Your True Tales
January 2005 – Page 31

My Haunted House
by Pat Pfeffer

Since I'm in real estate, I frequently come across good deals and cannot pass them up. Consequently, I have moved 12 times in the last 20 years. One such purchase was a center hall colonial on a large lot with a guest house to the rear. It had been owned by the family of one of our state senators. He was notorious for his ever-present cigar and loving the game of poker.

It seems that the guest house was used for him and his cronies' poker games since he was not permitted to smoke in the main house. After one such poker game, he fell asleep and, unfortunately, he and the guest house were incinerated by one of his beloved cigars. When I got the property, the guest house was redone like new, but the main house needed updating.

I had no sooner moved into the main house when I became aware I was not alone. Doors opened and closed, footsteps were clearly heard going up and down the three interior staircases, temperatures dropped unexplainably in various parts of the house. From what I could discern, it was not the senator, but his elderly mother continuing to occupy the house. As I worked, I spoke to her, explaining the improvements and telling her that I was perfectly happy for her to remain there with me... however, I was planning to resell the house in the future and the new occupants might not be as accepting.

A sub-contractor, who was working in the divided basement, chided me one late afternoon when I returned from work. He said, "Pat, why didn't you come talk to me when you came home for lunch today?" I asked, "What time was that, John?" He responded, "About 2 p.m. this afternoon I heard you come down the stairs, but figured you were using the downstairs bathroom, then I forgot about it until I saw you now." I laughed, "That's because it wasn't me. You just heard the other resident of the house."

Two or three times I would discover children throwing rocks at the house. Now I love kids, but did not want to see the library-style windows broken by the rocks, so I would go out to attempt to talk with them. Of course, they ran away as fast as possible, so about the fourth time, out of concern for them as well as the house, I called the police. A female officer came out to take the report and I explained I did not want the children punished, I just wanted to discourage this activity. She checked it out and came back with this report. They were throwing stone at the house because they believed it was haunted.

Well, as you can imagine, this left me a little speechless. I finally decided to be forthright with the cop, and told her indeed they are right. (I wonder what she thought of this kook now?) But, I said, it's a gentle old lady who just doesn't want to give up her home. Later, one of the dads brought his son over to make an apology to me. I felt so sorry for the boy. I cautioned the dad not to punish him any further; the kid was quaking in his boots.

The time came when I signed a sales agreement with the new purchasers and felt obligated to let my cohabitant know. That night, in late August, with temps in the 80s, I was wakened out of a sound sleep by a cold draft. I searched the house for any doors or windows left open, but I knew that was not the cause. She was saying goodbye, and she wasn't too happy about it.

One final addendum. Although I had completely redone the attic, including new carpeting, wall coverings, trim painting, etc., and I had been through every closet, drawer and window seat there, I made one last tour to be sure nothing was left or forgotten. Imagine my amazement when I opened the window seat drawer to find a large framed photo of a young blonde girl circa 1900, complete with bow in hair and innocent gaze. I had been in that drawer several times for cleaning and painting. It was not there before. I have kept it with me as a momento of my unusual house mate and it hangs on my dining room wall as we speak.

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