It was a picture-perfect life for Debbie D. and her boyfriend in the scenic mountains of Virginia... until their dream was shattered by a haunting that would escalate until they were driven with fear from their beautiful home. This is Debbie's story:
While living in a beautiful old farmhouse in Virginia, my family, friends and I encountered somefrightening activity that we cannot explain. It began when Joe, my boyfriend of seven years, and I rented a wonderful old brick farmhouse. It was the perfect place to live. It was situated atop a mountain with surrounding pastures as far as one could see. After about six months, however, this idyllic scene became rather unpleasant.
One night while watching television, we could hear someone rifling through Joe's files in his office. The sound was unmistakable. We could hear the file drawers open then slam closed. Joe grabbed his 12-gage, I picked up my 20-gage and we went upstairs threatening to shoot whoever was there. But no one was there. Everything was in order except that a window was open. This was the middle of winter, mind you, and we were certain we did not leave it open. We convinced ourselves that the noise was just an animal on the roof, and that perhaps one of us did absent-mindedly leave the window open.
The second strange occurrence took place shortly thereafter. I've never been a good manager of money and I had fallen short on cash with two days to go until payday. I decided to dip into my change jar. While dumping out the coins, I saw on the side of the glass jar what looked like a hole made from a bullet, B-B or steel shot. It seemed impossible. Joe helped me look around the wall near where the jar was placed and there was no hole in the wall or widows anywhere. When looking at it again, we noticed that to make the indention it did on the jar, the shot had to come from inside the jar. No human I know could fit into that jar, let alone bring a gun in with them to shoot a hole in my pickle jar piggy bank.
Several small, unexplained incidents like this took place over the next few months. Yes, it was somewhat unnerving, but it felt harmless. The noises would always be upstairs in either Joe's office or the spare bedroom. To rationalize it, we put it off to the old house settling or some animal.
One night while I was working late, Joe heard an awful loud pounding coming from the wall between the fireplace and staircase. When I came home his eyes were wide open with fear. He asked if I ever heard the knocking and I had not. For the next few weeks, it was only he who could hear this knocking. And the more it knocked, the more fearful he got, and the more fearful he got, the more it knocked.
One day after a friend of mine left the house, I heard a knock. I wondered who it could be at my door. We lived so far out in the country that hardly anyone drove by, let alone visited. I thought perhaps it was my friend returning, but it would be odd that she would come to the front door since we all used the back door closest to the driveway. When I went to the door and peeked out, there was no one there. Fearing there was a prowler on the property, I went to look out the dining room window. When I turned to head that way, I was facing "the wall" and out of nowhere came a knock... then another and so on. I was so scared I could not move. My head kept telling my feet to move, but they were like lead. I just stood there until this thing in my wall had its jolly old time scaring me half to death.
I do not know where or how we ever got the nerve up, but when Joe came home, we went outside and into the basement to see if there were pipes under or around that wall that would make the knocking sound. There were none. That was the first and the last time I heard that knock. But it still liked Joe and would knock anytime he was alone.
Page Two > The Footsteps