My Haunted House IV: Footsteps and Big Bangs

By far the most active period for weird happenings at the house were the 1980s. After the grate incidents in 1983, the family experienced some more common sorts of paranormal activity: sounds.

One morning I returned to the house after walking my daughter M to the elementary school down the block. I unlocked the door and stepped into the foyer--and heard heavy footsteps in the upper hallway. I knew right away that no flesh-and-blood person was upstairs. As I looked up the foyer staircase, the footsteps stopped. I ran upstairs and looked through all the rooms, but as I expected, no one was there. 

                                              The Eastlake design doorknob on the front door.

Later that year, I had returned once again from walking M to school one morning and was collecting laundry in the upstairs bedrooms when I heard the front door open. No knock. No sound of the deadbolt turning. But as clear as day, for several seconds, I heard the sound of the latch on the heavy ash door being released, the door swinging open, and the ambient sounds from the street. I called out, but no one answered. I then went to the foyer staircase and looked down. To my amazement, the door was shut and locked.

By this time, we had decided that the most likely candidate for who was causing these manifestations was Frank M. Cartwright. As I mentioned in Part II, Frank lived in the house from 1910 until his death in 1936. For much of that time he worked at the house, running his tack and livery business from what was then the barn. 

                                            

                                              A Cartwright family photo of the barn, c. 1915.              

                                                           Frank M. Cartwright, 1866-1836

                                        Part of the horse tack we found in the former barn.

When she visited the house in 1977, Frank's daughter Helen Ruth Kinney was aghast to see how the house had changed since when her parents owned it. During the Depression, they had duplexed the house, but had made minimal changes--locks installed on the foyer doors and a sink and shelves installed in the bedroom over the dining room to make an upstairs kitchen. When she and her brother sold the house in 1941, it looked much as it had when it was built. 

But by the time we acquired it in 1976, all--and I do mean all--of the woodwork had been painted, some ceilings lowered, the Victorian framework and mirrors over the fireplace removed, the fretwork spandrels taken down, and the original fixtures removed. The walls of the dining room, for example, had been painted Pepto-Bismol pink with a purple ceiling, and a "flying saucer" light that you could pull up and down had been installed over the table area. The hardwood floors were in a deplorable condition. The exterior had been sheathed in two layers of siding: "insulbrick", fiberboard sheathing covered with tar and granular material, and above that, asbestos shakes. All of the exterior and interior ornament had been removed.

                  Removing the layers of siding, 1977. Asphalt siding was under the asbestos shakes.

We had decided that Frank was the one haunting the place because: A. The ghost was obviously male. B. The activity started after we had completed the exterior restoration and had begun the interior restoration.

Helen Ruth Kinney also told us how her family loved parties. She had been a professional singer before she married, and when she and her husband homesteaded in northern Alberta, they hauled an upright piano with them. On Christmas week neighbors would come from miles around to sing, dance, and be merry around their piano. 

                                               

                                          Helen Ruth in costume for one of her singing roles

We liked music and parties, too. Every year from the early 1980s from when I sold the house in 2017, I would hold a party on the Winter Solstice.

The Winter Solstice party and carol sing was held each year on the solstice itself, whatever the weather or day of the week. Guests would bring holiday treats to share, and a large pot of glögg (Swedish mulled wine, very potent) and another of apple cider would be simmering on the stove. After socializing for an hour or so, the guests would assemble in the parlors for a short program of readings of the season--for example, Wallace Stevens' "The Snow Man", Thomas Hardy's "The Oxen", Clement Moore's "'Twas the Night Before Christmas," or a humorous holiday story. 

After that, people would arrange themselves around the tree and baby grand piano in the front parlor for the carol sing. Since many attendees were from the St. David's (Welsh) Society, we'd sing carols and songs in English and a few in Welsh in four-part harmony. We'd sing all the favorites, as well as some unfamiliar ones, always ending with "Silent Night" in English and then in German.

                  Singing around the tree, Solstice Party 2014, with David Evan Thomas at the piano.

Most years, 15-25 people would show up to celebrate the solstice. One solstice night in the mid-1990s Minneapolis was hit with a big snowstorm. By the time the party started, the ground was already covered with several inches of heavy, wet snow. Nevertheless, four diehards from the St. David's Society managed to get the house. Few cars and pedestrians were out and about.

Around 9:30, we were gathered around the piano in the front parlor singing Welsh Plygain carols when we heard someone come up onto the porch. The sound of someone wearing heavy boots came to the front door. Then silence. We expected whoever it was to come in through the unlocked door, but nothing happened.  

                                                  The front porch, decorated for Christmas.

All of us heard the footsteps, but we couldn't see anyone out the front window. I got up from the piano, went into the foyer, and opened the front door. Not only was no one there, but the drifted snow on the porch was unmarked by footprints. The others came and looked out, too. They were thunderstruck. Who or what had walked across the porch? Was that Frank letting us know he was coming to the party? I think so.

                                      The restored fireplace mantel in the front parlor, Christmas 1981

In 1991, inspired by the PBS TV series "The Civil War', we threw a party around that theme. Four people, including me, whose ancestors had served in the war told their family stories, and then we had various musicians sing and play songs from that era. The house was packed with guests. Before the concert began, several people were in the front parlor talking as we waited for the trumpet player, Colin, to arrive. (Coincidentally, the trumpeter was one of the teenagers who had heard footsteps when he came to feed the animals.) 

I was talking to my friend Mitzi in the front parlor when we heard the sound of boots coming onto the porch and crossing to the door. Those in the front room all heard the footsteps. "That's got to be Colin," I said, getting up and going into the foyer. But again, when I opened the door, no one was there. Mitzi was freaked out, as she clearly had heard the footsteps, as had the others. I suspected that it was party-loving, music-loving Frank who had once again made his arrival known.

Frank came to another solstice carol sing in 2015. At least I think so. We were singing around the piano, when a loud "bang" reverberated through the wall where the front door was located. Again, we looked out to see if anyone was at the door, but of course, there was no one.

The next year on Halloween Eve, there was another loud bang, this time from the back of the house. By then, the summer kitchen had been converted to an all-season room, with three windows looking out onto the back yard and a door with a window. From my Facebook post that day: 

"A curious incident this evening. It's 5:40 p.m. and I'm stirring the soup pot in the kitchen. Suddenly, a loud pounding sounds at the back door--three quick bangs like a fist striking the storm door. Viggo jumps up barking, and we both hurry to the door. There must be an emergency--garage on fire, someone hurt? I look through the window. No one is there. I quickly open the door. The gates are closed and latched. I go out and look around the yard, up on the roof, then come in and look in the basement. Nothing is disturbed or changed inside and outside. All is quiet. WTF?"

                                              The front window, decorated for Halloween, 2009
 

In 2017, the year after the second big bang, after I had bought my house in Duluth and was preparing to move, another loud bang rocked the house. But I'll wait till we get to that part of the story to tell you the details.

My Haunted House III: Lemme Outta Here!

Note: A couple of the incidents I'll be describing have been mentioned in previous posts in this blog. Rather than referring you to these posts, for the sake of continuity, I will be describing these incidents again in this series.

                                *                              *                               *                              * 

 

                         The house with the first paint colors after restoration. The original colors were               pea-green siding with yellow-gold trim.

Within months of the grate moving, another curious incident transpired when the family was out of town. Family friend Lucy was staying at the house while we had driven to Pittsburgh to visit relatives.

One day she returned to the house after work and found the front door wide open. Alarmed, Lucy went inside and checked all the rooms.  She found that burglars had broken in at the back of the house through the flimsy pine door to the summer kitchen. (This was when the summer kitchen was an unheated addition.) Nothing was disturbed on the first floor, but on the second floor in the master bedroom, Lucy found two dresser drawers pulled out and their contents dumped on the floor. A jewelry box containing some costume jewelry was missing, with a few pieces strewn on the stairs, in the foyer, and on the front porch. Cash and a watch belonging to Lucy that were clearly visible in the guest room were untouched.

                                            The entrance to the summer kitchen at the back of the house                                                                   before conversion to an all-season room.

The break-in had probably lasted only a few minutes. Why were these burglars in such a rush to flee that they left the front door open? Why did they risk running out the front door in broad daylight, where neighbors or passersby might see them? Why did they open only a couple of drawers before quitting?

The answer: They thought that someone was home. Did they hear footsteps coming down the stairs from the third floor? Were there sounds of someone moving around in the parlors or dining room? Whatever happened, it seems obvious that the thieves were in a big hurry to get out of there, choosing to escape through the front, rather than retracing their steps to the back. 

During the 'Eighties friends of my daughter Ceridwen who came to the house to take care of our pets when we were out of town had stories to tell about their encounters with an unseen resident--perhaps the same resident who had scared off the burglars. Six of these friends had similar stories to tell (and this is important), not knowing about the others' stories. Four girls related how after hearing heavy footsteps on the second floor as they were feeding the pets in the kitchen, they couldn't wait to get out of the house.

                                                         The front staircase after restoration.

The two teenage boys who had come to tend to the animals were completely freaked out by their experience. In the words of one of them:

"We went in to feed the dog. We went upstairs to feed the bird. It was really cold out. We heard the front door open. A blast of cold air came in. We thought you guys had come home early from your trip. We shouted down the staircase [that] it was us. We heard someone slowly walk up the stairs. We waited and spoke toward the sound. We crept toward the stop of the stairs. . .There was nothing there.

The door was wide open.

I am agnostic, but this was a huge event in my spiritual formation."

                                                       The front porch entry in winter.

Only one other break-in attempt occurred while I lived there--again via the back--but my dog Viggo stopped the would-be burglar and scared him off. Fortunately, thanks to Viggo, the ghost with the heavy boots did not have to put in an appearance.

At Home in the Afterlife

                                  “The past is never dead. It's not even past.”
                                                    ― William Faulkner

For Halloween, here's one of my favorite stories. It involves a deceased owner hanging around, haunting her former home in Duluth, Minnesota. 

                                                    A street in Duluth's East End

In the late 1990s, I stopped by to visit a friend who was restoring a spacious 1905 Craftsman house in Duluth's East End. Knowing that I was collecting ghost stories, she introduced me to Marie, who lived with her family in the house across the street.

                                                            A 1910 Craftsman House

Marie had quite a story to tell. The 5,000+ square-foot house that her family occupied was built in 1911, designed by a prominent architect who had designed a number of notable houses, churches, and civic buildings, some now on the National Register. In 1917 a well-to-do young couple bought the house and moved in. The house was so large, the family had a live-in maid to help manage it for the couple, and eventually, their two children. The wife--whom we'll call Mrs. Smith--lived there until her death in the late 1960s.

At that point, Marie and her husband Paul acquired the house. On their first night in the house, Marie and Paul heard someone walking around above their second floor bedroom. Their dog heard it, too, following the sound of footsteps around with his eyes. Paul decided to check it out, but the dog was very reluctant to accompany him. Paul had to drag the dog up to the third floor with him. But no one was there. All was quiet. 

As the weeks went on, they regularly heard footsteps on the third floor. Paul and Marie learned that Mrs. Smith had had a liquor cabinet on the third floor over the master bedroom. Was it merely coincidental that the footsteps were heard in that area? They also heard someone walking around in what had been maid's room over the kitchen. Those weren't the only unexplained noises. From the kitchen they sometimes heard the crystals tinkling on the chandelier in the foyer, as if someone had opened the front door; they occasionally heard the back door open and shut. 

Three years after Paul and Marie moved in, their son was born. Marie took leave from work to care for him. One day, Marie was doing laundry in the basement. She loaded the washer and crossed to the stairs. As she walked past it, a large door with a window insert that had been propped against the wall since they moved in fell behind her with a loud crash. She had not so much as brushed against it. Terrified, Marie dashed up the stairs and scooped up the baby. Hot-footing it to the garage, she strapped him in his car seat and drove off. Marie drove around Duluth and environs for several hours, fearing to go back into the house alone. When her husband got home from work, they found the door still lying on the basement floor, and nothing else had changed.

Six years later, their son, now with his own bedroom, took to using the bathroom in the master bedroom suite at night because it was closer than the main bath. One night as he came into the darkened bedroom, he was startled to see a luminous blue form moving around his parents' bed as they slept. He ran back to his room and hid under the covers for the rest of the night. And that was the end of his visits to the master bathroom.

 

As the months passed, the odd noises continued. Sometimes a clap-on-off table lamp in one of the first floor rooms would go off, or on, when no one clapped or turned the switch. Marie and Paul had the opportunity to buy a large Persian rug that was original to the house, and they got it and installed it. Mrs. Smith--if that's who it was--calmed down somewhat after that, but paranormal activity never stopped completely.

One evening, Paul and Marie went out to attend an event. They came into the house through the back and walked through to the living room. As they came into the room, the babysitter and her friend looked up in surprise. 

"Did you just come home?" asked the teenagers--who freaked out when they heard the answer. A half an hour earlier, they had clearly heard the back door open and close and had assumed that the parents had been in the kitchen since then.

As time went by, stories about the house began circulating around town.  Sometimes when Marie was at a party, she would overhear someone relating a story about their house. It came as no surprise, as a number of people had witnessed strange goings-on there, and the family did not attempt to keep the incidents a secret.

The strangest incident of all happened one day as Mrs. Smith's son was driving down the street with a friend. As they approached the former Smith home, the friend said, "I've heard stories that your mother is haunting the family abode." 

"Rubbish!" exclaimed the son--just as the engine cut out right in front of the house.

 

                                                            Spooky black willow
 

Stories of hauntings by former occupants are among the most common ghost stories. As someone who lived for four decades in a house haunted by an owner who had died in 1942, I can relate. As Marie found, activity can be sporadic with long, quiet intervals between incidents. For the most part, the incidents were not scary, and our family learned to accept the occasional unexplained event, just as Marie's family had. 

    Halloween decorations at my old house