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 many years now.
Over time, I started
noticing that strange things started happening, seemingly in that upstairs room
of the tree house. Our bedroom in our house is on the end close to that room. 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. Occasionally I heard terrifying, high pitched
screams emanating, it seemed, from that upper room at night, or was it just
another nightmare? Occasionally, a small light could 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 their visiting
friends 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
staying with us.
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. I told him it had been deserted for years, that no lights were
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 2x10 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, the most highly pitched
scream any of us had ever heard. 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? And how,
with your deep voice, could you scream like that?”
He got up and started
heading down the hill toward his car. He stopped, turned and looked at us with
a wild look in his eyes, and finally spoke in his very deep voice.
“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.
No comments:
Post a Comment