A haunted trailor?
Sounds ridiculous, huh?
Here is my very true story.
I married in 1982. He was a Vietnam veteran, a marine, and during the time of war he survived many, life threatening situations.
His job was a machine gunnist. In battle, their life expectancy is under one minute. He lived to come home.
After returning to the U.S. when his term was up he dealt with another life crisis, a motorcycle wreck that almost killed him.
He developed an attitude that 'when his time came, he wasn't going to go'.
He was a welder by trade and he was proud of his aluminum handling abilities. Apparently, aluminum is a difficult metal to work with and when being tested for your certifications in it, you must be able to 'do a row of dimes' where you leave spots of dime shaped aluminum circles in a neat row.
We bought an old trailor in 1987. It was built in 1968. Like I said, it was old, but we could afford it and it was ours. No more horrible landlords.
Moving ahead, we had a daughter in 1989. In November of 1991 he had a fatal heart attack at home. It was in our old trailor.
Two minutes till midnight on Nov. 18 he rolled out of bed and onto the floor. I heard the thump and called his name. No response except for a sharp gasp. I turned on the light and found him laying there.
I called for paramedics and they got there fast, but they couldn't save him.
By the way, I did try CPR. His eyes were open but unseeing. He kept gasping for breath on a regular cycle but the air that I gave him didn't seem to help any and his mouth felt cold and artificial. Horrifying.
It is an experience that never leaves you. Anyway, as I said, he did die.
Well, if you've ever had paramedics at your home, you know that they leave a terrible mess. No matter how horrible the circumstance may be, it is still left up to you to clean up the aftermath of a death.
After my day of dealing with funeral arrangements and all the terrible issues that you must contend with when one dies, I could not handle cleaning up my bedroom that evening. I was fatigued beyond reckoning.
I decided to spend the night with my almost 2 year old (he died 2 weeks before her second birthday) on my roll out couch in the living room.
I wasn't resting well and was mostly awake when two minutes before midnight my radio alarm clock went off in my bedroom, LOUDLY. Funny thing is, not only was it on /my/ side of the bedroom and out of the way of EMS workers but it had never, ever used it in the capacity of an alarm clock. I did not even know /how/ to set the alarm, let alone have a /reason/ to set it for that particular time. To me, it was just a clock.
Had it gone off at exactly 12 o' clock, I'd have thought it was a strange coincidence, but it went off/ 11:58/ The exact time Reid fell to the floor.
I was terrified and wanted to ignore it, but it was too loud, even with closed doors andeventually, I had to go into the room. I /had/ to shut it off! I was scared that the door might somehow slam shut behind me and I'd be trapped, me on one side and the baby on the other. I put a shoe in the opening 'just in case'.
None of the buttons worked, believe me, I tried them all! I had to rip the plug out of the wall to get it to quit!
The door did not try to shut. Although if it had, I doubt it would have been a real obstacle for me, I would have torn through it like tissue paper to escape!
Our daughter was still sound asleep, never knowing of my terror. It was many weeks before I slept the night through.
A week after the funeral, my stove, which had an aluminum front made two holes the exact size and shape of two dimes in the front of it. I got rid of it.
Then my t.v. started turning itself on to a static channel at odd times. A ceiling fan suddenly shot sparks out all over the room. Smoke alarms went off for no reason. Doors that were closed were found opened.
When my daughter came into my room one night about a year later and asked me, "Momma, who's the man laying in the hallway?" I asked her, "Is he still there?" She said, "no he's gone now." I asked how he left and she said, "He disappeared." I asked "What did he look like?" She described him exactly.
I asked her, "What did he do?" She said, "he just looked at me and was sad, but he smiled.and then he was gone."
Ok, enough. . . . . . . . I had our old trailor moved.
A pretty place in the country. Our private driveway is a tenth of a mile long from the street.
This did not stop things from happening like I'd hoped. In fact they escalated.
I am grateful that by this point in time his tricks were no longer dangerous, no more fire threatening scares.
Now his pranks were more playful than life threatening. Perhaps he'd become accustomed to his 'state of being?'
However, he would not let us forget him.. . . as if I ever could.. We find that his presence is usually at its highest in the fall, but on some other occasions he puts out the extra effort like one year on about St. Patricks Day, when he scared the crud out of our daughter who was at that time about 14 years old.
She came bursting into my bedroom, eyes wild and hair almost on end telling me to "come to her bedroom at once!"
She had a strobe light and it was going at a fast speed. Funny thing was, . . . it wasn't plugged in and it didn't use batteries.
I took it out of her room.
On occasions, I would see a ball of light tracing along the insides of my bedroom walls, slowly making its way across one wall and then wandering down the next.
Before you suggest that it may be caused by passing traffic, I remind you that my home is in the country and my driveway is a tenth of a mile long. We don't get street lights. Not during the day or night.
One of his favorite tricks is to swat my foot or ruff my hair if I try to take a nap. The swat on the foot feels like someone gently swiping a bug off and the hair swipe is a tickle of about a hand size section of hair gently swept by a hand. And NO until this spring, I did not have indoor pets that could have caused this.
At first these things caused me panic, but eventually I grew accustomed to them and considered them to be attempts for attention.
I did remarry, but still staying at the same home.
One night a little before midnight, I was in bed, drowsy, but awake, and I heard knocks. Five slow and evenly space knocks.
It sounded like it came from my closet, which was on the side of the bedroom that he had died on.
By the second knock I said, "Come in" and it woke up my husband. He sat up also. We heard three more slow measured knocks in our dark room but no one entered and no one answered.
There was a pause in the sound and we looked at each other in the dark.
I was just about to get up and open the door when the knocks happened again. Five slow measured knocks.
This time he said, "Who's there?" We got no answer.
I turned on the lights and looked in the closet. Nothing there. He got a flashlight and went outside and checked everywhere. Nothing. Of course I checked on the girls. (Did I mention, we now had a baby?)
We had this episode on three different occasions. Once in broad daylight when only he was at home.
He is not easily spooked but he has had his own reasons to be a believer even prior to meeting us. His story is probably more engrossing than mine because his comes from personal experience while spending a night as a boy in Gelena Illinois at a friends home which was a farm built on the grounds on an insane assylumn His friends bedroom was in a separate building made in the mid 1800's. was to hold the mentally dangerous patients. When he saw it as a teenager it still had fastenings where manacles held 'patients' and claw marks on the walls.
By the way the name Galena means lead. It is a town that mined lead and as everyone knows, lead poisoning can and does often have mental affects on people. Hence the extreme needs of this insane asylumn.
Anyway, that is a separate story and if you wish, I'll see if he will share his experiences from that hair raising night.
More than thrity five years later he still gets goose bumps relating his evening there.
We now have a new home and are currently tearing down our old unit. I did invite him to reside in our new place but as of yet he has not made his presence known.
Maybe he's moved on, if so, I wish him the best, even though he tried to burn me down a time or two and also destroyed two of my cars when I went to the graveyard to see his grave.
Yeah, twice. Last time it was the cars brain. That was also the last time that I went to his grave.
There's nothing quite as ironic as calling for a tow truck to come and pull you out of a grave yard, especially the second time.
I haven't been to his graveside in over 6 years. Loved him, but I can't keep replacing cars just to see him.
This is a true story and a shortened one at that. Over the years I've had numerous encounters with him and no longer feel frightened when it happens. Although, like I did say, he has not chosen to come over to our new unit and I haven't had my foot swiped or my hair ruffled in almost a year.
I kinda miss it. I hope he moved on and is at peace.
Oh, by way of a P.S., my youngest daughter who is now eight years old came to me a few months ago in tears. She said, "He doesn't come to see her anymore. What happened?" She misses him.