Scratch that happy thought about grandmother's house

I had heard the stories of things going bump in the night at my grandmother’s house.

A cousin insisted, one night as he slept on her couch, he heard footsteps and thought our grandmother had walked out of her bedroom. But the footsteps walks closer, he saw nothing, and then saw the cushion of a chair sink in, like someone just sat down.

My father, after my grandmother passed away, was closing up the house one night. He went to the basement, spooky enough on its own, and turned out the light. Then, he walked upstairs, turned out all the lights, and went outside to his car. He looked back at the house and the basement light was on.

He did not return to turn it off.

A neighbor told a story of being up in the middle of the night, looking out her window toward my grandmother’s house, and seeing a glowing candle floating in the air inside her kitchen, above where the sink would be.

But I didn’t buy into any of these stories. All superstitious nonsense. There was nothing to be scared of. No ghost lurking in the dark. No monsters under the beds. No vampires in the closet.

Or so I thought.

One night, when my grandmother was away, I decided to stay at her house. Nice and close to the University of Washington, where I was a student.

It was fine, sitting in the living room, reading and watching TV. Around midnight, I decided to crash and went into the bedroom and closed the door. I admit, I wasn’t exactly feeling at peace. There was something, I couldn’t say what, that made me restless and on high-alert for any creaking floorboards or bumps in the night.

I tried to sleep, but couldn’t. I was feeling uneasy.

Relax, I told myself. Just take a deep breath.

Then I heard it.

A scratch. Then, several scratches, like something was at the door.

It must be coming from outside the back door, I thought. Has to be. Perhaps a cat is out there. Maybe a squirrel. Leaves rustling int the wind.

Scratch.

Scratch.

There was no doubt this time. It was coming from the other side of the bedroom door.

I froze.

Scratch.

I sat up and turned on the light. My heart was racing.

Scratch.

That was it. I’m out of here.

I was not a brave man who would face his enemy. I got dressed and walked to the door and stood there.

I listened.

I opened it.

Nothing.

I walked to the front door and straight to my VW convertible parked in front on the street.

I drove back to my dormitory room at the UW and fell to sleep in the comfort and protection of other students.

While I visited my grandmother often and never had another stranger encounter, I never spent the night again.

I was told my grandmother herself was so frightened one night, she left the house to sleep at her neighbor’s.

That house was eventually sold. Reports had it the new owners later called my father and his brother, inquiring if the house was haunted, asking if anyone had died there. Seems they heard and saw things that seemed, well, unnatural.

No, the owners were told. Nothing unusual ever happened. All was well in that house. Just happy thoughts.

I’m glad they didn’t ask me.

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Bill Buley is assistant managing editor of The Coeur d’Alene Press. He can be reached at (208) 416-5110