GHOST STORY An amusing story that happened in my brother's "haunted house" By John Fuhring Many years ago my brother owned a beautiful Victorian
era bead and breakfast house that he had wonderfully restored and accurately furnished there in Northern California. Sometime after he had the restoration far enough along so that he could open it up as a business, he and his wife
hosted a Victorian Society party and 'open house.' It was during this party that they met with a "Sensitive"
and were told by her that the place was haunted by three ghosts.
The "ghosts" were an older woman and two children. The
older lady was a governess to the two children, all three of whom had
died of cholera in the house. They even had names. Needless to say that
my brother and my sister-in-law devoutly believed this. Not long after
the party, my brother invited us up for a small family reunion so we
could see and admire what he had done to the old house and enjoy his
wife's wonderful cooking. This reunion included my sister and
myself. When the story was told at the grand supper my sister-in-law
had prepared for us, of course I had a big grin on my face while
everybody else seemed grimly serious. I asked my sister if she
believed it and she quickly and somewhat embarrassed said "of course
not." Ha, ha.
The bedrooms were all upstairs on either side of a long
hallway and each furnished with a genuine antique commode (which we
were not supposed to use). You can believe me that my brother had
restored them to high Victorian Age opulence, each one different from
the next and each with their own coal fired fireplace. Since it was
known that I did not believe in the supernatural, I was placed in
perhaps the most beautiful room of the house near the staircase where
"the children" were said to hang out. It seems that nobody else
wanted that room, beautiful as it was,
so I got it. That night I woke up in a very comfortable bed, but only
because I had to P. The bedroom doors on either side of the hallway all
had movable, beautifully etched glass panels at their tops (transoms)
going up to a very high ceiling. These glass panels provided air
circulation when opened, but more importantly, let light into the rooms
and into the hallways. During the day, the tall windows let in so much light, no other light was needed. At night, before there were street lights, you would need to turn up the hallway lights (kerosene, then gas, now electric lights). I knew that if I would turn on the hall light, I would light up all the rooms through the transoms and that would wake everybody up. As mentioned, I had to P, but the "indoor outhouse" (built into a huge closet around 1920), was at the far end of the hallway and, of course, this was in the .... ah ... dead ... of night when everybody should be asleep. Dark as it was, the hallway was well lit by street light coming in through the very tall Victorian windows. Without turning on any lights, I quietly made my way down the hallway, but every now and again a board would squeak. Eeeeey, Eeeey, Eeeey. I did my thing, left the water closet unflushed and returned to my room, again stepping on a sweaky board, for a contented and dreamless night's rest. Next
morning at breakfast I was somewhat shocked to see my sister, a
normally very intelligent and sensible woman, looking very tired, so I
asked if she had slept well and she said no, she hadn't. I bragged
about how well I had slept and how wonderfully refreshed I felt, but then remembered that I had to get up to use
the bathroom. My sister doubted me since she didn't see the lights come on or
hear the loud flush and gurgle of the ancient water-closet plumbing. I
said I could see perfectly without the lights and not wanting to wake
anybody, I made as little noise as possible and did not flush knowing
how loud it would be (the external plumbing shaking the whole house). The End |