or was she just being playful with him? Did she understand that George needed to get up in time for work and if so, how did she know what time it was? Was the timing of this incident just coincidental?
Kitten Behavior: August 16, 1993
Although it’s usual for a young kitten to dart around and play most of the day, I had noticed our new kitten displaying strange behavior for several days in a row. When it ran through the room it wasn’t in a playful manner, but urgent and fearful. There were times I would hear it screech, but when I turned to look none of the other cats were anywhere near it. Whenever it crawled in my lap, it would fall into a deep, exhausted sleep.
The kitten seemed wary of moving freely in the house, and quite often I found it cowering in some remote, out of the way place for no apparent reason. It had also become quite skinny. Giving more thought to the situation, I realized I had not seen it eat with our other two cats. I grew concerned that it wasn’t being allowed to eat.
I placed the kitten at the food dish at the next feeding and watched the cats’ behaviors. They all seemed happy to see each other and the kitten ate like she’d been starved. Having ruled out my older cats causing the kitten’s stressed behavior, I now considered the possibility that Sallie might be harassing the kitten. I spoke to her and told her that she had to stop playing with the kitten until it was older. I explained that it was just a baby like Taylor and it needed a lot of rest. I continued to tell her she wasn’t to scare it or hurt it because that just wasn’t fair. A few days later, the kitten was back to its usual behavior.
Lights Out: August 20, 1993
Several days later, we had a party at the house for a friend going off to college. Several of the guests got into an extensive discussion about Sallie and through that conversation, others learned of the haunting in our home. Although some were interested, others were disturbed by the information and several of them left.
Later that evening, one of the girls needed to go to the bathroom. She was extremely reluctant to go upstairs by herself, so I volunteered to go with her. As we ascended the stairs, I told Tammy I would wait just outside the door. While doing so, I felt several cool drafts. When the bathroom visit was done, we both stood in the nursery and talked for a bit. Perhaps it was the peacefulness of seeing the baby’s room that made her feel comfortable again. George soon came up to join us and the three of us sat quietly on the floor of the room.
All three of us felt the cold draft of Sallie’s closeness. We asked her to do something for us, and then waited quietly. Suddenly, Tammy jumped to her feet, scurried out the door, and ran down the stairs. Surprised, I looked at George who explained that he had seen the crayon on the paper move—not roll, but move slightly. In fact he not only saw it, but heard it shift across the paper. I can’t say I saw it move, but I did hear a sound that could have been the crayon sliding sideways across the paper and it was apparent that Tammy saw and heard it, too. George and I checked the crayon for attached strings or another reason it moved in the manner it did, but we found nothing.
A few minutes later, Tammy came back upstairs. She explained that she saw the crayon move and it really spooked her. She said the earlier talk about Sallie not liking strangers in the nursery reminded her that her presence in the room might make Sallie mad. Tammy eventually decided that what she had seen wasn’t really scary, just startling. Curiosity won out over fear and she felt the need to return. We asked Sallie to do something, but nothing happened.
Soon the others from downstairs had come up—some of them sat on the floor with us, others stood. Most everyone mentioned feeling a cold draft, even those who stood in the hallway, too nervous to come in, but trying to determine if the rest of us were pulling their leg about what we were experiencing.
We asked Sallie to show off, but nothing happened. Everyone was getting rather restless, so I directed my thoughts to forcing her into a reaction. Knowing that she didn’t like strangers upstairs, I told her that if she showed off for us once, we would leave her room. I felt bad that I had to bribe her, but I knew chances were good that I’d get a reaction. I wanted the nonbelievers to witness what we had been telling them about.
After about a minute or so the hallway light suddenly went off. No one had been standing near the light switch. As each person checked the person next to them and the area for signs of trickery, the light in the hall came back on. Two seconds later the light in the nursery went out. Then it came back on.
Our guests saw what they needed to see and although many did not know how to respond, some simply took a deep breath and stated that they had seen enough. A few thanked Sallie and I kept my promise. I shuffled everyone out of the nursery and down the stairs, told her she was a good girl, and turned out the light before leaving the room myself.
Static: August 25, 1993
I had believed that Sallie wouldn’t intentionally bring harm to Taylor. Late in August, I was in the nursery straightening up while Taylor was in the baby swing. Realizing I needed something from downstairs and knowing that the baby was not big enough to squirm his way out of the swing, I felt comfortable leaving him unattended for a few minutes. I also took a big leap of faith and enlisted Sallie to make her feel more useful in the care of the baby. “Sallie, can you watch Taylor for a minute while I run and get something?”
When I got downstairs, I passed by the baby monitor and heard not only the distinct sound of the swing mechanics but also a static-like noise that seemed to coincide with the rhythm of the swing at one of its highest points. I pictured Sallie proudly standing in front of the swing and the baby she’d been asked to care for, each burst of static expressing her excitement.
Interference: September 2, 1993
About 10:30 p.m., after saying good night to Tony as he left for work, I’d realized I had not yet washed the day’s dishes. My favorite TV show was on, so I decided to get as much as I could get done on each commercial break. On one of the first breaks, as I stood in the kitchen, I heard the TV emit an irritating static noise. My first thought was that something was wrong with the television station, but as soon as I walked into the living room the static stopped.
Oddly enough this happened each commercial break. Static and electrical int
erference seemed to signify Sallie’s presence. If it was her, why would the static stop as soon as I returned to the room? Why did she want me in the room with her?
I told Sallie that when I was done in the kitchen, I would sit and read her a book. I watched the end of my show, finished in the kitchen and walked into the living room and over to the children’s books. Again, the static on the television stopped as soon as I got into the room.
I wanted to keep my promise, no matter how silly I was going to feel while doing it, and one by one I held a book and asked, “Would you like me to read this one?” or “How about this one, or maybe this one?” When I got to the book about hats (one of Taylor’s favorites), the static from the TV suddenly blared loudly. I continued, holding up each of the next five books and asked the same questions, but the static had stopped.
I took joy in the thought that this might be a new form of communication between us, but not wanting to make such a quick assessment of the situation, I decided to test my theory. I began holding the books, one by one, and as I did before and asked the same question, “This one?” Not until I held up the book about the hats did the static come back to the TV. It seemed like a distinct confirmation.
I had always read to Taylor in the rocking chair or the glider, and feeling Sallie would want the same closeness, I said, “Okay, let’s go sit in the rocking chair and read it.” With my hand, I patted my lap and invited her to sit down while I read. Without a doubt, it felt awkward reading a children’s storybook to a ghost child with the same exuberance as I would have read it to my own son. However, I knew if she really was there, she wanted to be cared about as she had seen me care for Taylor. I heard no more static from the TV that night.
Fingerprints: September 10, 1993
While hanging pictures in the dining room, Tony noticed something odd about the one of the two taper candles sitting in sconces on the wall. I’d left the original plastic wrap on to help prevent them from collecting dust and looking dingy, and as Tony looked closer, he saw brown burn marks on the plastic at the base of one of the candles. Although the wax below the plastic had experienced enough heat that indentations had been formed in the wax itself, the heat did not break through the plastic.
The configuration of the melted spots was very strange. There were four marks on one side of the candle and a single, larger mark on the other. I began turning the candle over in my hand and my fingers nestled into fairly comfortable places within these small indentations. Could the marks have been left by a set of small fingers and a thumb—the hand of a child?
During the time Tony was out of the house I took the opportunity to talk to Sallie as often as I thought about it. It had become easier to do, especially without Tony around. If I did it in front of him he would get uncomfortable or make fun of me. So, each night as I lay in bed, I asked Sallie if she was still happy. I’d tell her that she had been a good girl or that I loved her, and I’d also tell her of approaching family plans or activities so that she was always aware of them.
I even began inviting her to cuddle up next to me in bed. I wasn’t quite sure why I was doing it or if it was the right thing to do. Was I taking it all too far? Or was I helping this little spirit feel the love that she’d likely missed for decades?
I also wondered if what I was doing was actually keeping her from moving on, and this question made me unsure on how to interact with her. My mothering instincts prevailed, and as the days passed I grew more comfortable with our odd little relationship.
Cold Spots: September 12, 1993
At 1:30 a.m. I was in bed, stretched out on my left side with my left arm stretched across the bed. I suddenly felt a very cold sensation on that arm and on the front of my upper torso. I knew the parts of me that were feeling cold were the same parts someone would touch if cuddled right next to me. The cold feeling did not encompass my whole body, just my front side. It was a coldness I was familiar with; I felt it was Sallie.
Candles: September 15, 1993
While I was dusting the shelf on the wall in the living room above the couch, one of the candles again caught my eye. The wick was darkened as if it had been lit. Oddly, though, there was no pool of wax near its base. The tip of the candle was still rounded. Additionally, I saw wax drippings from about halfway down the sides of the candle upwards and beyond the tip of the wick. It looked as if it had been melted near the base of the candle and then held so that the wax would drip up the candle and off the wick.
I never lit any of the candles in our house; they were simply for decoration. The open flames of candles sitting low would have been a fire hazard with cats in the house. I could find no reasonable explanation for the condition of the candle. Further inspection verified that there were no foreign marks anywhere on the candle. There were no finger marks like the ones we’d seen the previous month. The base of the candle looked as if it had been warmed by an intense source.
A paranormal investigator visiting the house months later suggested that a hair dryer could have generated this effect. Already curious about this possibility, I had tried to simulate it, with no positive result. The hair dryer did not heat the candle enough to make it drip in a thin stream of wax. Instead, the wax melted in a more unified way along the entire candle. Realizing that in order to get the thin stream effect, we would have to have a more focused heat source, we opted to try a lighter with a smaller flame. This did not work either, because although the flame was small, it didn’t heat enough of an area at one time to allow wax to actually flow. When the flame was turned up, the wax still did not drip in the thin stream we had found on our candle. Although I have tried variations of this same experiment with different kinds of candles, heat sources, and angles, we have yet to replicate the condition of the candle.
By mid-September, I had completed my maternity leave and was working a day job three days a week. After dropping the baby off at a sitter, Tony was free to sleep. By early afternoon, he was bored, and I often returned home to find that he’d vacuumed and dusted. On several occasions I got reports of the vacuum being turned off while he was using it, and a few times he told me he’d actually seen the switch on the vacuum being flipped to the off position.
Sallie’s Warning: September 22, 1993
I had never given much thought to a spirit interacting in a way that would show that they cared about what happened in the human world they watched from the other side. Amazingly enough, Sallie was able to reach out of the darkness to give us firsthand experience, and it about broke my heart.
On this particular morning, I dragged myself out of bed and down to the kitchen, switched a load of laundry from the washer into the dryer, and went to take a shower. About thirty minutes later, I opened the dryer and pulled out what I needed. Running late as usual, I had very little time to properly deal with what remained. I left some of the clothes in the basket in front of the dryer and the rest inside. I went back upstairs, finished getting ready for work, then headed off, leaving Tony and the baby asleep upstairs.
When Tony got up that afternoon, he got a cup of coffee and something to eat and soon realized that most of the clothes in and around the dryer were still damp, so he pushed them all back into the dryer, closed the door and set it to dry. He immediately heard a loud thump thump, thump, thump thump, thump, but ignored it, thinking somewhere in the load was a pair of tennis shoes.
He played a little with the baby and then decided to tidy up the house. He turned on the stereo in the living room and headed to the front closet for the vacuum. He’d only taken a few steps before the music from the stereo abruptly stopped. He went back to find it had been turned off, and turned it back on. A few steps toward the closet and the music stopped again. Having gone through this many times before he resolved to just leave it off rather than play the ON-OFF game with an ornery little spirit.
Having retrieved the vacuum, he plugged it in and turned it on. It wasn’t but a second
later and it turned off. He turned it back on and he could make one long sweep forward, it was again turned off. He’d become quite aggravated at this point at what he thought was Sallie being extremely mischievous. He told me later that he must have turned it back on at least six times before getting so mad he yelled out loud, “God damn it, Sallie! Knock it off, already!” At one point he had even watched the toggle switch flip back to the off position of its own accord. Eventually, he was able to finish the downstairs without any further interference. The rest of the afternoon was quiet and uneventful.
At the end of my workday, I came home and together with the baby in the walker we were all in the kitchen while Tony started cooking dinner. He mentioned his experience with the vacuum earlier that day and how noisy the tennis shoes in the last load had been while they dried that afternoon. His comment reminded me that there was laundry to fold and another load to put in, so I decided to switch laundry loads while he was busy with dinner preparations.
Reflecting on his comment, I could not remember having a pair of shoes in the dryer that morning. I opened the dryer and began to pull things out to fold them. I immediately began noticing strange brown spots on everything and began setting the items aside; the whole time trying to process in my head what could have possibly caused all the spots on our clothes. They certainly were on anything I had pulled out earlier that morning. In fact, some of the spotted things I was pulling out were things I had come across while searching for my shirt earlier that day, so I knew that whatever got all over the clothes, did so after I had been through the clothes that morning.
I wondered if something had been left in one of the pockets, or if some foreign object such as a pen had been in the dryer and the heat caused it to explode. The more I thought about it, the more it just didn’t make sense. The spots were a dark reddish-brown, not blue or black which would suggest ink. I couldn’t help but think that it looked a lot like dried blood, but I couldn’t imagine how so much blood could have gotten in the dryer. I shared all these thoughts with Tony as he continued with dinner.