Monday, October 27, 2014

A True Ghostly Experience

My brother purchased a military building and turned it into a rock carving workshop on the farm.  He carved mostly small animals.  He was working on a duck drinking from a water pond the day our mother died.  He put a lock on the rock shop door and never opened it again.

Six years later, he died.  A good friend found him, and my sister and I rushed over to the farm.  We gathered up all the keys to the various buildings, took them home, and made arrangements with a family friend, Ken, to take care of the animals until we could figure out what to do.  When we went over later that day, he was waiting for us and as white as a zombie. He darted toward our vehicles before we could even get out.

“Did either of you unlock the rock shop last night?” he asked.

My sister and I looked at each other and shook our heads.

“I was doing the chores this morning and heard a motor running,” he began.  “Couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. I walked down toward the horse barn and noticed the door on the rock shop was open. Was he working on a project in there?”

I tried to swallow but my throat was already as dry as a dead man’s bones.  I shook my head again, knowing he hadn’t been in the rock shop since mom died.

Ken drew the fingers and thumb of his right hand slowly along his beard.  “I figured kids must have busted in.”

Already they were vandalizing the farm?  How would we protect the farm and the animals unless someone stayed here?

But Ken was shaking his head.  “The lock wasn’t broken. The door wasn’t broken. I could hear the sound of that motor getting louder.”

My sister went as stiff as a five day old corpse.  “But we took all the keys with us last night.”

A chill ran up my spine.  “How can that be?”

Ken went as pallid as ghost.  “That’s not all,” he said.  “I went inside.  The rock tumbler was plugged in and running.  It didn’t have anything in it. Years of dust rested on everything. Nothing had been disturbed.”

Despite this being my family home, I fought the urge to get the hell out of there.  How had the building gotten unlocked and who would plug in an empty rock tumbler and leave?  It didn’t make sense.

Had it been a last message from my brother?  What was he trying to tell us?  Obviously, he wanted to tell us something because it wasn’t the only ghostly experience we had, but that’s for another story.

Happy Halloween!  Keep safe!

Cindy A. Christiansen
Sweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs!
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