The Sallie House Haunting: A True Story

by Debra Pickman

  Near the same corner sat a ten-gallon glass water bottle, which had been decorated and was used as the baby’s savings bank. Visitors would often empty their pocket change into it. Rodney recalled the first time he had been in the room and doing just that. He remembered walking over to deposit his change and feeling a really strange cold sensation. “Well, that’s her spot,” Barbara said. George asked if Sallie was still in the room with us. Barbara said firmly, “Oh, yes, she’s here.”

  Barbara was still breathing heavily, and I became concerned for her. I wasn’t sure if this was normal for her after climbing the stairs or a side effect of communicating with spirits. Tony asked if she was okay. “Yes, I’m all right,” she said, in a preoccupied voice.

  I asked her to relay to Sallie that I was happy she’d talked with Barbara. “Yeah,” she responded in Sallie’s tone of voice. Then Barbara added in a bossy, childlike way, “Too many people! Get out!” Everyone except for Barbara, the baby, and me exited the room and positioned themselves just outside the door in order to keep within earshot of the conversation.

  Almost immediately, Barbara’s breathing improved. Feeling better, she took a few steps towards the end of the crib again. Pointing to Sallie’s corner, she said, “That’s where you’ll want to put her things.” Sallie was happy with the plans for her corner, as Barbara smiled and said in a childish manner, “Oh, good!”

  I asked, “Is she happy you came to talk with her?”

  “Oh, yeah,” she said and went on to explain. “At first, when we all came into the room, I felt a tremendous pressure on my chest; I had to tell myself to ‘breathe, breathe’!”

  Still standing at the door, Rodney described how weird it was that he’d felt claustrophobic as well. Barbara interjected, “It was Sallie’s way of telling us this is her room and ‘you all just get out of here’.” With a quick jerk of her head, as if she had some sort of neurological tick, she explained that Sallie had just corrected her, saying “Our room.” We continued to listen to what seemed like Barbara in a one-sided conversation. “Yes, yes … that’s okay.” We all thought about what we could only imagine this little girl was saying. I thought it precocious that this little ghost girl had such conviction about what she wanted and believed was hers by right.

  Barbara smiled, “She’s really happy with this. She’s happy I talked to you, and she’ll be good, but she forgets.” Then, with what was clearly deep adoration, in words that resonate with me to this day, Barbara said, “She’s a lovely child, a very pretty little girl.”

  I told Barbara that at one point during my pregnancy, I had hoped for a girl. Barbara was quick to interject with a scared, childlike voice and said, “Oh, no, no, no, no, no, he’s okay.” Obviously, Sallie really liked her little brother, Taylor! “She knew when you moved into the house that you were pregnant and having a boy,” Barbara said, “and she loves him dearly.”

  Sallie apparently told Barbara, “I’ll be good, I’ll be good,” but we only heard Barbara say, “Yeah, we know,” as if she was tired of listening to Sallie say the same thing over and over. Barbara asked Sallie if there was anything else she wanted to say. “I forget,” she said with a childlike air of sadness and shame. As we left the nursery Barbara looked back several times, all the while smiling contentedly, with a sense of closure. “She’s fine with this. She’s okay now.”

  As we all descended the stairs, Barbara said, “She runs up and down these stairs a lot.” We speculated that Sallie’s energy as she ran past me on the stairs may have created the cold sensation I’d felt on so many occasions. “You probably feel it more because she’s around you more.”

  While the rest of us headed downstairs, Tony remained a few steps behind. He now had the 35mm camera, and as he got to the bottom of the stairs, he had a strange feeling that something or someone was behind him. Barbara instructed him to take a picture aiming toward the top of the stairs. The photos on this roll of film weren’t developed until almost a week later; when they were, they showed a large gray mass of murky color over the stairs. We shared this image with Barbara via mail weeks later. She felt that the anomaly was Sallie standing on the stairs, hand on the railing, in a stance of protection so that no one but family would enter what she perceived was the private area of our home.

  Barbara’s sister, who had been alone downstairs, informed us that she had asked Sallie to move something or do something to prove she was there. Barbara said, “She didn’t, did she?” and knowing the answer, she went on to say, “Because she was upstairs with us.” We all chuckled.

  Rodney asked if the spirit’s name was really Sallie. Sallie responded (through Barbara, as she had all evening), “That’s okay. Yes.” We wondered if this was simply the name that the little girl who lived here before us had given her. Maybe Sallie liked the name and chose it for herself. Over the years, we tried to find out who this ghost was. How did she come to be here, what is her connection, and why does she remain? To this day, we have not been able to answer these questions.

  At this point, we offered to let Barbara see the photos we had taken just prior to her arrival. We didn’t tell Barbara of any theories we had come up with as we looked at the blurs in the instamatic photos. But as she looked at them, she pointed out where Sallie was in almost every one. This confirmed our suspicions about the out-of-focus and blurred areas that had shown up.

  At some point, Tony went into the kitchen to get everyone beverages while the rest of us continued talking. Suddenly, the overhead light in the living room went out. For at least two seconds we all sat silently and stared up at the dark fixture. We all knew who was responsible, and in unison, we all said, “Thank you, Sallie.” A moment later the overhead light came on, just as the light in the dining room went dark. Then it was back on, and I caught myself smiling. We had just experienced a friendly spirit phenomenon.

  Tony came into the dining room with drinks in hand and reported that the kitchen light had also gone out for a split second. The light switches were nowhere near Tony, who had been the only one standing up or out of sight.

  We all hoped and asked for additional activity. Although there was nothing more, I know we all felt a sense of wonder at what we had witnessed. Had Sallie wanted attention? Was she just showing off? Or was she simply showing us that she was happy?

  I asked Barbara how much energy Sallie expended when she interacted with our environment, thinking back to when she had moved all the bears several times that first night. I was also curious about how much energy might be available to her. Was it a source that she tapped into, or did it come directly from her, with or without limitations?

  “They [meaning professionals in the field] have yet to find a way to measure it, so they really don’t know,” Barbara told us.

  Turning the lights off and on was probably easier than other activities because they work on an energy current, seemingly similar to the energy a spirit is able to manipulate. Was Sallie’s youthful and inexperienced spirit causing disturbances unintentionally? Could this have been the situation when Tony got scratched as he buckled the baby into the car seat? Had that been an uncontrolled expression of emotion, or did she mean to harm him?

  Could a spirit’s ability to speak to, or through, a psychic mean that spirits have psychic abilities themselves? I couldn’t help but wonder if this was a gift they had in life or something obtained in death. It could explain why we seem to get communication from some spirits but not others. When I came out of my own drifting thoughts, the conversation had shifted.

  As Barbara sipped her water, she asked if any of us drank or liked Kool-aid. Most of us said yes, recalling childhood memories. Tony mentioned that he was drinking a fruity kind of drink. Barbara said, “I’m tasting Kool-aid, very, very strong.” Then suddenly, as if someone opened a fresh pack of Kool-aid and passed it under my nose, I smelled the most pungent cherry smell I had ever sensed. Rodney and Barbara’s sister agreed.
Was it the power of suggestion? The power of suggestion had never before made my senses feel or smell something so vividly.

  “She’ll bring you the smell of things she likes,” Barbara noted, “and she likes Kool-aid. She’s trying to tell you something about herself. She brought me the taste and you the smell.”

  Barbara knew what I was going to ask next, but before the words could come tumbling out, she said, “No. She couldn’t drink it, just like if you would set a place for her at the dinner table, she couldn’t eat it. Now, she might sit there with you,” she paused, “and she’s telling me she does.” In an almost pitiful little child’s voice she added, “I stand there.” My heart ached.

  When Tony and I ate dinner, Taylor was usually in bed already—Sallie hadn’t just been spending time with Taylor, but apparently with me and Tony, too. Had standing by us as we ate made her feel a part of a family again? A feeling of sadness for her existence crept over. It must be hard for her to live her current state and not be able to feel a hug or be cuddled by someone who loved her. Was her only comfort to stand close by and pretend?

  I felt such pity for her. Tony must have, too, because together we decided to pull out a chair for her and try to include her more in our daily activities. This was easier said than done, however. We would easily go a whole day, not realizing or remembering she was around. I would often miss the opportunity to invite her to watch Sesame Street with Taylor or join us when I read a book; the feelings of sorrow would then creep in.

  When we asked her if Sallie was always around, Barbara told us she could come and go at will. “She might grow with Taylor and give him guidance over the years. She might persuade Taylor to make specific choices, such as picking his prom date or picking a job. Sallie might decide to take revenge for Taylor and even tell him some of his future…anything is possible.” Hearing these words, I wasn’t quite sure whether to rejoice or be fearful.

  I gave Barbara a big hug and told her how much we appreciated her time and help. She told us to call anytime, and to keep her posted on the situation, and she would try to help us in any way she could. I felt refreshed as I closed the door behind her, but at the same time drained from all the information we had been given to process. I took a long, deep breath.

  nine

  I really hadn’t wanted to see Barbara leave; there were still so many unanswered questions. The evening had been interesting and exciting, but it was like being sent home with your first newborn all over again; I questioned my role and my ability to handle it.

  None of us really knew what to say, so we sat in awkward silence, scanning the room to see if Sallie would make her presence known. We asked several questions and when there seemed to be no response we asked her to show off for us, but nothing happened.

  Tony was soon on the phone inviting his parents to come watch the video that was taken of the evening, and his brother went to the neighbors’ to return the camera and invite them over to watch the film as well. My in-laws arrived first, and at some point we realized that we had not finished using the Polaroid film. So we took a few of Tony’s parents.

  Nothing odd showed up in the one of Tony’s dad, but then he wasn’t holding Taylor, either. The one I took of Tony’s mom and the baby showed the familiar blur we had seen earlier in the evening on the other photos. Additionally, there was what looked like a strand of multicolored yarn on the lower portion of her blouse. I couldn’t imagine where she would have picked it up.

  When the photo was completely developed I immediately checked my mother-in-law’s blouse and the area in which she had been standing, but the strand of yarn wasn’t there. More importantly, the multicolored band really didn’t look like a piece of yarn either. Could it have been a band of energy instead? I wondered if it had been another form of Sallie, and if so, why had she shown up differently this time?

  George returned with our neighbors Don, Carol, and one of their sons. Carol was holding two baby dolls, a small “talking” doll in light blue pajamas with a pull-string by the neck and a larger, naked doll that was fairly dirty. Carol’s children had played with them as children, and after hearing George’s account of Barbara’s visit pulled the dolls out of storage. “A peace offering,” Don said. Everyone was amused, but I thanked them for being so thoughtful. Tony and George took the dolls directly to the nursery.

  Almost immediately they returned with the dolls still in hand and asked if anyone had been upstairs. No one had. When we inquired why they had asked, they reported that one of the teddy bears had been moved again, and there was something written on the paper attached to the clipboard I had left for Sallie.

  In my excitement, I couldn’t wait to get upstairs and see with my own eyes what they were talking about. I was followed by everyone else. We found that the bear, which had sat on the chair just inside the nursery room door, had been moved to the corner. I said aloud, ‘Oh, you really like that teddy bear huh, Sallie?”

  At first glance “Sallie’s” corner looked the same as it had earlier that day. The red crayon I had used to write “Hello, Sallie. How are you?” was on top of the papers and the box of crayons was right next to it.

  I gathered the two dolls and arranged them in the corner, side by side, nestling them in with the bear she had enjoyed playing with. “Well, here are two baby dolls just for you to play with, too.” I looked at the clipboard and box of crayons. Every day I had taken out a new color, clipped a clean paper to the clipboard and written a simple question, leaving the crayon on top of the paper for easy access. I even tried to entice her participation by telling her that I would proudly display her artwork or answer on our refrigerator.

  That is when I saw, in distinct child-like handwriting: “7 LIKE.” This had been written with a green crayon; not the one that I had left out for her. I was absolutely delighted. She had mustered the energy to perform the task and in doing so she communicated several things to us; she was seven, she was happy, and that she liked the color green.

  My head swam with the possibilities! We could write back and forth and she could answer all my questions about the other side. I told Sallie I was very proud of her and happy that she had answered my questions. Then I told her I would hang the paper up on the refrigerator for everyone to see, just like I had told her I would. Later that night, I did just that.

  Every day, for the next several months, I either drew Sallie a picture with the crayons or wrote her a little note asking about her birthday or things she liked, and each time I told her that we loved her. Wondering how literate she was at age seven, I would point to each word as I read it aloud to her, hoping that if she didn’t understand what I wrote, perhaps my reading it to her would help her learn.

  Months passed with no written answers to my questions, and I began to wonder if I was giving her enough time to answer. After all, it had taken three days the first time. So, I started leaving each note for longer periods of time. After another month with no written communication, I wondered if she was just being stubborn and began to expand my theory.

  I remembered a conversation with Barbara concerning spirits being in a plane of existence that was energy based. Had the excitement surrounding the evening with Barbara facilitated a high level of emotional energy, allowing her to perform the chore of writing? It seemed obvious that something she needed for the task was not at her disposal.

  I was persistent in my attempt to gain her trust and continued writing to her for several more months. I encouraged her and was hopeful that she would feel compelled to do something in order to please me, but she never again responded directly to any of my questions.

  Photographs

  The day after Barbara’s visit, I puttered around the house as usual and while in the nursery I glanced over at the large, naked doll still sitting in the corner. It wasn’t very clean, and I thought if I were a little girl, I wouldn’t want to play with such a dirty old thing. After a bit of searching,
I found a dress and a pair of bloomers and returned to the nursery.

  “What do you say we give your baby doll a bath, just like Taylor, and then we can get her dressed,” I said out loud. I took a baby wipe, sat down in the corner, and invited Sallie to come help me. I gently cleaned the doll from head to toe with a baby wipe and then held up the dress. “Wouldn’t this make her look pretty?” I said as I began to dress her. When I was finished, I held her up. “Oh, doesn’t she look so pretty! I think we should take a picture. What do you think, Sallie?” I went to get our camera, then stood in the doorway and took a picture of the dolls in the corner and a few more around the room. I hoped that the camera might catch a glimpse of Sallie’s presence.

  Later the same day, I finished the roll of film and took it to be developed. The pictures would not be ready for four days. I impatiently waited for Monday to come. All the while the house was quiet; there were no signs of Sallie or any other activity. When Monday came, I went to the store as soon as it opened, collected my photo envelope at the electronics counter, picked up a few additional things along the way and headed to the front registers to pay for everything.

  Impatient, and waiting in what seemed to be a long, slow line, I opened the envelope to take a peek. What I saw took my breath away and I swear my heart dropped to my feet. The first photo in the stack was the one I had taken of Sallie’s baby dolls sitting in the corner. In the center of the picture was an ominous, blue swirl of darkness, somewhat opaque and obscuring most of picture. Although I was utterly horrified, I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. I stared dumbfounded for what seemed like forever while my mind raced. Had the developing chemicals ruined the photo and possibly the whole roll, or was this Sallie? If the latter, was that what she looked like when she was angry or mad?