(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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