Please read with the lights off

Come on in kids & I'll tell you a tale. A tale of things that go bump in the night & ghostly whispers that rattle your insides.

MMMuuuaaahhhhhh!

First I must tell you , I don't believe in ghosts....kind of...sort off...well sometimes I do. I strongly believe that our brains are the one freaking us out most of the time.

Most of the time

I can explain "scary things" away...just like I have the ability to explain "spiritual things" away. (That's not such a good thing when one struggles to hold on to The Religion.)

Ghosts may or may not exist. I have seen, felt & heard things that to the average emotional train wreck could be viewed as "unexplainable ghostly activity." All those times...I have been able to use my very black/white thinking to dig deeper & figure out what is really happening. My brain/overactive imagination...on scare mode, was usually the culprit.

There have only been 2 time in my life that I could not explain away what has happen to me. 2 times that I have felt my blood turn to ice & my body scream from every crevice. 2 times I have felt...shear, blinding, terror.................

This story is an account of one of those times. Do you dare to read further?

Love Affair

Anyone who know me, knows I love, adore, devour old houses. I was 6 when I moved into a sturdy, stone barn built in 1850. I soon fell in love with the wonder of old homes, thanks to our stone barn in Poedunkville.

When I was 14, my friends & I went to my towns 4th. of July fest. The focal of the festival was an old, run down, dilapidated house. The food, beer tents & carnival rides were set up on her sprawling grounds. I was instantly in love with her. I begged my friend to take a tour, but they were much more interested in the Whirlly Gig. So I wanderer over to the front door & was let in. For 2 hours I stayed in the house. Peppering the chagrined older women with questions. I adored the musty, moldy smell of the place. She had once been grand. The largest, modern house in the county. She slowly, over time lost her crown. She was abused, burned, vacated, flooded, infested. And now....she sat. Just a handful of volunteers who loved her.

Mr. Doles office. Main floor





Mr. Doles bedroom. 2nd. floor





I told them that I would volunteer. Eye brows raised. Necks craned for the nearest knowledgeable person. "Can a kid be on our team? She's a bit young." The answer I received was "Honey, we'll take all the help we can get!"




So for the next 6 summers I worked the house during our Lake Side fest. Preparations would take weeks to clean & prepare the house. Our little group of volunteers had virtually no money, no city support & hardly any neighborly support. Some even argued for years to tear her down. (I would have strapped myself to her grand staircase before I let anyone touch her.)

J.J. & I taking a much needed break at the foot of the grand staircase.





My friend & I were the youngest people on the team. We were a rag tag bunch. A handful of powerful older women, a few of their aged husbands. There was Bob...who never spoke, just rocked back & forth on his feet & mumbled. Bob came hand in hand with Tim. A wirey 20 something year old man. Both Bob & Tim were mentally impaired. But that didn't matter to anyone. They work as hard as anyone else & loved the house just as much as we did.

J.J., Tim & I modeling on top of a very cool, very vintage Tin Lizzie. J.J. & I are dressed in real, honest to goodness flapper dresses circa 1927.



Tim was constantly scurrying around the house. I would catch him smoking cigarettes & I would yell at him...chase him out of the house. He gave me gum & took me on adventures around the house. Once he swear he saw something hanging in the burnt rafters on the 3rd floor. The third floor was quite...desolate. It had five rooms. One of the rooms was to unsafe to go into. The floors couldn't hold the weight of a field mouse. Next to that was a small room that use to lead up to the tower/turret at the very tippy top of the house. But the tower burned in a fire, so only the stair room with steps leading to now where was all that remained. There was an old work room. A chapel for the family, and a maids chamber. Years ago the part that held the large maid chamber burned. Behind the locked servants door, was half a room, no window, dark & singed for the decade old fire. Tim & I grab flash lights & headed into the black as tar room. I shined a flash light as 90 lb. Tim shimmied up the rafters to find...........an old cloth. Nothing special. Nothing cool. Just some old tattered cloth. We laughed as we tumbled out of the room covered in dust & old ash. Slapping each other on the back, teasing each other for thinking we found some treasure.



I tell you that because I was never afraid of the house. I rummaged around in pitch black burnt rooms. I would sneak into the house at night just to sit in the windows looking at the lake.

One of the many window seats. I would sit in the turret tower on the 3rd floor on my breaks during the fair. Successfully freaking out the people the people below. The "girl in the window" routine actually got people to buy tickets. They hoped to catch a glimpse of "the ghost in the window."

I worked alone in the vast mansion while the crew went to lunch and I never felt threaten or scared. On the contrary, I felt safe.




The Jen's bringing the glam to the dusty mansion.




I was 20 the last year I worked there. My life would soon pull me away from the house. I felt it was time to go. I had so many great time at the Dole. I cherished my memories there. I was excited to move on but terribly sad to leave my old friend behind. Her days were beginning to be numbered. I was afraid she would soon be deemed to unsafe to show to the public. I wished I had millions to donate. But all I had was my hands. All I could do is scrap her floors & place worn decorations around the house one last time.



The summer night was warm & thick. There was only one air condition unit in the house. And that was in a front porch turned dressing room/ staff lunch room. The rest of the house dripped with humidity. 7 people including my friend J.J were down on the main level working away. Cleaning, making posters for the fair & pulling out the decorations. J.J & I were hunched over a poster when one for the volunteer's, stooped with age cried out "If I have to climb those damn stairs one more time I will shot somebody! Auuggg, I need the dried flowers from the 3rd floor. I will pay anyone one great sums of $$ if they skitter up there & get those flowers." No one moved...we all just giggled. "You...Jenny! You are a full century younger then me, get your backside up there!"




I gladly went for her.




Up the grand staircase I went. Standing at the top of the 2 nd floor, the summer sun set made the ceilings explode with reds and yellows. Oh how I loved this place. I made my way over to the next stair case. Up, up, up to the 3rd floor I rose. I see the dried flowers sitting on the old work table in the butler/work room. The light from the windows illuminate the dust that swirls around in the air. Grabbing a wooden bucket, I plop the dead, dusty flowers into it. As I walk back to descend the staircase all I could think was "I really need to buy some new flowers cuz these are gross"


The menacing staircase leading up to the 3rd. floor.





What happens next...last for only 4 seconds at the most. But the memory has lasted a life time.


In my left hand I hold the bucket. My right rests lightly on the mahogany handrail. It's smooth and graceful under my fingers. I begin to descend the stairs.



One step.


I am hit with a swoosh of freezing cold air. It startles me, because the house is swimming in summer soup.



Next step, my foot hovers over the next step.




THWACK!


I am thunked on the back which such force it knocks the air from my lungs. I was hit...internally.... square on my back. My ribs felt like they buckled.



The force of the hit sends me falling down the stairs.



The bucket of flowers sail through the air. Bang! bang! Bang! Down the steep stairs it tumbles. Flowers for the dead fly through the air. I can feel my lips turn blue, it's so cold.



I close my eye & tell myself to go limp. The best was to survive the next 14 step is to just go...dead limp.




Eye squeezed tight, I fall. I wonder if my face will be the first thing to hit the stairs. "go limp, golimpgolimpgolimp" Do I die today?








Warmth.





Warmth on my chest.





Another thump, but this time it's stabilizing, not harsh. My chest is warm.




I open my eyes as both my feet plant firmly, with a thud.....5 curved steps down from where I first took flight.




I stand, upright, firmly rooted....5..... freak'n........ steps down. Cold air swirls around my back, but my chest...was warm. As if someones hand their hands on my chest.....................Holy mother of bat droppings!





All I hear is my breath , ragged like I had run a mile race. I pant & pant. With in 4 seconds I was happily making my way down a steep curve staircase that I have gone up & down on 15,000 times before to being violently internally pushed, then gently stopped. What the Hell's Bells was that for?!



I'm mad & horrified at the same time.




The blood pounds in my ears. I clutch at my breast trying to feel the invisible hand that held me. The house is sweaty again. The cold gust has dissipated. All is normal.




Then




I run like hell down the rest of the stairs. All I hear behind me is POP! POP! POP! I say out loud, "It's the old wood popping up as my foot leave the stair. Does it all the time.... not scared notscarednotSCARED"




But there ain't no way I'm looking back! I grab the buckets & the clump of flowers & run down the next stair case. The old stairs POPPING up behind me.




Safe on the main floor I stand...sucking in musty air. Shaking. Confused. I gather myself cuz the last thing I wanted to do was tumble into the front room all 'damsel in distress" mode. I back myself up against a wall....watching the staircase. Calming my heart rate. I am soothed by the chit chat behind me. I try to explain to myself what just happened. But I can't think. I don't want to remember. I just want to get out.



5 minutes. 10 minutes. Who knows how long I stand there collecting myself. When I finally turn the corner I see J.J. legs crossed chatting with an older man. Everyone is smiling. I am calm. I am safe. I walk into the room. I place my misshapen wooden bucket on a table & go back to my poster. Head down, I breath.....I breath. I am safe.




The old lady sees me. "took you long enou...oh my gawd! Are you ok? You are white as a sheet! It's as if you saw a ghost!"




That night I walked out of the mansion, I didn't look back. I just hoped on my bike & rode home in the dark.













I still love old houses. I still to this day can not figure out what happened on that 3rd floor stair case. I still don't know if I believe in ghost. But one thing is for sure......Houses are


alive!







As for the Dole Mansion.....well, follow the link to find out what has happened to her.
http://www.lakesidelegacy.org/dole-mansion.html