My wife and I lived in a haunted house on a quiet street in Hattiesburg.
The eerie sounds from another dimension began on a warm summer evening shortly after Karen, our house sitter, climbed into bed in the upstairs guest bedroom. The soft hum of the air conditioner, combined with her deep relaxing breaths, made Karen’s eyelids heavy and sleep imminent. On the verge of entering a dream, a loud knock startled her awake. All alone in the house, she wondered whether her mind had played tricks on her. Her half-asleep and half-awake state, Karen knew, often mixed dreams with reality. Heart beating fast, she laid motionless, squeezed the sheets tight, eyes wide open, and listened intently for any other sounds. None came. Until two hours later. Sound asleep by then, footsteps outside the room awakened her with terror. The steps were followed by a ringing sound which convinced her that someone or something had joined her on the second floor. Karen jumped out of bed, turned on the light, and walked into the hallway to encounter nothing. No one. She softly and nervously said, “Who’s there?” No response. Only deafening dead silence. Groggy and gripped with fear, our house sitter began to rationalize her situation. She first checked every room and closet. Nothing. This investigation ruled out the possibility a living person might be hiding somewhere. The family pets were not roaming free. One dog shivered in the bed with her and barked warnings at an imaginary intruder. The other dog snored in her closed kennel downstairs. The noises she heard were undoubtedly feet, walking slowly, methodically, and precisely. Karen tried to deny her suspicions but could not stop thinking the unthinkable. Could these sounds be a spirit from beyond, a lost soul floating between worlds, reaching out to her for help? If so, a 911 call to the police would not protect the living or the dead.
In the middle of the night with no earthly answer, Karen’s imagination ran wild and hit overload. She decided to act and turned on the adjacent bathroom light, sat up in bed, and trained her hearing for the faintest of audible signals. In a drowsy stupor, her thoughts wandered to apparitions, voices, and floating objects. She worried lights might flicker, or her doorknob would slowly turn and then violently wiggle. Minutes turned to hours and eventually, her bleary eyes saw the dawn’s sunrise. Our poor sitter never slept but survived the haunting, at least for one night.
When my wife and I arrived home from out of town, Karen made a fiery and loud announcement. She would never again stay overnight because we had a guest of the ghostly variety. Perplexed, I assumed she heard typical old house creaks. For me, I heard rantings of an insomniac. My wife, on the other hand, heard a firsthand poltergeist experience. Without my knowledge, she stayed awake the first night of our return and promptly shook me awake when she too heard rumblings upstairs. My betrothed is apt to believe that spirits walk among us, and in her opinion, we needed a Ghostbuster fast. So, I grabbed my high-powered flashlight and investigated, creeping up the stairs slowly and quietly to search high and low for the origin of the sounds. I almost gave up but decided to examine a tight space in a storage area of our unfinished attic. Then, in an instant, the culprits revealed themselves in my bright beam. Calmly and gently enjoying puffy insulation, they stared back with dark beady eyes, pointy pink noses, and long whiskers. A family of marsupials commonly known as opossums had decided to squat in our house. Cuddly and cute-looking, harmless and shy, these creatures convinced two grown women that mischievous spirits were camped out in our residence.
I must confess, I briefly wondered if we might need to sell the house and, if so, disclose the supernatural condition of the property. Fortunately, our visitors were only small mammals, and we were not in need of a paranormal exterminator. So, we decided to let the little critters stay awhile, and they eventually moved elsewhere once their babies could survive on their own. We chuckle every now and then remembering when we thought the dead were roaming aimlessly upstairs. Turns out, our temporary living visitors were only playing possum.
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Clark Hicks is a lawyer who lives in Hattiesburg. His email is clark@hicksattorneys.com.
