It's been awhile since I wrote about the Haunted Farm and growing up among some things that are not easily explained. I've often wondered if the events that transpired there on that random piece of land have any meaning? Would they have happened regardless of who lived there or were they somehow linked to my family? There's really no way to piece together the incidents and make a rational "whole". As I have proposed in the past, they seemed "other worldly" but if you indeed can come up with another theory, I'll certainly consider it. Someone once proposed that they were not "hauntings" but rather an alternate time period or universe colliding with our own. Events happening in other dimensions but bleeding over into this one. That sounds just as "crazy" as what I propose but I can't rule it out...so it sits there as another explanation.
Even now in the dead of the night, when the lights are out and the room is coated in blackness, sometimes my mind starts to wander there to the farm, to the oddities. Now I realize just how crazy it all seems but as a young child they seem rather "ordinary". It just brings to mind how we live the life we are given and seldom pause to question how the rest of the world lives. Even as a young child, however, I sensed that something was amiss with the door that opened and no one was there.
Frequently in the darkness of the house, as it rested, sighing after a busy day, I would lay in my bed and listen to the inky blackness. Listen to the small creaking sounds as the house settled and I wondered. I wondered if the door into our home, the door that opened into the livingroom, directly across the room from my bedroom door...that door. Tonight would it open?
The opening door was a frequent occurance. I tried once to pinpoint exactly when I was aware of it happening but it was like the little man in the attic...a part of life on the farm for as far back as I could remember. We didn't speak of it much, at least not in the early years.
On nights when I managed to doze off waiting for it to happen, I would often awaken to my father quietly moving down the hallway to the livingroom. Always in the dark and always quietly. That is when I would know that the door had opened. Sometimes in later years after we got a small dog, I would hear it barking and jumping up on something in the livingroom. But no matter how quietly, no matter how quickly, my father managed to get into the livingroom...the room just sat there...silent and mysterious.
Some nights I would be in bed, awake and the door would creak open. I would stay put... dreading what might be in the livingroom. Sometimes the dog would bark, and jump, and scratch. Sometimes my dad just gave up and stayed in bed or he was working late and it was just my mom and me. On those nights it felt suffocating. I think it was just my fright. Nothing barreled at me through the darkness. Nothing stood in my doorway. Yet even as a very young child I knew the door that opened...did not make sense.
Wind and drafts and other natural explanations could not explain it. Nor could they explain the sound of the dog's paws jumping up on something and then clattering to the floor. Over and over again. On certain nights the dog would simply give up and whine, returning to the bedroom. At other times it went on for what seemed like hours. Afraid to look and afraid to go to sleep, huddled in the suffocating darkness of the bedroom. Trapped in a situation that defied explanation. I don't remember exactly when the phenomenum lessed but it did over the years. Even after I left home though Mom would report an occasional night when the door opened but no one was there!
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