Ok, so the other day I shared the stories of 2 homes that I had to show that seemed to have a wandering spirit or two. I told you I had one more to tell you, so here goes...
So, when we decided to move down here, we figured we'd buy a foreclosure. Buy something cheap that we could fix up, and work on it as we went along. We drove down here to look at 13 different houses. It was raining like the world was going to end, and it was as dark as 7 o'clock at night at 1 in the afternoon. After getting soaked through every piece of clothing that we were wearing, the agent looked at us and said do you want to forget about the last one? I said we drove two and a half hours to get here, nothing so far fits. Let's go see the last one...
We knew from the second we walked into the front door that this was the one for us (as it should be). So we proceed to move in, and my husband was able to walk right into a job down here. We had barely started to unpack, and he had to work an overnight and at the time, our son was a year and a half old. He was asleep on the farthest other end of the house, & I was in what we were calling at the time our home office. Here it was, about 3 in the morning. I'm sitting playing games on my computer, since the cable people hadn't shown up yet to hook things up. Everything is deadly quiet, the dog is laying next to me. I hear the front door open, and my dog gets up from his sleep, walks to the doorway with his tail wagging. I called out my husband's name, and said, "ok, what did you forget?" To which, I got dead silence. I turn in my chair, & I see my dog looking at the doorway, wagging his tail. He sits down and puts his nose upward toward the ceiling, as if somebody was petting him on the head. As I reach over to pick up a baseball bat that was on the floor, the dog stands up, tail still wagging, & I hear the front door open and close.
I get to the front door, baseball bat in hand, deadbolt is locked, door knob is locked. I go to call my husband to tell him what happened, he called me the crackpot that he thinks I am, and says, "its first week alone in the house jitters." Fast forward to about a month later, when I had to go back up north to see my parents on an overnight. I come home the next afternoon, to find my husband looking at me. I said, "What?" He looked at me and said, "If you hadn't told me exactly what happened to you when it happened to you, I I'd have thought I was losing my mind." I looked at him like he had two heads, and said, "What are you talking about?" He said that he was in the office, with the dog, our son was sleeping on the other side of the house, and he heard the door. He thought that I had left early from my mom's and come home early. The dog did exactly the same thing, as if someone was standing in the doorway talking to him, tail wagging, everything the same. He said as soon as he stood up, so did the dog, and he heard the front door close. Same exact thing, he gets to the door, deadbolt's locked, door knob locked...
Now you have to understand, this became a joke between us, it's been 8 years now. 2 years ago, we finally went to put in our new kitchen. In order to do this, we had to have some plumbing redone. Next thing I know, the plumber says what's that? The cabinet guys look in, and one guy goes, "holy crap!" We go to look to see what the deal is, and my husband goes to stick his head in to the hole in the kitchen floor. He actually took a picture, which of course was two cell phones ago. There was a mound of dirt with a shovel next to it. Right. Under. My. Kitchen. The ongoing joke? Is that Jimmy Hoffa is buried under my kitchen. Ironically, I worked at the Meadowlands for 29 years, where he supposedly buried, smdh! Creepy? You bet! As long as he's a friendly ghost, he can hang. But, fortunately, there haven't been any visits since then... Any other good stories?
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