When I was around 16, I had a friend whom I shall call Jane, she and her parents lived in an old Victorian house in Boston. It was absolutely magnificent, 15 foot ceilings, all dark, original woodwork in pristine condition, parquet floors and all the amenities. Her father had been a career officer in the US Army and was retired; her mother was a buyer for one of the largest department stores in the city. One Saturday morning, Jane and I were upstairs in her room chatting, her father was making lunch for everyone as her mother was ill with a cold and resting in bed down the hall from where we were. Her dad came up the stairs carrying a tray for her mom and walked passed, telling us the soup was on the stove and to help ourselves. He then continued down the hallway.
A few minutes later there was a deafening crash from downstairs, the entire floor shook from the impact and we heard glass shattering. Her father came running down the hallway, her mother was behind him in her robe, Jane and I were stock still, terrified. Her dad told us all to stay put. We heard him go to each room of the downstairs, the basement, etc, we finally crept half way down. He appeared white-faced and stern, he said he could find nothing wrong. He went next door to the houses on either side, everything was fine. I was mystified, I had FELT the impact and HEARD the glass, it was very real. We went down to look and the rooms were untouched by any mayhem. To this day I cannot explain it. Jane afterwards told me that things often moved about in the house on their own, etc, but that I never witnessed, however it would not surprise me considering what I experienced. Her mother was a devout Catholic with many idols and relics in the house, I was shocked by the proliferation of statues, etc, even though I was raised Catholic.
You must log in to post a comment.