Two Weeks
By
Rebecca Patrick–Howard
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Praise for Two Weeks
definitely one of the scariest paranormal accounts I've ever read! Highly recommended- Carla T., online reviewer
A fantastic and unbelievable story! Rebecca-Patrick Howard has done it again!- online reviewer
I could not put the book down- Ramona Lott, online reviewer
It pulled me in from the beginning and I read it from start to finish in one sitting. Great descriptions of the action and the characters. The author writes like she is talking to you and telling you a great ghost story around the campfire. Loved it!!!- Randy Ryan, online reviewer
Terrifying, well-written, has the ring of truth. An excellent way to spend a rainy evening - just be prepared to leave a nightlight on- online reviewer
For Lori,
Because, well, she knows…
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Table of Contents
Praise for Two Weeks
Special Thanks
Introduction
Laura’s House
Laura’s Stay
Hello Again
Laura’s Story
Day 1
Day 2
Day 3
Day 4
Day 5
Day 6
Day 7
Back with Laura
Now
Why?
Author’s Note
Visit Amazon
Kentucky Witches
About the author:
Rebecca’s Links
Other books by Rebecca
Windwood Farm excerpt
Special Thanks
I’d like to take a moment and thank several people for helping out with this project. First, I’d like to thank my mother. She was a wealth of information where this story is concerned. I picked her brain several times over many years as we tried to piece the events together and keep them fresh in our memories.
I’d also like to thank my husband who has patiently listened to me go over the details of this account many times. He even humored me and drove me out to the house a time or two so that I could get the physical aspects of its architectural style correct. (I was young when I last saw it; I wanted to know if it still looked as I remembered it.)
Lastly, I’d like to thank the following people who helped me with research on the house and surrounding area: Theresha Capri, Bobby Barnes, Donna Cole, Bobbie Sue Hall, Lori Buckland, and Ashley Kirk.
Introduction
Although parts of it are going to sound unbelievable, the following story is true. The events occurred in the early 1990’s in a small town in Eastern Kentucky. Although I was there at the time of the events, they did not happen to my family; rather, they occurred to a family I was well acquainted with. I vividly remember them moving into the house and can recall certain details of it, including the cellar and kitchen, clearly. In fact, I often find myself there in dreams. My part in the story is a small one. I was merely a bystander. However, I heard about the events as they transpired as well as many times afterwards. When people ask me what I think is the the scariest thing that’s ever happened to me, I usually share this tale because even though I didn’t personally live in the house, it left a huge impact on me. I recently met with “Laura” for lunch and she jokingly said I remember the specifics better than she does.
Many details have been changed, including the names of the family members as well as the name of the actual town. There are some privacy issues involved with this story and that will probably become clearer as the narrative progresses. I actually felt a little funny bringing certain events up to the family in order to write this book because I am sure some of them would rather forget they happened. In addition, the current homeowner would probably not welcome any publicity that inquisitive minds might present. This is a pity, actually, because if ever there was a house that needed a good investigation this would be the one.
Although the book is entitled Two Weeks and is predominantly about one family’s involvement with the house, they were not the only family entangled in its malevolent web. I’ve now gotten to know another family who also lived there and had a similar experience, although I unfortunately do not have as many details about their account.
At the end of the book I’ve attempted to offer some interesting information I’ve gathered about the area through research. I have no idea if the area’s history has any relevance on the events that transpired in the house, but it’s probably as possible as anything else. I believe in energy (both negative and positive) and the area is certainly old enough to carry both. I think it’s highly likely that the history has had an effect on the land and consequently the buildings that have been constructed there. If the story about the house’s former use is also true then that would offer another plausible explanation for it as well.
It does appear that once both families moved from the location their troubles ended so I have no doubt that the house itself was haunted and not the families. As far as other tenants and why they weren’t affected as strongly, one can only speculate. I would personally consider them lucky.
Laura’s House
I had to admit it: I was jealous of Laura’s new house.
Moving was not something Laura’s family was unfamiliar with. In the short time I’d been good friends with her, a little over a year, they’d already moved twice. She and her four sisters and brother were pros at packing their belongings, loading them up in a U–Haul, and settling into a new place. In fact, they did it so quickly and fluidly that it had almost become second nature to them. Despite the fact that Laura was only eleven, she knew her way around boxes and could pack and stack better than most adults.
What set this particular move apart was the house they were moving into. “This is the best house ever,” Laura had gushed when she first told me about it. “You’re going to love it! I am soooo excited!”
I was jealous. We were moving that summer as well, but we were moving to an apartment in the middle of town. It was dark and cramped, smelled like stale cheese, and I couldn’t have any pets there which meant I had to give up both my dog and my kitten. “Can’t we just sneak it in?” I’d begged my mother. She hadn’t been swayed.
Laura’s new house was on five acres, had four bedrooms, and boasted the best climbing tree I’d ever seen. The tree was tall and thick with branches low enough to the ground so that one could easily swing up onto them and work their way to the top. “I’m going to build me a treehouse up there,” her little brother Bobby had boasted, pointing to the very top. “And no girls will be allowed. Ever!” This statement had caused Candy, the youngest, to burst into tears.
Sure, it was an old farm house that probably hadn’t been updated since it was built and was a little rough around the edges, but Laura and I could see past the chipped paint, creaky stairs, and mold and mildew that grew on some parts of the ceiling. “We can paint and fix all that stuff,” Laura had said causally. “The landlord said we could do anything we wanted to–even paint our bedroom green if we wanted!”
It was the biggest house Laura had ever lived in and the first time she’d be able to spread out her stuff
and not be on top of one of her siblings. She couldn’t wait to explore the old barn in the back, climb the tree, and decorate for the holidays. Like me, Laura had a love of history and the thought of living in something that was a part of the past excited her. It excited me for her.
Of course, the big red stain in the middle of the kitchen floor was an eyesore and it couldn’t be easily overlooked. “A little bleach will take that right out,” her father, Jimmy, insisted when his wife pointed it out.
Jenny had grimaced, almost certainly recognizing that it was going to take a lot of bleach to get the house cleaned to her standards. She didn’t complain, though. She was just as happy to be out in the country as her step kids and husband.
Laura was my best friend. She and her sisters, all younger than us, spent more time at my house than they did just about anywhere else. As an only child I was envious of the fact that she had built–in playmates and I wanted her siblings for my own. When the girls spent the night with me, sometimes all at once, we stayed up all night watching comedies and horror movies, making baked potatoes in the microwave and piling them high with shredded cheese, and doing our makeup like movie stars. Their sleepovers were the highlight of my fifth–grade year.
Fifth grade had been rough for both of us and I was glad to see it gone. For the first time ever not all of our classmates were friends. Boys and girls were starting to pair off, to form “cliques,” as my mother called them. Whereas in the past we had all played together on the playground and talked during lunch and breakfast, now some of the girls made fun of others’ clothes and hairstyles. They broke off into small groups and pointed and whispered at the kids who didn’t dress like them or live in nice houses like them. One constantly made fun of Laura’s hair because she looked like Kimmie Gibbler on Full House and had a mullet. Another was always making fun of my overbite and the way I walked.
Without Laura I don’t think I could’ve lasted that year out. I often found myself curled up on my bed, my pillow soaked in tears. We were kindred spirits, though, almost from the moment we met and had instantly formed a connection. Laura and I had banded together against some of the snobbier girls in our grade and effectively created our own little unit. We did everything together and could often be found in a corner, heads huddled, sharing secrets. People were envious of our friendship and even I, at a young age, knew what we had was special. Laura and I could spend hours together without saying a word, just content to be in one another’s company. I couldn’t have loved her more if she’d been my real sister and would have gleefully beaten up anyone who was mean to her. I wanted to protect her.
Now, however, we were going to be more than an hour away from each other. She was moving to a town so small it didn’t even have a proper store and I was going to the college town of Richmond. We’d be at different schools. As someone who didn’t make friends easily, I wasn’t sure what I’d do without her and I consequently went through the first part of the summer dreading the day we’d leave. I clung to her like a burr, probably suffocating her with my neediness.
Despite my insecurities, Laura took my sensitive emotions in stride. She was a sweet, quiet, and thoughtful girl. What some people referred to as an “old soul,” she came across as much older than her eleven years. Indeed, her sisters treated her like another mother. Her stepmother, Jenny, was only in her mid–twenties and looked like one of the girls herself.
Laura cooked, cleaned, babysat, and babied her siblings like a mother hen. She also made excellent grades, attended church where she sang in the choir, and was the favored student of most of her teachers. Her clothes were always clean and neat and she was nice to everyone she encountered at a time when some of the girls our age were really learning the art of cruelty.
Laura’s father and stepmother were hardworking blue–collar people. Though jobs were scarce in our area and difficult to maintain for almost anyone, Jimmy never went long without employment and could do just about anything. Jenny had been the manager of several restaurants. They’d experienced a few setbacks but were persistent and tried hard. People liked and respected them. They expected their children to earn good grades, go to school regularly, and attend church. Everyone agreed that their children were just short of angels, in both looks and attitudes. I tried to emulate Laura’s gentle ways, sweetness, and positive attitude but I often failed. I had a tendency to say the wrong things, act the wrong way, and irritate people. But I tried.
On the day Laura and her family moved into their new house, we stopped by for a visit. The girls were working like little beavers, even three–year–old Candy, as they carried boxes in and out of the U–Haul and up the steep flight of stairs to the second floor. Jenny was already hard at work in her cutoffs and tank top, her hair pulled up in a disheveled ponytail as she scrubbed at that scarlet stain on the kitchen linoleum (“tomato juice from canning,” the owner had assured them).
Jimmy, meanwhile, worked up a sweat as he lifted the heavy furniture and carted it alone. They’d never hired movers–why waste the money when they could do it themselves? We’d never hired movers either. In our part of the state you mostly just relied on friends and family when you needed something like that done.
We brought along snacks and drinks for everyone and during a break sat out on the spacious front porch with the family. The porch spread from one end of the house to the other and they’d set up folding chairs so that everyone could enjoy the shade. The first thing Jimmy had done was hang the front porch swing, claiming that “every house had to have a swing” or else it wasn’t “home.”
Although there were houses on either side of them, they weren’t very close. The countryside was wide and open, fields as far as you could see. Not a single car sped by on the road before us. The only sounds were that of the dog running around and barking and the crows complaining in the good climbing tree.
“Crows aren’t supposed to be a good omen are they?” Jimmy asked.
Jenny shrugged and took a drink of her cola. “I don’t know. My granny always said they meant death. Probably just an old wives tale, though.”
Jimmy, not taking any chances, picked up a rock and threw it at the tree. The birds squawked in anger and went flying, scattering across the sky and leaving a dark stain against the blue.
“It’s a nice place here,” my mom ventured. “Very peaceful.”
Jimmy nodded. “Pretty cheap, too. I guess they wanted someone in it before it fell apart on them.”
“I like the house Daddy,” Brenda, age eight, spoke up. “I think it’s real pretty and my bedroom is huge!”
They were moving from a two–bedroom trailer so the amount of space was probably a literal breath of fresh air. Laura and her closest sister, ten–year–old Mary, would share a room while Brenda and Natalie, age five, shared another. Candy, the baby, would share with Bobby, the sole boy of the family. Two to a room was a lot different than stuffing everyone into the same one. I was jealous of the amount of space they had. Our new apartment was looking and feeling tinier by the minute.
Laura was already chattering about the posters she and Mary could hang on the wall, how they’d arrange their beds, and bickering about who would get the fan closest to them.
“Just put it between your beds,” Jimmy suggested. “Then you both get the air.”
Due to the house’s age, it hadn’t been updated with central heat and air. They’d placed floor fans all over the house, some in windows, some on the floor, and one even right inside the front door, backwards, to “draw the hot air out” as Jenny said. The air conditioning bit was the one area I didn’t envy Laura. It was hot and stuffy inside the house, and just a little past June. It was bound to get worse.
“By the end of the summer you’ll both be sleeping in your underwear anyway,” Jenny laughed. “It’s gonna get hot up there.”
I jerked a little, wondering if she’d been reading my mind.
The house was built sometime in the 1920s, nobody was sure of the exact date. It was a wide house, wi
th a large living room taking up the whole front. The only other rooms downstairs were a small kitchen and slightly bigger dining room. The winding staircase was in the corner of the living room and opened up to a large landing. All four bedrooms were on the second floor, along with the house’s only bathroom. All the walls were covered in wallpaper, what had one time been new and fancy but was now faded, stained, and peeling. The kitchen, especially, was a bit of a mess with grease stains darkening the yellow floral print above the stove and sink. Laura, her sisters, and I saw past that and fancied it a mini mansion with them living like princesses in the country. “I feel like a princess,” Natalie babbled. “It’s like living in a castle!”
I had to agree. I wanted to live there, too.
The white paint on the exterior was chipping, the yard littered with paint shavings, and the porch sagged a little in the center. The handmade porch swing was a hit, however, and Brenda and Natalie rocked back and forth together, keeping time with their feet. It was pretty much a perfect afternoon and through my envy I was happy for the family to be in such a nice place.
It had been peaceful resting there on the porch together, munching on sandwiches and potato chips and trying to capture the slow intermittent breeze. I felt like if I closed my eyes I might even be able to doze. Suddenly, however, the serenity was broken by Lulu’s feverish barking. Lulu, a normally shy and timid Golden Retriever, was going berserk at the side of the house. Her wild and frantic barking, mixed in with terrible screeches like she might be suffering in pain, had us all jumping.
“What the hell is she going on about for?” Jimmy asked, leaping off the porch in a single bound. He’d removed his shirt in the heat yet sweat was still pooling along the waistband of his jeans, leaving big dark spots. His brown hair was lightened a little from the sun and hung down past his shoulders in the back. The natural curls in it bounced as he started around the side of the house.
Two Weeks: A True Haunting (True Hauntings Book 3) Page 1
