Your True Tales
July 2007 - Page 29
Shadows in Rosedale House
by Suzanne
This could probably be explained away, just like many other such tales, but it is my story and I'm sticking to it.
When I was about six or seven, circa 1960, I lived in an old house in Rosedale, Maryland. This must have been in the winter. I got sick, and for some reason or another was put into my mother's bed, which I loved, as it was big and fun for a little girl. I felt like a princess. About the second or third night, as I was feeling better, I got up to use the toilet and returned to the big bed. As I climbed back in, I noticed what I recall as bright sparkly things, floating to the floor. I thought they were beautiful, like diamonds and Christmas ornaments, and I watched them with delight until they stopped and I decided they were not coming back, so I tried to go back to sleep.
This is when things turned ugly, literally. A dark shape, vaguely human but more "bulked up" and ape-like seemed to grow from the side of the bed. It stood there, not doing any harm, but I understandably became frightened. I remember that I did not want to move or make a sound, but I was still not sure it was real. I closed my eyes several times, then opened them to see if it had gone, but it seemed to still be there, and made random movements. It seemed to lean over to peer into my face. I recall tears coming to my eyes, and had I not have voided just a few minutes before, I surely would have wet the bed.
Somehow a got up the nerve to roll over so that I could not see it. I seemed to realize it had no real substance and could not physically touch me, but I was still terrified. For a few blessed moments, I did not see it, then the black shadow rose up from the other side! It did not take me long to realize that it was not the same entity, that there were two. I remember wondering if I dared call out to my father who slept in the bedroom down the hall, when I heard my mother come in from work. The things will surely be afraid of her, I thought! But they seemed to want to menace me even more with their gestures. As mother climbed the stairs, I began to whimper, then sob, and when the hall light came on, these creatures sunk quickly into the floor.
Well, it is no surprise that the incident was chalked up to a fever and a vivid child's imagination. I was told if they were to ever return, I was to beat them with a pillow, and they would go away. The next night, I was put back in my own room. I woke in the middle of the night and nervously awaited the return, but they never came back again.
Forty years later, I was telling my brother about the incident, and laughing about how a child's imagination can be so vivid. My brother, like the rest of the family, was a now-nonsense scoffer who found such tales always had a logical explanation, listened quietly then told me. "You know, my hair is standing straight up. I saw those things, too when we lived there. I never told anyone because I didn't want anyone to think I was crazy."
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