The Sallie House Haunting: A True Story

by Debra Pickman

  Larry said Barbara would welcome a phone call from us and I wrote down the number. Just before ending the conversation, Larry told me the most bone-chilling thing I had ever heard: Barbara had casually mentioned a name which was persistent and overwhelming in her mind. The name was Sallie. I managed to say good-bye before hanging up the phone, but my heart had momentarily stopped as I felt the weight of what that name meant. The imaginary friend named Sallie, which the previous tenant’s daughter had played with, was actually a ghost.

  I took a couple of deep breaths to calm my thumping heart. Seeing the worry on Tony’s face, I recapped everything Larry had told me. Afterward, we fell silent. We were dazed by the information that his mother and Barbara just revealed to us.

  The probability that we had a ghost had just increased greatly. It was like finding out that the adoption went through and there was a new baby waiting for you. Now how would we deal with it? To be perfectly honest, denial would have been a lot easier. I still wasn’t sure I was ready to accept the existence of a ghost in our home; I knew Tony wasn’t.

  I brought up what I felt were obvious concerns and questions. How will we communicate with her? How old is she? When is her birthday? Had she ever lived in the house? Did she die in the house? Why had she chosen to make herself known while my sister was visiting? Was night her only active time? Most importantly, was the baby in any danger ?

  We found ourselves wondering about Taylor seeing Sallie. Did she scare him with her antics or did he like her gentle playfulness? This brought to mind Taylor’s disturbed sleeping patterns. Was Sallie responsible for this? When we first brought Taylor home, he slept the entire first day. As a result, he was up every hour through the night. We chalked it up to the fact that he was simply trying to make the adjustment from the womb and would soon realize daytime was for being awake and nighttime was for sleeping. Everything we had read had described this transitional phase and said that it would only last a few days. Taylor’s adjustment period was going on three weeks long.

  During my sister’s visit, Taylor seemed to sleep just fine. Had Sallie decided not to wake the baby while he slept near my sister? Had Karen’s visit and her being a stranger in the house made Sallie uneasy? Still, the question of why she had been waking him in the first place kept coming back. Had Sallie just wanted to play with him, or was there a more important reason for her actions?

  Before long, I found myself worrying about Sudden Infant Death Syndrome (SIDS), and I wondered if our son had fallen victim to SIDS several times; perhaps Sallie’s waking him had actually been her way of reminding him to breathe. If this were true, we were greatly indebted to her. Of course, we had no way of knowing the answers to our questions and decided to move forward one day at a time.

  Around 10:30 p.m., realizing we had talked through the entire evening, Tony and I decided to go to bed. Having just walked upstairs, Tony reached to turn out the hall light. His hand was on the light switch, but he hadn’t flipped it and I noticed his blank stare. He was absolutely motionless. I asked him what was wrong and with one of those you’ve-got-to-be-kidding expressions, he said, “Do you see anything odd?”

  I gave him a questioning look as he extended his right arm and pointed to the wall of the stairwell. There, where we had hung a variety of family pictures, I noticed the odd thing that had captured his attention. The photo of Tony and me, although perfectly straight and centered, had been turned upside down. “What do you think it means?” he asked. I shrugged, not wanting to scare him with what was really on my mind, and said, “Maybe she likes us.”

  “Good night Sallie,” I added as I entered the bedroom. Tony did a great job of ignoring what he’d seen along with the fear hammering at his heart. He turned out the light and came to bed.

  six

  July 27, 1994

  Although we were shaken up by this new development and the idea that more unexplainable things could happen at any moment, the remainder of the night passed without incident.

  The next day was uneventful until about 5:00 p.m., when Tony’s younger brother George stopped in to visit with the baby—something he did daily since he lived just next door. George, who was just as terrified of ghosts and ghost stories as Tony, showed more interest than I’d expected. His curiosity had been piqued and he wanted to know more.

  Tony took him up to the nursery and described how the stuffed animals had been arranged the night before my sister left. George studied the room and its contents, looking for tell-tale signs of trickery. Then with a very serious look on his face, he asked Tony if he had been joking about the whole thing. Perhaps he figured if he caught Tony alone, their brotherly bond would bring out the truth. Tony denied that we’d made up any of it and after a while they returned to the living room. Arriving downstairs and eager for an ally, Tony showed George the bean bag teddy bear which had been moved. George still wasn’t convinced that we were being haunted.

  Earlier in the day, I had taken pictures of Taylor and had left our 35mm camera sitting on the dining room table. Being somewhat bored with George’s behavior, Tony picked up the camera, aimed it at the bean bag bear, and said, “Sallie, if you’re in here, smile and say cheese.” George, focusing on the bear, had been standing just off to the side as Tony snapped clicked the shutter button. George shouted, “It moved! The God-damned thing moved!”

  Although I’m sure he wasn’t ready for the truth, he got what he had been looking for. He had just been witness to paranormal activity occurring right before his eyes. In fact, he reported that he actually saw the bear do an about-face in roughly the same instant that Tony snapped the photograph. As George shouted, Tony quickly snapped off another shot. Tony and George were struck with terror when they realized what they had witnessed.

  Their first instinct was to run upstairs where I had been with the baby, and although Tony’s legs were in complete agreement, George’s failed him. As Tony reached the bottom of the stairs, he heard George say “Man, I can’t move.” Tony, not really wanting to slow down, looked at George whose face was now colorless. He had difficulty breathing, and Tony could see him gasping for air.

  George tried to walk, but he looked as if something or someone had a firm hold on him and was forcing him backward. He later described the feelings. “I felt a sudden and noticeable coldness go right through my entire body.” He also described that no matter how hard he tried to control or force his muscles, he just couldn’t move forward. Whether this was Sallie’s doing or his terrified state of mind, we will never know.

  After what probably seemed like a lifetime to George, he was able to regain some control over his motor reflexes and sprint up the stairs just behind Tony. Gasping for breath, they burst into the upstairs bedroom where I’d been watching TV. Since I had been unable to hear anything outside the room due to the air-conditioner running, I had no idea what brought them barreling into the room. At first I thought they were hysterical with laughter. I thought they had run to me for cover and protection after pulling a prank on a friend who was now coming after them for retaliation. I gave them a disapproving look, wondering what crazy thing had they had just done. Then I noticed George’s pale face and realized it wasn’t amusement I was seeing—it was terror.

  Between short breaths, Tony tried to fill me in. For quite a while, George didn’t say a word. He just stared at the floor, shaking his head from side to side. He paced back and forth like a caged animal, saying, “I can’t believe it. Oh my god, I actually saw it move. Oh my God. Oh God. Oh shit. Oh God.”

  Thinking he might be in a state of shock, I had him relay his experience. Then we all talked about what happened. Each time Tony or George retold a portion of their experience, they tensed up all over again. The guys decided we should all leave the house immediately. Being at Mom and Dad’s house would help calm their nerves.

  George wasted no time getting downstairs and out the front door. He obviously didn’t wan
t to be in the house any longer than he had to be. As he paced in front of the house, waiting for us, Tony and I dashed around, gathering the baby and some necessities. We rushed down to the living room, where I placed Taylor’s car seat on the sofa and set off to gather a few more things. Tony placed the baby in the car seat and began to buckle him in. Taylor, who had been perfectly content, was now crying and seemed unusually upset. All I can think is that he somehow sensed our anxiety.

  Having grabbed what I needed, I stood next to Tony as he tucked in the baby and began to snap the buckle in place. I was packing the diaper bag I had placed on the couch just to the right of the car seat. Tony sat just to the left of the car seat. He was facing Taylor as he leaned in closer to give him the pacifier, hoping it would soothe his distressed cries.

  Suddenly, and with a painful grimace, Tony jumped to his feet and quickly flung his arm around to feel for something on his lower back. “Ow! Damn it!” Almost the same instant Tony jumped up, I felt a cold and slightly electrical charge of energy go right through me. It seemed to have entered my back and exited through my torso, right in the direction where Tony had been sitting.

  Being more concerned with Tony and why he jumped from obvious pain, I did not take the time to really acknowledge the sensation I’d just had. “What’s wrong?” I asked. He scowled, “Oh, probably nothing, but I think something just bit me.” We initially thought some sort of bug must have gotten under his shirt, and since we were in such desperate haste to leave, we didn’t take the time to inspect his lower back until later.

  We were finally out the door and headed to my in-laws with George and the baby in the back seat. I thought of the strange cold sensation I’d had just as Tony had been bitten. I relayed the information to the boys and silence fell as we each tried to understand what it could have been. As soon as we arrived at my in-laws’, Tony and George conveyed what had happened. The whole time they were telling the story, George paced back and forth in the room out of nervousness.

  The story having been told, I remembered the pain in Tony’s back. I pulled him aside to lifted his shirt and inspect the area. To my surprise, I found three bleeding scratch marks, each about five or six inches long, running down the center of his lower back. My eyes grew wide with shock as I said, “Oh, my God!”

  I gently let the shirt fall back down into place, turned away, and thought, I don’t want to see this. Subconsciously, I must have thought that if I didn’t look at it, I wouldn’t have to acknowledge it.

  I lifted his shirt again, hoping the scratches would be gone and I could chalk this experience up to my imagination, but they weren’t. For a fleeting moment I thought Tony had done it, but he would not have been able to reach far enough around his back to scratch himself. Besides, I had full view of both his hands as he tried to quiet the baby and while we drove to his parents’ house.

  The thought that Sallie might have done this sent chills down my spine and throughout my body; my heart raced. Then anger set in. To think this little piss-pot ghost would dare hurt someone I loved, in my own house, made me furious. A few minutes later, the anger turned to curiosity, and I wondered how a ghost could do something like that. I was stunned by the possibility that ghosts could make physical contact. I had never heard of such a thing, and it led me to even more troubling thoughts. Why would she have done this horrible thing to Tony? What were we supposed to do about this situation? What could we expect next? Were we in danger? Was the baby in danger?

  It took several minutes for me to calm down. Thinking more clearly, I documented the scratches with a photograph but soon realized that a photo would not offer proof that a ghost had actually been responsible for the marks.

  Intervention

  Realizing we needed a little more help, I finally called Barbara. Although I really didn’t want to bother her during her vacation, I felt this was significant enough to warrant a call. I picked up the phone and dialed the number, not giving any thought to what I was going to say when she answered.

  We had never met or spoken before, so I introduced myself, trying to maintain a calm, controlled voice. I didn’t want her to think I was in a panic over something trivial or simply some sort of nut. We had a few minutes of idle ghost conversation, which soon turned into a barrage of questions from me. “How do we know when she’s in the house? Can she reach things much taller than her?” I was thinking about the upside-down picture on the stairwell. “Yes, she can,” Barbara said. “She can go anywhere. She can be crawling on the ceiling, or hovering over your bed. She can do anything she wants to.”

  “Why is she here?”

  “She likes the baby. She’s like a little angel and wants to protect him.”

  “Why is she doing the things she’s doing?”

  “To let you know she’s there. If she just floated through the door, you wouldn’t know she was there, but if she opens the door, you know she is in the room. She wants your attention, she wants to be noticed.”

  Barbara reiterated many of the things that had already been relayed to us through Larry. “You should talk to her and acknowledge her. Tell her she can stay if she wants to, if that’s okay with you, but be firm in letting her know she has to follow your rules. Tell her she can play with the toys, but she has to put them back when she’s done. You have to let her know that there are rules, she has to obey them, and if she doesn’t, she’ll be punished.”

  My immediate thought was, “OK, now we’re getting a bit ridiculous.” We were actually discussing punishing a ghost for bad behavior? Before I could get a word in edgewise to ask how we were supposed to punish her, Barbara was on to other things. Eventually, she had given me so much information and so many suggestions on how to handle the ghost that I felt completely overwhelmed. I knew I wouldn’t be able to remember all she was telling me, but I did understand the main idea: We should handle Sallie like we would any other little girl.

  Barbara also told me that she got a lot of good feelings from her. “She’s a happy little girl and she is there because of the baby. She would probably move pieces of furniture or tug frantically at your shirt to get your attention if the baby was in trouble. I don’t get the feeling she’ll intentionally harm anyone.” There it was, the big topic, the main reason for my phone call. I finally offered “Well, she certainly did tonight.” I could tell Barbara was a bit surprised by the news, but she listened intently as I told her about the scratches.

  Calmly, Barbara assured me that she didn’t think Sallie did it intentionally or maliciously, but most likely Sallie had misinterpreted Tony’s emotions, which had been very intense at the time. “She probably thought Tony was going to hurt the baby, and was just trying to protect him.” Almost as if she were talking to herself she said, “This makes me mad! This is no good. This makes me real mad.”

  The rest of the conversation was more instructive. Barbara gave me suggestions about how to handle the situation. “You need to go home and have a serious talk with her,” Barbara reiterated. “Call her into the room and tell her you are mad.”

  “How do I do that, and how do I know she’ll come?”

  “You call to her just like you would call any other child in the house. You tell her, “Sallie, (if that’s what you call her), we are angry and need to have a talk with you, so you get in here right now! And don’t worry, she’ll come. Give her a few minutes to come to where you are. Then tell her you are very angry, and that what she did was very wrong, you and Tony are that baby’s parents, you need to take care of his physical needs, and she is NOT to interfere.” Barbara spoke with such harsh conviction and force that I felt myself cowering. “Tell her if she hurts anyone again, she will be punished.”

  I thought, okay, here we go, I’m going to come out of this next question looking like a fool. “How do we punish her?” Barbara responded matter-of-factly, “You might send her to her room and tell her to stay there for a while. You could tell her she
can’t play with a particular toy or object. If talking to her doesn’t work, there are other ways to get rid of her.” With a little hesitation, she added, “If you want to.”

  “How?” I asked.

  Barbara enlightened me once more. “You could have the house blessed by a priest. There is also an incantation you can say while going into each of the rooms, or you could have her exorcized. I can help you with these if you want.”

  Not wanting to be too hasty, and knowing I would have felt bad throwing a young spirit out of a place she seemed to be so comfortable, I told Barbara we would first try to talk to her and see how it went.

  My final question was whether or not she could be wrong about the spirit in our house being that of a pleasant little girl. She told me she didn’t think so, but in order to get a better reading of the situation, she would have to come to the house. At the time, I wasn’t really sure what she meant. Had she simply been making a comment about her abilities and that they were somewhat limited due to her not being closer to the entity she was trying to pick up on? Or was she coyly asking for permission to come to the house for business purposes?

  We had been told that Barbara made a good portion of her living by going to people’s homes and giving readings on the spiritual nature of what she found there. We had also been informed that there was a costly charge attached to this type of service, one we surely couldn’t afford. I didn’t offer her an invitation. In fact, I simply treated her statement as if it were another piece of information. I graciously thanked her for her help and told her we would be in touch if we needed more assistance. “Good luck,” she said.