This is a true story that happened to me when I was about 12.
My family's house is located on the Tennessee river, about 100 miles east of where I live. The farm has been in my family since about 1830. Physically it lies within a mile of the river with lush creek bottoms interspersed between tall wooded hills. I think the farm is probably about 900 acres in size and contains 3 private cementeries, including one that many of my family rest in.
There was an old house on the place, the last one bulit on the property, circa early 1900's. It was a rambling wood frame two story house with 3 huge fireplaces, one of them set up and large enough to cook in. There was a large screened in back porch with a cistern and it connected to a smokehouse. It had sat empty or a number of years when my grandfather started using it as a hunting lodge in the 1950's. Every year from that time until his death in 1967, he hosted an annual Squirrel hunt there, which was sort of a political get together, drink, eat and maybe go hunt squirrels.
After my grandfather's death, the house stood empty a lot except when various family members or friends took a notion to "get away" for a weekend. My father was in charge of the estate and we started keeping cattle up there. Twice a week we would make the 100 mile drive to check on the livestock. We also had someone living in the house as a caretaker in those days. I spent a lot of my childhood rambling around the farm, cementeries and old house. It always had a very brooding feeling about it, the whole place, like something or someone was watching you.
Now I can tell my story. When I was about 12, I invited several of my pals up to the old homeplace for a weekend during the beginning of hunting season. The caretaker no longer lived in the old house, but there was still plenty of old furniture there. We chose one of the front bedrooms to sleep in, one that had a stone fireplace in it as it was pretty cold outside. My father and one of his friends took the other room that had a fireplace. It was just across the hall from us, but the doors to that hall were kept nailed shut/closed off because the hall was used as a storage area for our tools and we had only one door to access it that we kept padlocked ( accessable from the kitchen ). So we were essentially in this huge old room alone. I think there were about 6 of us sleeping in two big ol iron beds, roaring fire in the fireplace. It was almost like camping out, we were in sleeping bags and that house felt colder inside than it was outside.
The house had some weirdness about it anyway. Certain doors would creak open and no one would be near them or sometimes you might hear scratching noises at the windows. I knew it wasn't anyone like dad trying to scare us because we all had a shotgun propped over in the corner and anyone would be crazy to spook six boys armed with shotguns. Besides, my mom and dad had stopped there once many years prior, late at night, to rest between a trip they were on and one of the doors had creaked open enough to make them leave hastily! Back to the story, there was another door in the room we were in. It had once been a window to the front porch, but the porch had been boxed in years ago and used as a child's bedroom. There was still an old iron bed in that room, but the bedding was gone and the door to that room was also kept nailed shut. :) I don't know bout y'all, but doors being nailed shut always bothered me, like why, and when you're a kid, adults will ignore ya and never tell ya it was for a simple reason. It leaves a lot to the imagination.
We had settled in for the night and sleep had come quickly because we were really tired from the day. IT happened at about 3am. I wouldn't know that except that dad and the other guy told us the time after they had finally managed to get through the two doors to the hall that were nailed shut! This feat was accomplished I suppose because of the adrenalin rush they were getting from the shrieks of terror we were making along with the distinct noise in the quiet moments after the howls of 6 pump shotguns, being pump loaded. "ca chink" X 6.
IT was a sound that had come from the boxed in front porch room. The one that was nailed shut and only accessable from the room we slept in. IT sounded like someone had picked up that old iron bed to the ceiling and dropped IT to the floor! Dad and the other man found us all transfixed on that door, shotguns all pointed, complete stillness in the room. Matt, the bravest of my pals, crept to the door and began to pry the nails down, the rest of us lowered our guns and stepped back to where dad stood.
Matt finally and with much effort yanked the door open. I don't suppose it had been opened in a long time. The light from our room flooded into the lil boxed in room, the bed was sitting at an odd angle, as if it had been dropped. The dust of many years was floating in there, stirred almost like a cloud. We just stared for a long time. Finally my dad walked over to the door, slamed it shut and began twisting the nails back over it. Got a hammer and nailed it securely shut. Sat and talked with us for awhile, trying to calm us down.
Then he went back to bed.
We stayed up the rest of the night, faking bravado. The next day at breakfast dad mentioned it would be my grandfather's birthday were he alive.... Get's weird here, that room was my grandfather's when he was young.
Many other odd things happened in that old house. Some, well I still can't seem to talk about them. It burned to the ground in 1975, on Christmas Eve, during a thunderstorm. Even now when I drive by the site on my way to visit the family cemetery, I get a slight chill. The chimmneys seem to reach for the sky in their defiance.
Submitted by: Zubrovka
studio_zubrovka@mac.com
Tennessee
