A True Ghost Story: The Haunting Of B.T. Evilpants

Since I have gained a reputation for writing mostly sophomoric humor, I thought I should make a foray into the neighborhood of non-fiction. Ok, so ghosts are not exactly a well respected topic, but every word is true. The following events happened between August, 1993, and August 2005.

After the birth of our first child, a gorgeous little girl, we decided it was time to move out of our tiny one bedroom apartment. We knew we couldn't afford much, in the way of a house. We had very little money for a down-payment and certainly couldn't afford a large mortgage payment. Our search, of course, was met with one dead end after another. When we decided to look into renting a house we were shocked to find that, in many cases, it cost more to rent a house than to buy one.

We were beginning to lose hope, but were willing to give it a little more time. We found one more rental house in the paper and went to have a look. When we pulled into the driveway, our hearts sank. Nice neighborhood, less than three blocks from the school, and on a quiet block. Sure, it only had two bedrooms but it was a brick ranch. No way we could afford this. The last one we saw like this was over a thousand dollars a month, to rent.

We went in to look around anyway (doesn't hurt to dream, right?). It was absolutely perfect! Wall to wall carpet (perfect for the baby), appliances and a garage. This would be a dream come true, if only we could afford it.

Well, you could have knocked me over with a butter tart, when the landlord told us it could be ours for $600.00 a month. That wasn't much more than the apartment cost.

Of course we knew that it sounded too good to be true. We also knew what that usually meant. At the risk of looking a gift horse in the mouth, I boldly asked why it was so cheap. He said that he had gotten the house from his mother. He couldn't bear the thought of selling it but he already had a perfectly good house of his own. Well, that was good enough for me. We moved in within three weeks.

It didn't take long to figure out that something wasn't quite right. It started small. Seeing a shadow out of the corner of my eye. Hearing the occasional whisper. Generally, small things that could be easily chalked up to sleep deprivation. We did have a new baby, after all, and sleep was at a premium.

Then it began to escalate. There were often footsteps upstairs. Boots on a hard floor. The funny thing was, we were the only ones in the house, and there was no upstairs. Just a dusty attic, padded with insulation. Definitely no room to walk around.

A few months later, it escalated again. I was lying in bed trying to get to sleep. There was a definite tap on the back of my head. Three of them, in fact. I asked my wife, Debbie, why she was tapping on my head. No answer. She was dead asleep.

I lay back down and there it was again. It was kind of creepy, but I tried to ignore it. It went on like this for several nights. I hadn't told Debbie, because I didn't want to scare her. Or worse, she might think I was crazy. Finally, when I'd had enough, I shouted "STOP IT!!!" Scared the hell out of Debbie, but the tapping stopped...for a while.

Then came the shriek. It was hideous. Again, we were in bed. I was just about to nod off, when it came. "MOMMYDADDYNO!!" That was how it sounded. All one word and very loud. Loud to me, anyway. My wife was already asleep and didn't hear anything. Then the tapping returned.

I sat bolt upright, all broken out in goosebumps.That, of course, woke Debbie and scared her half to death in the bargain. We decided to start saving so we could move as soon as our lease expired.

Our luck took a turn for the worse. By this time, I had a pretty good job. I was making more money than I ever thought possible. And yet we couldn't save. It seemed that every time we had something set aside, one tragedy or another would come along. And I'm not talking about life's little tragedies. These were the once in a lifetime, bank account draining, morale killing variety of tragedies. Ranging in severity from a car accident that should have killed me, to an injury that ended my career and could have done far worse (more on that one, in a minute), they just kept coming.

The strange thing was, they only happened when we started looking at houses, and got worse as we got closer to actually finding one. Each time we decided to wait another year, things calmed down considerably. We couldn't ignore the coincidence, but also couldn't admit what we suspected. It still sounds impossible, and more than a little bit crazy; but it seemed as if something was very much against the idea of us moving.

By now you probably think I'm certifiable, so I may as well tell you the rest. The cycle continued for twelve years. Save money, look at houses, lose money, start over.

Probably the scariest experience belongs to Debbie. She woke early on a Saturday morning to find that she couldn't move. It got worse from there. There was a tingling feeling throughout her body, that intensified to a painful level. She compared it to being electrocuted. That was where it peaked. Things got better after that, for a while, at least.

What about the baby? I knew you would ask. She was always safe. I don't know why, but it never bothered her. Quite the opposite, actually. Many times, it actually calmed her. She would stop crying, and grin and wave. We never saw what, or who she was waving at.

In the ensuing years we had a second baby. A boy this time. And if we had any doubts as to whether or not Sherry (our daughter) was actually seeing and waving at someone, he erased them. Christopher (our son) would follow something around the room, with his eyes. Something that only he and his sister could see. It drove us a little mad, but we were grateful that it was friendly with them.

As they grew, they remained...I'll call it observant. I remember one encounter in particular. Christopher was very ill. We had gotten him to sleep, or so we thought, and went to bed ourselves. The next morning, he asked Debbie why she had kept coming into his room, and sitting on his bed; and why she hadn't said anything, while she was there.

She didn't want to scare him, so she told him she was just checking on him. The truth was that she hadn't been out of bed all night. On another occasion, the visitor was identified. Sherry described a lady who had been visiting her for quite some time. We pulled out some photos, and she proclaimed "That's her!", pointing to Debbie's grandmother, who had been deceased for some fifteen years. It could have been imagination, or maybe great grandma was the protector. By that time we didn't know what to think.

Back to the career ender. We had been looking at houses again. We had made an offer and it looked promising. I'll never forget that weekend. September 3, 2000. Labor Day weekend. I volunteered to work. Sunday, on a holiday weekend paid triple time. Money that would be welcome with a big down-payment and closing costs on the horizon.

This was to be another in a growing line of freak accidents. A hydraulic line burst, and I rushed to shut down the pump. The oil had spread quickly and was already underfoot. Before I knew I had even slipped, I was in the air. As I landed on the edge of a machine base, I heard a loud snap. In less than a second, I had added two extra bends to my arm, destroyed a major muscle group, and ended the best career I ever knew. And along with my career went any hope of buying our house.

I won't go into the physical pain involved. But this one slip and fall changed the course of my life. It was a full year of physical therapy before I was allowed to return to work, with permanent restrictions. With the job that I had, physical restrictions just wouldn't cut it. I was laid off, in short order.

If it was something supernatural, that was continually trying to keep us in that house, they overplayed their hand. After another year of being played by the insurance company, they decided that my continued disability was genuine. Rather than training me into a new career, they found that it was in their best interest to settle my claim.

Much to the chagrin of our imaginary tormentors, we now had enough money to pay off our bills, replace our dying vehicles, and yes, put a down a big chunk on a house. The latter was actually no longer a dream, but had become a necessity. Our landlord phoned us the same week. Apparently, due to a financial hardship, he had to put our house up for sale.

By a strange twist of fate, we found another house within a few days. It was only a block and a half away, and nearly identical to our rental house. The only difference was that our new home had three bedrooms, and central air. Bonus!

If you have a little trouble believing this story, I don't blame you. In truth, I probably wouldn't believe it if I hadn't lived it. But it's not quite over, yet. I know this next part sounds a little cliche, but it's true. As we were packing up the kitchen, Debbie said something like "I can't believe we're finally leaving this nightmare of a house." She had barely finished the statement when dishes took to the air. They didn't just fall from the cupboard, they flew about five or six feet. It was two plates and a bowl, from two different shelves. That was the last we heard from whatever it was that lived with us in our little house on Alvin Street.

Whether or not anyone believes my story, is of little consequence to me. I know it's true. I lived it. And I have to tell you, it feels good to get it out. I've told a few people a few details. But nobody has ever heard my entire tale. It has been festering inside for years. If you have read this far, you have my thanks.

I was about to hit the publish button, when one more little factoid occurred to me. As I said, the landlord was in dire financial straits and needed to sell this house. The fact of the matter is this: We have been in our new home for just over three years, now. A block and a half to the north of us, the little house on Alvin Street remains vacant to this day. The landlord put in some new carpeting, made a few minor repairs, and there it sits. Empty. Why? I don't know, and I don't want to know.