As I detailed in the last part, I grew up in a haunted house. As we were moving in a few little things happened, not anything too much for us to handle. Simple things, like noises.We had been moved in a few weeks when school started.
My parents had to attend a horse show meeting some distance away, and since I had a book to read for History I had to stay home. I watched as they pulled away, my Malamute Kimba with me.
We went upstairs to my room and I started my homework.I had a radio, so like pretty much everyone else I tuned in to Casey Kasem's America's Top 40. I had what were called 'studio couches' in my room.
Basically they were two single beds with a table and bolsters.One bed rolled halfway under the table, making a great seat for reading. I settled down, Kimmy fell asleep, and I started my homework.I love history but the book they assigned us was written for 3rd graders. It was very informative.
I learned that a joust is a pretend fight. Right about then I decided I had learned more in my old school than I would in this class, so I chucked the book and dug out a romance novel set in Ancient Egypt.About an hour later I heard the back door open and slam shut.
The meeting ended way early--it took a good 45 minutes to get where they were going, and that's with my Dad the fighter pilot driving. I put down the book and waited for them to come upstairs.The back door still rattled a little.
That wasn't too strange. It was a refugee from somewhere in the Midwest. It had a window that slid vertically and made a racket when anything went by--wind, people, anything made it shudder and jerk. So I wasn't too concerned.
I heard someone throw their keys onto the kitchen counter. My Dad. Usually he came and called for me, but not tonight. Maybe he needed the bathroom or something.At the time we had no carpets, just bare concrete floors.
There were still many boxes down there, because my Mom was fussy about where she put things, and Lord help you if you did it wrong. Somebody shoved a box out of the way and started towards the stairs. Kimmy growled.
Considering that she never growled at anything, not even my Uncle in his Halloween mask, this scared me. I could hear them on the stairs now, and they were taking the steps slowly. For a minute I wondered if the old couple we bought the place had come to steal more things--we'd caught them taking things while we were moving in.
But we had changed the locks, and I knew my parents would never in a million years let them have keys.The only phone on the floor was outside my room, in a special little telephone niche. If I ran for it, whoever was coming up the stairs would see me before I got a call out.
And the area was on a party line, so there was a good chance no call would work. O though for a minute. Outside my room was a covered balcony leading to the carport roof. If I had to I could climb out onto the carport, make my way to the lowest spot, and drop.
I wouldn't be able to help Kimmy, but if she was growling at this intruder then she would either follow me or take him out.I could hear the stairs groaning as he came up. I knew it had to be a him. Maybe it was the old guy's friend or something. Whoever he was, he wasn't here to be friendly.At the top of the stairs he stopped.
I heard him enter the guest room--lots of stories from that room later--then, closing the door behind him, he went first to the giant hall closet, and finally down to the master bedroom. He walked around in there a bit, then came back down the hall.
He opened the linen closet, went into the bathroom, and finally stopped outside my door.Kimmy's growl turned into a whine.I was so scared, so terrified, I held her and didn't move. I had heard of frozen with fear.
Now I was experiencing it. I was so scared I don't think I blinked.I don't know how long I sat there. Maybe a few minutes. I saw lights flare outside, and knew my parents were home. What to do? Call for them and have the intruder attack me? Or them? And My Dad didn't carry a gun.I heard my Dad toss his keys.
He started yelling for me, but I was too scared to respond.
I had no idea what to do except stay still and wait. I hear him come upstairs, stop at the top, and slam my door open.I told him what happened. He and my Mom put it down to imagination running wild, maybe a dream, but not to an intruder--there wasn't one, now, was there? My Mom had me eat some cookies to calm down & I went up to bed.
There things stood until I came home from school a few days later to find the cops at the house and my Mom sitting outside.It seemed she was putting stuff away when she heard the back door open and slam shut. Whoever it was went upstairs and started rummaging around. She called the cops and waited outside for them.
They didn't believe my story, either. But they did look for an intruder--and of course found nothing.
Right after this my Mom started to believe me.
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