As some of you may know, my family owns a condo on Jack Frost Mountain in the Poconos, which we rent out to vacationers as a little side business. We use the house ourselves a few times a year—enjoying a getaway and doing maintenance on the place, etc.
Last weekend, we drove to the mountains to ski and replace a heater in the house. When we arrived on Thursday night, my husband and daughters went out for groceries while I got our ski gear out of storage and put sheets on the beds. Alone in the house, I started hearing footsteps upstairs. I suppose it could have been the creaking of a cold house warming up — probably was — but darned if it didn’t sound like someone walking above my head. So I called out, “Hello, it’s me!” Then I turned on the radio — LOUD — to cover up noises I didn’t want to hear.
I’m not sure I believe our Pocono house is haunted, but the lady who cleans the house between rentals has told us many times that it is. “A male,” she tells us. “He’s always there, but not always in the same room. I just call out to him when I go in, tell him I’m there for the cleaning, and he doesn’t mind.”
I usually don’t hear, see, or sense anything. In fact, prior to this weekend, there was only one other time I felt like someone was there and listening. It was another winter visit to the house, a couple years ago, shortly after the housekeeper had told us about our ghost. I did what she’d said to do when we walked in the door, calling out, “Hello! It’s us!”
Not long after we got there, I realized I’d done something dumb—left the bag with all our bed sheets at home. I ransacked our storage closet, and turned up two spare sets of fitted and flat sheets but no pillow cases. So, I pulled the shams off the beds and brought them downstairs to the washer. “I’ve got sheets,” I told my husband, “but we’re hurting for pillow cases. We’ll have to use the shams.” I opened the door to the laundry machines and found a pillow case folded on top of the washer.
“Well, here’s one,” I said. “Probably left behind by a tenant.” I threw it into the washer. Then I went into my bedroom and pulled the comforter off the bed. Underneath, I found somebody had left a pillow case on one of the pillows. I brought it out to the washer. “Funny. Here’s another one.”
I went back into the bedroom to unpack. When I opened up the closet, I found two more pillow cases neatly folded and lying in a laundry basket. I showed them to Bob. “You’re kidding,” he said. “Wow.”
Please note. There are four members in my family. We were provided with exactly four unexpected pillow cases.
Hardly proof of a haunting. But still, a little strange.
Do you believe in hauntings? Ever felt a presence you could not explain? Receive an unexpected gift?