So, it's been a hectic couple of days, and promises to be busy for a few more so I may be a little scarce until sometime next week. I'm sitting here enjoying the thunderstorms and patter of rain on the back porch, and I'm thinking back on the various guys we've had stay here over the years; free room and board in our guest apartment in exchange for maintenance around our acreage.
I can't remember one of these men who hasn't had an experience of some kind; probably because as a minimum they've stirred Cowboy Bob's curiosity . . . who is this person, what are they doing here? Beyond the usual noises a frame house makes, some have heard doors opening/closing, the ongoing footsteps. But there have been caretakers we've hired that apparently Cowboy Bob didn't like particularly well, and he'd let the caretaker know his true feelings, by acting them out. While we were away traveling, this one caretaker who lived up in the guest apartment would no more than come home from work and get inside the apartment and he'd hear multiple doors opening and slamming shut all at the same time directly underneath him in our rec room. He'd charge down the stairs to find everything in place, nothing unsecured. Up he'd go back to the apartment and within two to five minutes the doors would be slamming open and shut again. Cursing in exasperation, this time he'd run down the stairs and all would be quiet and in order. This would go on several times on the nights the activity decided to manifest. It wasn't something he would ignore because he was in charge of keeping the place secure in our absence. It was intermittent, not happening every night, but enough that our caretaker was very annoyed by the time we returned home from our trip.
Another friend who watched the house while we were gone, woke up at somewhere around two-thirty to three a.m. one morning and looked up toward the ceiling fan. He lay there for about three minutes watching a spooky mist with bluish light pulsing within it, slowly swirling around the ceiling fan until it at last disappeared. Of course the windows and doors were closed and we live in such a wilderness area you never see car lights . . . only star lights.
Whatever the energy is around here, it has a mischievous streak . . . more than one of the caretakers has had their stuff disappear only to reappear much later. This is a favorite prank around the place. We've actually been looking for something we left right on the kitchen table, looking for it for hours or even days, and then five minutes after we quit looking for it, amazingly it reappears right in the middle of the table. And not with a bunch of other clutter around it . . . all by its lonesome. Very bizarre. One time it took over a year for the item to be returned. I was wrapping Christmas gifts in our rec room, using our ping-pong table as my wrapping platform. I had the gifts piled on a gaming table we had located close by. As I finished I realized I was suddenly one gift short. A video game for one of the nephews. It had just been there. I turned first the game room and then the whole house upside down looking for it and ended up having to buy another one because we never found it.
Over a year later I walked into the rec room and spied the video game sitting on top of the gaming table, right where I knew I'd left it. No dust on it or any signs of wear and tear, it was still perfectly brand new and in its wrapper. I will tell you that the video game's discovery was very unsettling, and exasperating. I'd spent good money on another video game only to end up stuck with an extra. I donated it. Ho, Ho, Ho . . . someone got a little Merry After Christmas present.
So, what exactly is this energy around our place? Is it just that? An energy of a nature mankind has yet to understand or explain? That seems plausible, especially after finding out something interesting which was shared on a "Ghost Hunters" episode. After several years of ghost hunting, the guys were asked recently to comment on the things they found in common between the sites which displayed the most activity. One, it seemed to make a big difference if there were teenage girls in the house. Hmmm. I had two teenage girls, who weren't living here at the time the activity was at its heaviest, but they were here often enough. Secondly, by far the most active sites were sitting on top of limestone. Limestone is apparently some type of conductor for the kind of psychic energy they experienced. Hearing that, I looked at my hubby and asked; "Um, just what type of rock is this mountain made of that our house is bolted to?" He replied; "Solid limestone." Well, of course it is. So perhaps it's a naturally occurring energy, then.
Except . . . that 'energy' has been seen and spoken to. The energy here seems to have taken on the persona of a Cavalry Officer. That, along with the fact that about four years ago, after a bout of very heavy rains, my hubby discovered what looked like the remains of an old grave on our acreage. There were a few piled up rocks, the remnants of two pieces of wood with the numbers '3' and '8' burned into the one piece and the other piece had antique nails which had been apparently used to piece together a makeshift cross. After discovering these items, the 'activity' immediately slowed down to a fraction of what it used to be. Though another of our relatives was visiting here recently, staying in the guest apartment, and in the wee hours of morning she was awakened to the sounds of heavy footsteps coming up the outside stairs, stopping right outside the door. That's Cowboy Bob, whatever he or it is, saying, "I'm still here . . . don't think for a minute I'm going to let you forget me." Later, friends
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