Apologies for not meeting our promise of a Thanksgiving post. Sometimes life just gets in the way and well, since things our going well, we’re not all that sorry. (insert grin) For more frequent updates please visit our Facebook page https://www.facebook.com/quietrefuge
Working to reclaim Quiet Refuge we’ve stirred up more activity than the place has probably seen in many decades. Countless footsteps have walked the floors during the past 130 plus years and depending on as many opinions, you will fall between skeptic and believer that the house reserves some sort of presence or energy that can be felt.
Part of being human is having an imagination and the need to rationalize the unexplained hence millennia of myth and legend. If there is a natural phenomenon we cannot yet explain or prove, our brains are compelled to find some way to make sense.
I often spend long hours alone in the house and contribute missing items or things found in random, illogical places to being busy. The buried, electromagnetic driveway alarm we installed must be sounding because it isn’t placed properly. Power is lost to different parts of the house because the brand new electric must be faulty.
Titillated at the idea of a haunting, of course I did the Google, Bing, Yahoo, DuckDuckGo, etc., searches into the paranormal trying to rationalize what was going on. The primary thing I learned was to approach the project as a skeptic. I forced myself to look at situations objectively. I dug, organized, made lists and made a true effort to maintain. What happened to me a week before Thanksgiving still gives me chills and the hair on my arms and neck still stand up as I relate the story. Again, what you are about to read will have you falling between skeptic and believer. I’m not really sure where I fall along the continuum.
Alone at night, I was painting the trim between kitchen and foyer when I can only describe as the sounds above of feet touching the floor then distinct footsteps moving from room to room opening doors (no banging) as if to check on those sleeping. Initial panic subdued by absolute forced rational thinking of one, breathe and two, don’t hyperventilate or you’re useless. Frozen, I continued to listen for a full minute and a half (counting in my head like that 1 to 10 we’re taught before reacting when we get angry) and run every scenario through my head. At this point the house key was still in the hidden under the flowerpot stage. Perhaps there was a kid or vagrant inside thinking the silence of painting was a good time to move. Perhaps an animal climbed through one of the three chimneys, that small hole by the sun room door or a window left ajar.
My fellow rational humans, in situations like these we are faced with two primal decisions, fight or flight. Some don’t rationalize, they just react. Screwing up every ounce of courage, I forced myself to move, ascend the stairs, inspect every room then brave the attic. Nothing. There are only two closets in the entire house and since void of furniture, nowhere to hide. Finding nothing I forced myself to return to the first floor and continue painting trim. Within twenty minutes the distinct sound of footsteps above returned. The urge to leave the dirty brushes and flee was intense but I rationalized, “These brushes are EXPENSIVE!” Hence, with my heart in my throat I made a deliberate effort to thoroughly wash them carefully then made my exit.
Please check in soon for how I finally approached the perceived phenomenon because alas, I am out of space for this post.rc