In 2002, my father had been gone for 3 years, and my mother had been in the nursing home for a year. I decided it was time for me to pack up and move on from the family homestead.
As I have mentioned before, I am not one who has had much, in the way of 1st hand paranormal experiences; my sister has. And those around me seem to. This is one of those type of situations. MY house, someone ELSE’ experience…
A friend of mine from grade school and high school, was unemployed. He needed money, and I needed some things done on the house, to make it more marketable. He worked cheaply and did VERY good work. So, I hired him to fix up the place, while I was away working during the day. I also loaned him my father’s pickup to drive, so he could get back and forth from his place to mine, and acquire whatever materials he may need in the course of doing his work on my place.
Things went well for quite a while. Then, one day, I came home from work, to find him sitting outside the house, smoking a cigarette and drinking a beer. He was shaking. I knew something had happened as soon as I looked at him. I just didn’t know what. We proceeded to tell me, that he had been working in front of the house, moving two old oil tanks, and the bricks my father had used to keep them in an upright position. He had been re-stacking the bricks, when he dropped one on his finger. He jumped and cursed. Immediately he heard a low voice say,
“Ow! That’s gotta hurt.”
My friend looked around, but saw no one. He continued working. A few minutes later, he began to hear whistling, as if someone were going about their tasks and keeping themselves company. He stopped and looked around again outside, then went inside my house and searched it from top to bottom. The whistling had ceased, but he found no one. At that point, whigged out, he went outside and began drinking. *chuckles* My friend was an amateur scientist. He had also been raised hard-core Roman Catholic. Angels and Demons figured into his world-view. The ghost of my father, haunting the home he was in for 45 years, did not.
I calmly told him, that there was really only one person it could be, and that would of course, be my father. He knew Pop. I told him in no uncertain terms, that my father wouldn’t hurt him, and was probably appreciative of the work he was doing at the house. I also expressed to him how LUCKY he was to have heard these things. I had been there by myself, for over a year. I heard and saw NOTHING. To this DAY, I have not had any person communication from my Mother or Father.
My friend calmed down eventually. He never spoke of any more encounters in the house. But neither did he seem as frightened by the prospect of working there, with my father watching over his shoulder. J
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