THE UNINVITED – A TRUE GHOST STORY
The following took place at my parent’s home in Youngstown, near Lewiston, N.Y. Dad had been transferred to Moore’s H.Q. situated in Buffalo in 1970.
His voice broke with excitement as only Foster Hewitt’s could. You’d be on the edge of your seat in anticipation, maneuvered there by his rapid fire colour commentary of the game. They say that a picture is worth a thousand words but ‘Faster’ Foster’s words, as he had become known, created a thousand pictures.
“Henderson crosses the blue line. He shoots! Tretiak deflects the sizzling shot into the corner to his right. Henderson has the puck. He passes back to Esposito… a low blistering shot bounces off Tretiak’s pads. Henderson’s got the rebound. HE SHOOTS! HE SCORES! Henderson has scored! Canada has defeated the Soviets. Canada has won the World Championship!”
And so it went. Maybe you remember too? What hockey nut could forget? But for me there was a better reason to remember.
Following the game my father turned his radio off as he left his study and went downstairs. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it but he had an uncomfortable feeling. Something wasn’t quite right. My mother noticed also. Not because of anything unusual but when you have been married for so many years some things become evident even if nothing is said.
“Something wrong?” Mom asked.
“No,” said Dad, unconvincingly.
“Game over? Who won?”
“We did.” No more detail.
“You don’t sound very happy about it?
”Oh, I am; it’s just that something is going on around here and I’m not sure what it is.”
“Such as?”
“Such as the radio. When I went into the study to listen to the game the radio was already on. As if someone had set it up for me. It was even on the right station. Just the volume was low. Like it wasn’t meant to disturb me. Did you do that?”
“No,” said Mom. “You probably just forgot and set it up earlier to-day.”
Dad wondered if he was starting to lose his marbles. Was he becoming senile? NO, he didn’t leave the radio on! He was quite capable of turning a radio on or off. It reminded him of a night recently when they had returned from square dancing. As he unlocked the door he could hear voices inside the house. That WAS unusual. They weren’t expecting any company; certainly not at that late hour. Nobody else had a house key. Why the children used to joke about him locking everything up tighter than Fort Knox.
So why was the television on? At the late night “News”. The one Dad always watched. Again, at his convenience. Right time, right channel.
When the children lived at home he would always remind them to turn off the lights when leaving a room. So why was the T.V. on?
“The News”, exclaimed Mom; “the News is on,” she said rescuing dad from his thoughts.
“Be right there,” he responded. But he had trouble concentrating, his mind slipping away.
“Marion,” he said; “do you remember when Connie (Mom’s sister) and Bill (husband) were here?”
Affirmative nod.
“Do you recall the tri-light switching on in the kitchen while the four of us were talking? (Nod) Know what was really strange about that? (Puzzled nod) “Besides the fact that it turned on by itself?”
“No,” she replied, her curiosity increasing.
“We could hear the tri-light switch click three times. But we never use that switch. We always turn that light on by the wall switch.”
The quizzical look on my mother’s face indicated that she was starting to see what dad was thinking.
“The wall switch was off; even as the tri-light switched on to light the room. What would cause that?” he asked.
“You’re the electrical expert,” Mom replied, “although it was kind of funny because after that Bill was afraid to go anywhere alone. Especially after something downstairs spooked him.”
“Try to explain how the bedroom door locked even though it has no lock function. We had to remove the door by taking out the hinges.”
My sister had been visiting when that happened and dad pretended not to understand the problem which in reality he didn’t. If my sister had any idea of what dad was thinking she would never return.
Connie and Bill were asked to never mention the light switch to anyone. They promised for they wanted to forget the entire episode. And they never returned for another visit.
Sleep came fitfully and as so often happens dad finally dozed off but before long dawn had broken and awakened him. The crisp spring air rejuvenated him and soon he was distracted by two cock pheasants having a territorial disagreement on the front lawn. His diary for the day read:
“Perked the coffee, washed up and took Marion her wake up cup. Talked about the pheasants, plans for the day, had breakfast and went to work. When I returned home later that day Marion looked white as a sheet.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“In here” she motioned to dad, her eyes nervously darting around the room. “Sit here.”
“I had one of my migraines around noon and went upstairs to lay down for some relief. Then I heard a noise at the bottom of the stairs. It was like someone was slowly sneaking up the creaking stairs. By the time ‘it’ reached the top stair I was paralyzed with fear. Then the noise moved into the bedroom. I guess I fainted. When I woke up I ran downstairs as fast as I could and I have stayed near the door ever since. Just in case.”
Diary – “Going to work, carrying on daily as if all is well; not easy under the circumstances. Had no choice. Who could we tell? What would we say? It made no sense. We’ll have to deal with it on our own.”
The next day Mom went upstairs to make the bed but it was already made. By whom? Not by my parents, not in Mom’s style.
One morning was cool and a clammy mist –like cloud passed through the upper hall, low to the floor. Following that, for a few days, everything seemed to settle down to normalcy. Or so they liked to think.
One afternoon Mom went upstairs for a nap. While napping she had a funny feeling, like she was being watched. When she opened her eyes there, at the foot of her bed, stood two soldiers dressed in old uniforms. One was tall; the other short – like Mutt and Jeff.
Dad later said that whatever was happening wasn’t harmful, except possibly for a few frayed nerves and graying hairs.
One evening they were preparing to go square dancing. As was his custom dad put everything on top of his dresser and went to wash up.
“Have you seen my purse?” called Mom.
“No,” replied dad, “I’m sure it can’t be far.”
“Well, it’s not where I usually put it.”
“I’ll help you find it,” said dad. “Give me a minute to wash up.”
When dad returned to the room and reached for his wallet on the dresser he found the missing purse – next to his wallet. “Are you sure you don’t know where your purse is?” he asked.
“NO!” came a rather snapish reply.
Mom swore she never put it next to dad’s wallet.
Enough is enough they told themselves and they decided to do some investigating, starting with a local museum. As it was the 100th anniversary of Fort George the local historical society was celebrating even though the fort was long gone. An older grey haired gentleman greeted my parents. “Gabe’s the name,” he said as he took my parents on tour. He told them about the fort adding personal touches of interest here and there. Gabe was most informative as well as entertaining. When complimented on his knowledge dad thought that he saw a twinkle in Gabe’s eye. When they asked about uniforms Gabe took them to the display. Mutt and Jeff, as it turned out, were from the War of 1812. Gabe waxed eloquently about that era. He also told them that they lived in an area regularly travelled by Indians, soldiers and settlers. Apparently the American troops embarked for Canada from where they lived.
After an enjoyable outing they thanked Gabe for the tour and headed for home. Also, one wall in my parent’s house was entirely built with bricks from old Fort George; the wall with the fireplace. Could it be that on this special occasion old acquaintances were dropping by – for old tymes sake? Maybe Gabe could help? He was well informed. But, when they returned to the museum he could not be found. The Curator didn’t recognize him by their description. Neither did anyone else.
Since that 100th anniversary when these inexplicable happenings took place all has returned to “normal”. No more visitations. From the past at least. And they still look for Gabe.