In 1982, my mother worked in the healthcare industry performing some type of clerical job that required a lot of typing. She developed a close friendship with a co-worker named Sophia. Sophia was quite a bit younger than my mother, and practically a newlywed.
Sophia had a white poodle name Prince. When Sophia and her husband went on vacation, my mother would bring Prince home and we would take care of him for whatever period was necessary. Prince was a lot of fun, and my family really enjoyed taking care of him during these short visits.
Unfortunately, Sophia was stricken with cancer. Her treatment required a great deal of time in the hospital and we found ourselves taking care of Prince frequently and for long periods. The company at which Sophia and my mother worked hired a contract employee to fill in for Sophia. At Sophia's request, my mother brought home several of Sophia's belongings from the office. In particular, I remember a painting that Sophia herself had painted in a class or as a hobby. My mother stored these items in a corner of the master bedroom.
Medical science did not help, sadly, and Sophia died of her illness.
It took some time for Sophia's husband to come out of the other end of the tunnel of grief, but eventually he did. One evening he came to our home for dinner. He picked up Prince and most of Sophia's belongings. The painting from the office, however, he gave to my mother. Mom was happy to have it as a token by which to remember Sophia.
Some time passed. Not sure how long.
I was about sixteen or so at the time.
One night my parents were out dining with friends, and my older sister was out on a date. In such circumstances, I was officially “in charge” and responsible for keeping my younger siblings safe. (My younger sister was about fourteen, my younger brother about ten.)
I was watching TV in the den, my younger brother was preparing for bed (taking a bath), and my younger sister was upstairs in her bedroom.
I heard my sister calling me. I went down the hall to the bottom of the stairs and looked up at my sister at the top of the stairs. She asked “Did you call me?” I told her that I had not. She told me that she had heard a female voice as plain as day calling her name from the foyer (where the stairs were located). I repeated that I had not called her, that our brother was preoccupied with his bath, and that no one else was in the house.
But my sister was obviously rattled. And insistent. In fact, she was a little scared. So I switched into Older Courageous Brother Mode and laughed. I took her for a tour of the entire house, opening all the closets and looking under the beds. We checked all the door locks and I showed her that we three siblings were the only people in the house. Despite my heroic act, she decided she would prefer to watch TV with me in the den. And so we did.
Not long after that, while my sister and I were still watching TV in the den, I heard my brother calling from the bathroom. I went to the door of the bathroom, stuck my head in and said: “What is it?” My brother said: “Someone is calling me from outside the bathroom door.”
Not long after that (minutes!) all three of us were in the den together watching TV. With all the lights on. Where we stayed until my parents got home.
We told our parents the story, and my Dad reacted like we were telling a really great joke. He thought it was hilarious. My Dad is a no-nonsense kind of guy. Conservative. Gruff. “Voices from thin air?” I can hear him saying. “You silly kids watch too much TV. “ And that was that.
The next morning we ate breakfast together and my older sister (who had not been present during the “excitement”) was enjoying our spooky story.
My Dad was quiet. Then he spoke. “Well, you know, I woke up about 2am. The bedroom was so cold, I got up and went to see if the air conditioning was broken. But everything looked ok to me.”
He paused. “I felt really funny,” he said. “I had this strange feeling I was going to walk around the corner and see Sophia.”
Well....how about that? I'm sure I nearly fainted right into my Cheerios.
But that's not the end of the story.
Months later we were recounting the story to friends. I thought the story was already pretty creepy as it was (from my perspective, at least...) but my Dad had yet another chapter to add.
A little explaining is in order. My Dad worked shifts during this period of his career. He would work from midnight to 8am for about a week, then have a few days off, then work from 8am to 4pm for some period, then have a few days off, then work a series of shifts from 4pm to midnight. During periods when he worked midnight to 8am, he would sleep during the day while we were all at school.
While relating the story to our friends, my Dad revealed that a few times after our “fright night”, he had been at home sleeping during the day (working one of the midnight shifts). One time, during the day, he was surprised to hear footsteps coming from one of the bedrooms on the second floor above the master bedroom where he was trying to sleep. He assumed that it was one of us kids, and went upstairs to see why we weren't at school in the middle of the day. To his surprise, no one was there.
He said that he had heard these “footsteps” more than once, and that on at least one occasion, he was so unnerved that he took a firearm upstairs with him. Again, no one was there.
Even after Sophia died, we would still sometimes take care of Prince when Sophia's husband went out of town. A few times I noticed Prince staring down the hallway, as if he was studying something or hearing something. I don't know what.
All I ever experienced directly was creepy feelings.
(Other than the names, all of the story above is true as best I know it. )
Sophia had a white poodle name Prince. When Sophia and her husband went on vacation, my mother would bring Prince home and we would take care of him for whatever period was necessary. Prince was a lot of fun, and my family really enjoyed taking care of him during these short visits.
Unfortunately, Sophia was stricken with cancer. Her treatment required a great deal of time in the hospital and we found ourselves taking care of Prince frequently and for long periods. The company at which Sophia and my mother worked hired a contract employee to fill in for Sophia. At Sophia's request, my mother brought home several of Sophia's belongings from the office. In particular, I remember a painting that Sophia herself had painted in a class or as a hobby. My mother stored these items in a corner of the master bedroom.
Medical science did not help, sadly, and Sophia died of her illness.
It took some time for Sophia's husband to come out of the other end of the tunnel of grief, but eventually he did. One evening he came to our home for dinner. He picked up Prince and most of Sophia's belongings. The painting from the office, however, he gave to my mother. Mom was happy to have it as a token by which to remember Sophia.
Some time passed. Not sure how long.
I was about sixteen or so at the time.
One night my parents were out dining with friends, and my older sister was out on a date. In such circumstances, I was officially “in charge” and responsible for keeping my younger siblings safe. (My younger sister was about fourteen, my younger brother about ten.)
I was watching TV in the den, my younger brother was preparing for bed (taking a bath), and my younger sister was upstairs in her bedroom.
I heard my sister calling me. I went down the hall to the bottom of the stairs and looked up at my sister at the top of the stairs. She asked “Did you call me?” I told her that I had not. She told me that she had heard a female voice as plain as day calling her name from the foyer (where the stairs were located). I repeated that I had not called her, that our brother was preoccupied with his bath, and that no one else was in the house.
But my sister was obviously rattled. And insistent. In fact, she was a little scared. So I switched into Older Courageous Brother Mode and laughed. I took her for a tour of the entire house, opening all the closets and looking under the beds. We checked all the door locks and I showed her that we three siblings were the only people in the house. Despite my heroic act, she decided she would prefer to watch TV with me in the den. And so we did.
Not long after that, while my sister and I were still watching TV in the den, I heard my brother calling from the bathroom. I went to the door of the bathroom, stuck my head in and said: “What is it?” My brother said: “Someone is calling me from outside the bathroom door.”
Not long after that (minutes!) all three of us were in the den together watching TV. With all the lights on. Where we stayed until my parents got home.
We told our parents the story, and my Dad reacted like we were telling a really great joke. He thought it was hilarious. My Dad is a no-nonsense kind of guy. Conservative. Gruff. “Voices from thin air?” I can hear him saying. “You silly kids watch too much TV. “ And that was that.
The next morning we ate breakfast together and my older sister (who had not been present during the “excitement”) was enjoying our spooky story.
My Dad was quiet. Then he spoke. “Well, you know, I woke up about 2am. The bedroom was so cold, I got up and went to see if the air conditioning was broken. But everything looked ok to me.”
He paused. “I felt really funny,” he said. “I had this strange feeling I was going to walk around the corner and see Sophia.”
Well....how about that? I'm sure I nearly fainted right into my Cheerios.
But that's not the end of the story.
Months later we were recounting the story to friends. I thought the story was already pretty creepy as it was (from my perspective, at least...) but my Dad had yet another chapter to add.
A little explaining is in order. My Dad worked shifts during this period of his career. He would work from midnight to 8am for about a week, then have a few days off, then work from 8am to 4pm for some period, then have a few days off, then work a series of shifts from 4pm to midnight. During periods when he worked midnight to 8am, he would sleep during the day while we were all at school.
While relating the story to our friends, my Dad revealed that a few times after our “fright night”, he had been at home sleeping during the day (working one of the midnight shifts). One time, during the day, he was surprised to hear footsteps coming from one of the bedrooms on the second floor above the master bedroom where he was trying to sleep. He assumed that it was one of us kids, and went upstairs to see why we weren't at school in the middle of the day. To his surprise, no one was there.
He said that he had heard these “footsteps” more than once, and that on at least one occasion, he was so unnerved that he took a firearm upstairs with him. Again, no one was there.
Even after Sophia died, we would still sometimes take care of Prince when Sophia's husband went out of town. A few times I noticed Prince staring down the hallway, as if he was studying something or hearing something. I don't know what.
All I ever experienced directly was creepy feelings.
(Other than the names, all of the story above is true as best I know it. )