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JAN'S TALES
Oakwood I, II, III
(NOTE: This particularly chilling tale was sent to me in 3 installments, but I won't make you wait to read it all! I was riveted to the story, and saved it for the Halloween page, in the hope that you'll get as chilled reading it as I did...)
Between the ages of 9 and 16, and from the years 1970 to 1977, very wicked and terrifying events occurred that will haunt me until I pass from this life. There are several episodes to write about so I will divide them up into different chapters, with each part being a complete story in itself. With that said, let us begin...
The house on Oakwood, in St. Louis, MO, was a small quaint white frame home on the corner of a county suburb. It had been built back in the 30's, with an old stone block basement underneath. There was still an old coal chute on the outside of the home leading down to a coal storage room in the cellar that had been used to heat the home before the more modern gas furnace was installed. Also, in the basement, was a large hole that had been busted into one of the walls, about waist high, and about four foot in circumference. On the other side of this mysterious hole the earth had been dug out to reveal a cave like room one could crawl up into on ones knees to explore an area around eight foot by seven foot wide.
Almost a year went by after moving in with no incidents, only the regular moans and groans from an old house settling after storms and windy days. The nights were filled with familiar creaks and the scratching of outdoor tree limbs on the rooftop. My mother and I were the only ones that lived in the home along with a German shepherd named Lou, whom was there to protect me while my mom worked midnight shifts. It was during one of these nights, when she was gone, that the door inside the dining room that led to the basement began to open on its own. When I'd awaken in the mornings to prepare for school it would be standing wide open. This went on for several weeks, and after mentioning it to my mom, we just assumed it was the wind or a loose doorknob latch that didn't catch in the doorframe very well. She finally bought a small slide bolt and attached it to the door so we could firmly keep the door closed to keep the damp air from the cellar coming up into the house during the night.
After a few weeks of bolting the door at night the incident was forgotten until it started opening during the night again, even after being locked. Again, I mentioned it to my mom, who insisted that it was my fault that I didn't double check to make sure the slide bolt had been secured. This event happened night after night. In the morning the door would be wide open. On her nights off she would lock it herself only to find it open on its own in the morning. She then installed a chain lock at the top of the door, but this had no effect either, the door would always be open in the morning.
We decided to stay up one night to watch over the door and while we were playing Yahtzee at the dining room table we heard the slightest creak of the little slidebolt ease sideways by itself. Then the clang of the chain loosened itself and hit against the wood of the door. We watched in amazement mixed with shock as we witnessed the old metal doorknob turning, the hinges squeaking, while the door opened slowly on its own, revealing an empty doorway where the stairs led down to the basement. At that time, the first time of witnessing this recurring event, we felt no fear, in fact, we thought it rather neat that we had a ghost in the house. As a few more weeks went by we actually had friends over to witness the door opening by its self several times, and always just after midnight. Then just as baffling as it had started it quit for several months. We thought the ghost had left, but we still locked the door at night.
It was winter when it started back up again, which was quite annoying since there was a lot of cold air that came up from the basement during the night when the door would open. We started putting a dining room chair against it, wedged up under the doorknob, but to my amazement I would awaken to the screeching sound of the chair legs against the wooden floor as the door was forced open. This is when our dog Lou began behaving in a fierce manner. Up until then she would just stare at the opening of the door and come lay down beside me, simply staring.
Now it was different. The hair on the nape of her neck stood on end, her teeth were revealed in a tight snarl, her growls were deep and threatening. All this while she watched the door open by itself, and once the door had pushed the chair across the floor so it stood open, she would lash out with a fury of hellish and brutal snapping, growling and continuous barking. Nothing that I could ever see was in the doorway, but she evidently could see something and would sometimes chase it halfway down the basement stairs with the merciless anger of a trained guard dog.
These episodes were becoming too much for me, and becoming quite frequent, happening several times during the week, with my mom witnessing a few of them herself. Some neighbors of ours that were Catholic, and knew of the doors history of opening, had suggested we put a rosary on the doorknob and say some prayers over it. We indeed put a rosary on the doorknob facing the dinning room as well as hung one on the inside of the door facing the basement, and said many prayers. The door ceased opening, unlocking itself and scooting chairs around.
All was quiet for quite along time after this. Although there always seemed to be a presence in the basement watching us when we went down to the basement to do laundry. A presence that came from that hole in the wall. I myself, secretly put a rosary just on the inside of that hole and also added some garlic bulbs. Why garlic? Life in the 70's, to a kid, required garlic to kill or deter any monster, in fact garlic salt worked well also, or so as a naive child we believed in such.
During this time my mom had found out from older neighbors and from the realtor that one person from each family that had ever lived in that house before us had died in the home of what appeared to be natural causes, heart attacks or household accidents. This new revelation did not sound promising at all, especially after hearing there had been seven different families that had lived in that house , but to our surprise all was quiet for a few more years after this for us. The rosaries had been taken off the doorknobs and forgotten, but we still used the locks at night.
Then once more, it was winter time, the door opened again on its own in the middle of the night. Lou remained at the foot of my bed, on top of the covers, instead of going to the doorway and faced whatever she saw with the same vicious attitude as she did a few years before. Whatever entity had come up from the basement to open the door in the past had now audaciously crossed the threshold into the dining room. Lou was dancing in a tangle of frustration, turning in circles, biting and snapping a brutal and savage warning at the end of my bed. The dining room adjoined my bedroom. From my bed I could see the open basement door and from the crack in my bedroom door, the thin opening that runs from hinge to hinge to hinge, was one red eye staring at me from the other side.
The Oakwood Home/Part 2
Perfect terror inflamed my heart, rising as an out of control river that has swelled with torrents of rain. I remember sitting up in the bed, reaching for my dog, Lou, and clutching her to my heaving chest. The insistent barking, growling and gnashing of teeth ceased suddenly, replaced by minute whimpering only to be followed by unabridged silence. The two of us, Lou and I, were no longer just a young teenager and a dog, our spirits had reached beyond the flesh that binds. Our life-forces were melding together due to the absolute horror present behind the bedroom door. It has been said that animals are very sensitive to the paranormal activities that surround our daily lives, but in this particular situation, my German Shepherds instincts went beyond just being receptive.
We clung to each other as soul to soul, each one feeling the measure of wickedness that lurked behind the depths of that one staring red eye. A bond of fear so profound we thought we could experience nothing more frightful. Until, in the hush of our stillness, with only our heartbeats drumming loudly outside our chests, the presence became more then just one eye peering between a crack in the door. More then just an entity of energy, greater then the silent invisible intruder as it had been in the past. This unexplainable being now had manifested enough strength to form a sound. Deep, like an echo from an abandoned well. A distorted gargling. An unmistakable perverted low growl.
All this mixed together to form its breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Fingernails scratching across coarse sandpaper. This was no longer a simple ghostly visitor. With breath, it was now becoming obvious that this unnatural specter was trying to transform, or cross over the fine line that separates our dimensions. Inhale. Exhale. The bedroom door gradually began to open wider, being moved from an unseen hand. Unable to contain the fear any longer, a panicked frenzy, like hundreds of electric wires being cut and let loose in my mind, took over and I slipped into unconsciousness.
My mother found Lou and I huddled together asleep in the corner of my closet hours later. I should have been gone by the time she returned from her midnight shift at work, already on the bus headed for school. Somehow, which I cannot remember, I had managed to crawl into the farthest corner of my closest to hide sometime after I had fainted. She merely looked at me with eyebrows pursed together after telling her what took place after midnight. Her explanation was that I had a terrible nightmare concerning the red eye part and the breathing. The door opening was acceptable, but this new twist of an actual entity trying to cross over into our lives was beyond her belief.
Was she just trying to convince me it was just a bad dream, to calm my shattered nerves, to ease my worries? Was she covering up her own concerns and fears by not accepting what had happened as truth? I do know that nothing she said, or attempted changed my mind about what I had seen and experienced, and that night after night I found my refuge inside the corner of my closet to find sleep and comfort from any outside noises coming from the dinning room or basement door.
Even back then, in my early teens I swore that I would always believe a child's story when it involved monsters or a terrifying encounter with something they did not understand. That boogie men did exist. That shadows did move on their own and chase you, and if they said there was something under the bed, I would investigate for them. Soon after this I found temporary solstice in a Catholic Church. They believed in evil, in demonic forces, in entities that can cause harm. I also found a wealth of holy water at my disposal which I would sneak home in containers dipped into the small marble wells to collect its liquid. Secretly I anointed every doorway, every entrance into the home, even the four corners of the property.
In the evenings after homework I researched different religions and their individual beliefs on the negative forces around us. What specific prayers were said and used, what to ask, and how to ask it, concerning those forces most ignore to acknowledge. The more wisdom that could be learned the better. One particular passage of the Bible stayed with me though, verses that strengthened my faith when in moments of impending doubt. Luke 21:18-19, "But not a hair of your head will perish. By standing firm you will gain life." Various definitions and translations all led to the simple truth that God, the Creator is always in control, and that all that oppose you cannot even harm a hair on your head if you stand firm. Do not fear that which He can control.
The next year was one of great transformations inside myself. A time of when I learned to expect and accept the unexpected. Where the paranormal was accepted as normal events throughout the coming years. It was right around my sixteenth birthday when this next and last phenomenon occurred at the Oakwood house. After the episode with the eye in the door, Lou was never quite the same. Her demeanor became vicious with only my mother and I able to get near her. She was always nervous and paranoid along with never being able to sleep for long periods. We finally decided to give her to a man who needed a guard dog for his personal business. The remainder of her life was spent with him and she seemed to calm down a bit also.
Mom got me another companion though, this time it was a poodle we named Netta. Of course her size was much smaller then Lou, but you couldn't tell her that, she still possessed all the devotion and protection that a larger dog could give. Her loyalty would be tested to the full extent on a particularly still winter evening, after a quiet snowfall of 4 inches, and just a little past midnight. I was awakened by the sounds of something or someone bashing up against a door with fierce intention, along with the constant barking from the dog. The sound came from down in the basement this time, down where there was a solid wooden door that led to the outside, to the backyard. Someone was definitely trying to get into the house through this door, as their efforts were loudly recognizable, and there was no attempt at being sneaky or quiet by this burglar.
Netta ran down the basement stairs from the door I had opened in the dinning room and was making her presence known to the intruder on the other side of the door. At the same time I was dialing the local police, where luck would have it an uncle of mine happened to be stationed there as the chief. He got on the phone after I talked to the dispatcher and told her the problem. They were sending a few cars my way, which wouldn't take long as the station was relatively close and Uncle Joe would be on his way shortly. While he was on the phone he could actually hear the pounding and beating that was echoing up from the basement that this person was causing against this door outside. All of a sudden we heard a loud crash, as the door apparently gave way and bounced off the wall from the force of the implosion. Netta seemed to almost scream with long high pitched yelps and came running back up the stairs, tail tucked, and no doubt in a serious fit of fright.
A tight ball of apprehension developed in my stomach, as I momentarily froze in fearful anticipation, with past events refreshing themselves in my mind. "GET OUT OF THE HOUSE!" I heard Uncle Joe scream on the other line of the phone, apparently believing the burglar had penetrated the door and was now on the loose inside the basement. Dropping the receiver I ran to the front door frantically trying to undo the two dead bolt locks. One needed a key to unlock it from either side. The key was back in my room, in my purse, and to get there I had to pass the open basement door in the dinning room that led downstairs. Luke 21:18, I thought and then ran through the dinning room, tripping and falling over a throw rug, then slid heavily towards the open door which slammed shut from my contact. Jerking myself upright I very quickly and nervously locked it and braced a dinning room chair up under the doorknob. Without a seconds thought I added the dining room table to the barricade, along with the other 3 chairs around it then sprinted into my bedroom.
I was beside myself searching for my purse and wondered how all these past few minuets resembled something out of a horror movie. Through the windows I could see the red and blue lights of an approaching cruiser from a distance, it seemed to move in slow motion, like in a nightmare where the hero seems so far away while the devil is right on your heels. Of course the fresh snow was slowing its progress but this was not registering in my mind at the time. Distraught, to the point of madness, I tore through my room seeking the purse, needing that key like an addict needs an overdue fix. After a moment of frenetic hunting, the purse and the key were in my trembling hands. A weight had been lifted, enough to let me think logically for a moment and to get my legs moving towards the front door. That feeling of freedom was short lived, for during a sprint to rush from my doorway to pass through the dining room, there was a huge thud against the basement door, a forceful thrust that hit with such impact that it shook the primitive barricade of furniture. Without realizing or hearing my own voice, I began screaming and running at the same time. Had something finally snapped inside what sanity I was holding on to?
The next thing I realized, was being outside, in my pajamas, face down in the snow after having slipped and slid down the porch stairs. Before me was an officer, his gun drawn, and preparing to enter the house. Another cruiser pulled up beside the house, lights flashing in silence, no sirens being emitted. The night was so still and serene, with the snow still falling, the neighborhood was sleeping, unaware of what was happening outside their frosted windows. The red and blue lights reflected off the snow like a maddening kaleidoscope but I found it's rhythm soothing, as well as the coolness of the snow beneath my feet. I felt safe, until another loud crash echoed from the house, through the open front door, where one officer had already entered. Two others were circling the house, one was up against an outside wall, gun pointed up in the air, getting ready to go around the corner and into the backyard, where the door from the basement led to.
My Uncle Joe pulled up in his own cruiser with yet another officer, both of whom began their own investigations by going through the front door. I was surrounded by silence and flashing lights, alone, outside, for several minuets, gazing at the house, searching through the darkened windows for any sign of life, movement. It was like the end of the world came and left only me and that house. So much time had passed that the snow I was standing in had melted away from the heat of my bare feet leaving me in a circle of slush. Finally, the first officer that went in came slowly out the front door. He was dazed and pale. Unconsciously he sat down on the porch swing to go over what he had just seen. His eyes never blinking, only staring ahead.
Lights started going on inside the house, as someone was going through flipping switches and turning on lamps. Uncle Joe emerged from the front door also, a look of confusion imprinted on his face. He was half way down the front stairs coming towards me when the officer who went around the back yard came trotting through the snow. "Joe!" My uncle turned to listen. Then with a deliberate, hushed whisper, spoken more out of fear then to be secretive, the officer said, "Joe, you gotta come look at this. I've never seen anything like it." They both turned and looked at me with a mixture of pity and bewilderment. Each of them had seen something at separate parts of the home. Something that needed a logical explanation. Things I will tell you, in part 3.
The Oakwood Home, Part 3
Joe turned to follow the officer to the back yard. Silently as if in a dream I fell in step behind them, oblivious to the cold and to the snow that fell upon my face. The yard was surrounded by a chain link fence, with a street on one side, the neighbors on the other and an alley behind it. Even though there was a security light that illuminated the area the officer used his flashlight to point out some tracks in the snow that came from the alley and led into the back yard. There was another officer coming back down the alley towards the house, obviously having tried to see where the prints had originated.
The prints were what appeared to be huge dog paw impressions, but bigger in size than that of a full grown large breed. You could tell where the animal had placed its front paws on the top rail of the fence, disturbing the snow, to jump over and land on all fours. The officer with the flashlight pointed out what followed the initial landing in the yard. He had been very careful not to disturb any snow around the walking path of the intruder so you could see very clearly where it had walked. Beyond the paw prints where there should have been more of the same shape were human feet imprints, bare footed, and great in length. They appeared to have been made by a man who would have worn a size 11-12 shoe. The flashlight beam told no lies as it wavered from the ending of the paw prints to the beginning of the human images. Whatever had done this had no doubt transformed itself. Shape shifted from one creature to another in mid step and then proceeded towards the basement where the tracks ended just outside the door. Again the beam from the flashlight, seemingly to be the eye for which we all followed, revealed a haunting truth.
The door, which I and Joe had expected to see busted open, ripped from its hinges or at least damaged to some extent, stood unscathed. Silent, untouched, closed and locked. Our gazes immediately searched the basement windows, then the house windows, the back door of the porch. We all separated and took different paths around the home, surveying all entry points. All was calm, undisturbed, unbroken. We met at the front door, where the officer that had entered the home was still sitting on the front porch swing, still pale, still appearing to be confused somewhat. "Joe," he began, his voice low, "I know what I saw and I know what I heard, but there was nothing there." The two men locked eyes, their eyebrows pursed together, neither one wanting to admit what had happened nor what was being discovered as they further investigated.
One of the officers from behind the house spoke, "I don't know what you saw, but you gotta take a look around back if you want to see something freaky." And yet another, in the same hushed tone, "What the hell is going on here?" Joe and two others entered the house and went into the dining room. The barricade had been thrown aside, tumbled over like building blocks, the basement door yawning open, almost smiling, taunting us to go through. He and the officer on the porch had already searched the home finding no one, no intruder, no burglar, only a very scared little poodle inside my closet whom was now watching us from my bedroom doorway. Joe led the others back down to the basement to show them something he had already seen. I was their somber shadow, falling in behind them, numb to the situation.
With all the lights turned on, the evidence that was left on the floor was very clear but slowly fading. Starting from the basement door that should have been broken into, were wet footprints going across the concrete floor. The same size and barefooted as the ones outside in the snow. Prints that were made by feet that had been warm enough to melt the snow from them as they walked, deliberately to the ragged hole in the wall. That is were the path ended. Of course the cave like room was empty, the flashlights just revealing musty dirt walls.
What trance I had been in seemed to have been violently slapped from me as the reality of all that had taken place twisted furiously inside my mind. I began to shake from the cold, tremble from the fear. The tears came with deep sobs, my eyes and head lowered, my own arms hugging myself. The conclusions hit me with a torrid truth, I was not wise enough to keep this entity from the house. My faith was not strong enough to trust fully and totally in a higher power, nor all the studies done so far complete enough to do battle with this unwanted and indescribable visitor. I stood defeated, overpowered by all that had taken place from the beginning to that moment, with no hope for it to end, no hope for this thing to be sent back to which it came from and made to stay there. Maybe, in some ironic way, it had come from the ground the house stood over, so it was only being sent back to the ragged hole.
Uncle Joe embraced me with a comforting hug and stayed with me until my mom returned from work. The other officers left with nothing officially to report but no doubt had enough stories to tell over coffee at the station for a few days. Joe had explained to my mom the best that he could what had happened and what was and wasn't found in the search, all in the official tone and technical wording of a police officer. Whether she believed it or not she did realize that something happened beyond just the opening of a basement door. That whatever it was I thought I heard or seen all through the years of living there had finally broke my courage and left me in a very nervous state after this particular night.
It wasn't long after that she put the house up for sale. When it didn't go fast enough to suit her she actually gave the house back to the real estate agent, losing anything she would have gotten out of the deal. It was many years later that I heard from an old friend the Oakwood house stood vacant for awhile before being sold to a large family. They had only lived in it for a few years when the house caught on fire. The grandmother that had lived with them was said to have told the neighbors that the house was evil and that very strange things had been happening inside. Then a few more years later I heard from another old friend that the house had been condemned and knocked down, that there was just an empty lot there now.
To this day, however, I still have nightmares about that home on Oakwood, after almost 24 years of having seen it last. Just this past weekend I had to travel back through St. Louis to see a family member and had a wild hair to drive by the corner where it was. To see for myself, for the purpose of some inner healing, if it was actually and finally gone. The exit ramp I needed to take was closed for construction and I knew I'd get lost going any other way then what I remembered from my youth. Maybe it was an omen not to dig deeper into those memories. Maybe it was Gods way of saying, 'No'. Maybe it was a warning, that although the house itself may be gone, the entity still laid in waiting for someone familiar to follow home.
-Jan Thompson.
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