Guardian of the Dead - Conclusion

     My grandchildren loved it. For a year or so. I had made it so that the second floor could be reached only by climbing a knotted rope, to keep the small children from getting up to the second floor, maybe falling and getting hurt. Actually, it pretty well turned out that my older grandchildren couldn’t reach that second floor, either. That upstairs room has sat, empty and deserted, for years now.

     Over time, I started noticing that strange things started happening in that upstairs room. Our bedroom in our house is on the end close to that treehouse. One night, I heard a woman moaning way up there in that tree house. It was one of those cases where I snapped suddenly awake, terrified, and was absolutely sure I heard it. Yet later, I reasoned I must have dreamed that, because it just could not have actually happened.  Another time, I was awakened in much the same way, by the sound of someone tapping, very sharply, five times on our bedroom window. Regularly, now, I hear terrifying screams emanating, it seemed, from that upper room at night, or was it just another nightmare? Occasionally, a small light can be seen, flashing on and off, in that upper room. Several times, I have heard the sound of a board falling up there, late at night, even though I left no loose lumber up there. These last two events I was absolutely sure of.  I was wide awake long before they happened.

     Barbara and I have an open door policy for any college student in our church. If they, or their parents need a place to stay overnight, they are always welcome.

     It occurred to me one day, it seemed that the only time those strange noises occurred was when an OBU or HSU student was in our house. I started keeping track of it, and sure enough, strange things often happened up there only when a college student was in or near our house.

     We often have a group of mostly college students over on Sunday nights, and once, when I built a campfire outside after our meeting, they started talking about that tree house, only 50 feet away. Not wanting to scare them, I didn't mention its history. One boy wanted to climb up there. I tried to talk him out of it. Told him it had been deserted for years, no lights in it now, and I don’t really know how solid it still is. He insisted, would not listen to me. He snatched my headlight out of my hand and headed for the tree house. The girls begged him not to go. He negotiated the plank up to the first level, then we could hear him entering. Soon, I could hear him ascending the rope. With much trepidation, I began to realize, he was one of those rare young men with enough shoulder strength to actually get up there.  I held my breath, terrified as I thought what may be about to happen.  Suddenly, we all heard an ear splitting scream. It was followed by a loud thud, as if someone, or something, had fallen. We saw him sliding, jumping, and falling back down that plank. He came to the campfire, sat down in a chair, and never spoke. Just stared into the flames. He was white as a sheet, had a bleeding wound on his head, and my headlight was smashed. Nobody said a word.

     We all sat there quietly for a long time. Finally, a girl spoke. “Why did you scream?” He got up, started heading down the hill toward his car. He stopped, turned and looked at us with a wild look in his eyes, and said, “That was not MY scream.” That’s all he said. Not another word.

     We miss him. Word got back to me that he left town that night. And has never been back. I know I need to just tear that old tree house down. But to take down a tree house, one has to start at the top, or risk having it fall on you. And, I’m not about to go up there.

**********************

As I  mentioned a few posts back, I'm beginning to play around just a tiny bit with historical fiction, and, well, I may have taken a few liberties with this story. Let's just call it Pat's first attempt at historical fiction.