A second wave of terror shot through his body and he stood there unable to move. Thoughts continued to flood his mind: Was she was still in the house? What would he see around the next corner or in another room? Had he hallucinated the girl—was there something wrong with his mind? If it was a ghost, why did she choose to show herself to him?
The skeptical side of his mind didn’t want to acknowledge what he had seen, but as he replayed the scene in his mind, he realized it was true. Still unable to move, he wondered what to do next. Who would he tell? Who would believe him? Why did he have to turn around and see that? Living people just aren’t supposed to see things that are dead!
What seemed to surprise him the most, though, was that she looked so real; just as solid and fleshy as he was. Although he had regained some level of muscle control, those thoughts brought another wave of panic and he sprinted out of the room up the stairs to the bedroom where I was still sleeping.
Hearing the commotion on the stairs, I was already awake when he burst into the room. With big eyes and desperately gasping for breath, he said “I saw her. God damn it, Debra, I saw her!” His legs gave out when he reached the edge of the bed and his knees hit the carpet. The top half of his body slumped in an exhausted state on the bed with his arms stretched out toward me.
Not yet thinking straight, irritated at my sudden awakening, and not understanding what he’d gone through, I gruffly asked, “Who?”
“Just a minute,” he said. “I need to catch my breath first.” Then, hardly taking that breath, he said, “Sallie.” I sat up, suddenly wide awake. I could tell that whatever had happened, it had scared the life out of him. I rubbed his back and arms to let him know I was there. I could feel his heartbeat racing furiously and I waited for more details.
“She was right there,” he said gasping for another breath. “Plain as day.”
“Where?” I asked.
“In the kitchen.” Gasp.
“What did she look like?” I asked.
“Barbara was right.” Gasp. “She’s cute as hell!”
He tilted his head and raised an eyebrow in a quizzical sort of understanding and realization.
For the next twenty minutes or so, Tony desperately tried to regain his composure. I however, was ecstatic. For every answer he gave me, I asked another two questions. I needed to know every detail. He finally started from the beginning and explained to me exactly what he had seen. Shaking his head in disbelief at the clarity, he said, “She sure wasn’t poor when she was alive!” He went on, “She had a real cute little face and I could see her just like I can see you.” He continued shaking his head, “She looked just as solid as you or me!”
He told me how she had been standing on the other side of the butcher block and that he couldn’t quite tell if she was standing on the floor or floating. “She wasn’t eerie or creepy-looking at all. I couldn’t see through her. It wasn’t anything like I expected it to be. She just stood there.”
I remember asking if she had done or said anything. “No, she didn’t move. She just stared at me.” Then he got a real serious look about him and said, “She doesn’t look seven years old and she sure is a cute little thing!” I asked him how long she had stood there in front of him.
“Only a few seconds,” he said. “As soon as I dropped the glass, she was gone. I did get a real good look at her though.”
Through all my questioning, Tony kept saying that he needed to draw her; that he had to do it before he forgot what she looked like. “You gotta come with me,” he said. “I don’t want to be walking around the house alone and run into her again.” I threw on a robe and we went downstairs.
While he sketched, I cleaned up the juice and broken glass and then sat near him on the couch in quiet anticipation. His hands were shaky and he condemned his own hurried work, but it only took him a few minutes longer to finish, right down to the blank stare of her eyes.
It looked like the picture of a five-year-old child, maybe even younger and we wondered if Sallie hadn’t stretched the truth about her age, as young children often do. Then again, maybe it was her tiny little features that made her look so young and adorable—the face of a cherub or a doll. She looked well-kept and prosperous. The white, frilly dress had a lace-edged yoke that came up to her neck, and her sleeves looked plush and puffy. Her dark hair was pulled up, on top of her head, and secured with a large floppy bow. Those big blue eyes seemed cold as they stared without expression.
After discussing the details of her features, Tony and I agreed that this little girl didn’t seem like the kind of child that would do all the things we had been witness to. She didn’t look rebellious, ornery, or mischievous. How could this sweet-looking child possibly be mean enough to have scratched Tony, lit fires, or pinched the baby to make him cry out in pain?
I decided to display the drawing like all our other family members’ photos and placed it in an antique-looking frame, hoping that by doing so I would help Sallie feel more accepted. I placed it next to Taylor’s photo, which sat on the built-in shelves behind the stereo in the living room. To this day, the sketch is displayed in our home.
Questions continued to come up on a regular basis. Was there significance in her having shown herself the morning of Halloween, or was it coincidence? Why did she show herself to Tony, of all people? I had asked her, even pleaded with her, to allow me to see her, but she never did. Then I got to thinking that perhaps she didn’t feel the need to show herself to me because I already believed in her.
I wondered if there was a more specific reason for her to show herself to Tony. She knew he could draw well and that he would draw her if he saw her. If that happened, she would have an image like our other family members, and perhaps a place next to them.
twelve
November 1993
With most of my family living in the state of New York or Georgia, it was not often that we were able to spend holidays together. We took care to plan and celebrate Thanksgiving a week early to accommodate my mother coming in from Georgia, and my sister and her family from New York.
At some point, I called Sallie into the room to tell her the news so that she wouldn’t be overwhelmed or frightened, like children often are, by people she had never met before. I told her about my sister’s little girl, Kori. “She is a very nice little girl, just like you, Sallie. Do you think it would it be all right if she slept in the nursery with you and Taylor?” This question had a two-fold purpose. One, I hoped that it made her feel that we cared about how she felt, and two, it suggested in advance the possibility of Kori staying in the nursery so that she wasn’t caught off guard when it happened. In the back of my mind, there was always a concern that upsetting Sallie could put us all in an unsafe situation.
I really didn’t expect to receive a response. Over the course of the next few days it was so quiet that I found myself wondering if she was mad. Was she building or reserving energy to show anger while our guests were here? Every night until their arrival, I gently reminded her of the impending visit and how important it was for her to behave.
My next hurdle was whether or not to tell my mother about our ghost. Saying something in advance offered no evidence for our claim, but not being up front about it, however, set her up for the scare of her life.
I called Karen to discuss the possibilities. Karen admitted that if she hadn’t witnessed Sallie’s antics during her last visit, she would have seriously questioned my credibility and that I should expect that from anyone. I decided that there would be a time during my mother’s visit to tell her.
I was also unsure of how my father would react to news of Sallie. When I was younger we got along very well, but in his older years he had become harsh and judgmental. Ironically, the opportunity to address this came sooner than I expected when Dad called one day before the holidays. He sensed uneasiness in the conversation and finally asked what was
wrong. At first, I tried to convince him it was nothing, but eventually I told him about our ghost.
“What makes you think you have a ghost?” he asked. I knew his logical mind was preparing to assess the information I was about to give him. I told him as much of the story as I could. He was intrigued and I was grateful for his acceptance and understanding.
The call with Dad had gone so well and I felt so empowered that I called my mother later that afternoon with the sole intent of working the topic of our ghost into the conversation. I waited for a lull in the discussion and then blurted out, “So, let me ask you something. What are your thoughts on ghosts?”
Perplexed, she said, “Why do you ask?” I could already sense how the conversation would go; my mother was not ready for this information. I tried the same approach that had worked with my father, but after everything I shared with her, she just said, “I’d have to see it with my own eyes.” I assured her that she might well get that chance during her visit.
A week passed without incident. As the days went by, I began to mourn Sallie’s absence. I’m not sure why. I just knew that each day I had looked forward to seeing signs that she was around and figuring out a way to communicate with her. Sometimes I felt that I was the only one in the world that had such an opportunity and I wanted to make the most of it. I wanted so many answers about the existence of ghosts and the Other Side.
On November 9th, Tony brought me a photo of Sallie’s corner in the nursery. He asked when it had been taken, but having taken so many photos, I couldn’t know for sure. When I took photos in the nursery, I would often ask Sallie if she wanted to be in the picture. I swear that sometimes I could feel her excitement in the air. Although I always hoped for some sort of manifestation of her to show up in the photos, nothing ever did as far as I could tell.
In this particular photo, I could see the box of crayons and the clipboard of papers on the lid of Sallie’s toy box, but nothing out of the ordinary. Tony then pointed to the crayon that had caught his eye and asked, “Do you see the shadow behind it?” When I took a second look, it was very clear that the tip of the crayon had a shadow attached to it. That shadow however, was shorter than its subject and was not parallel to the crayon; instead, it went off at a slight angle.
It was so odd that we took turns looking at it through a magnifying glass. We could see no strings or anything else attached to the crayon; it was very apparent that the crayon was standing up by itself. It proved how easily some of the small things a spirit might do could go unnoticed. I had looked at that photo right after it was developed and seen nothing.
November 12th arrived and I picked up Karen and her daughter at the airport. Her husband, Donnie, would arrive two days later. While the kids napped, we prepared the next meal. Much of our conversation centered on Sallie and her more recent activity.
At one point, I walked past the open bathroom door and saw that one of the small decorative candles had been lit. Neither of us was responsible for this and I gruffly scolded Sallie, reminding her of the rules. “No more fires, Sallie! You get one more chance, and if you light any more fires, you will have to leave the house.” I didn’t send her to her room this time, because I didn’t want to send a scolded child up to a room where other little ones were.
Now that I am the mother of three boys, I worry that I may have been a little too harsh with Sallie. My place was to remind her of the rules, as children her age often need this. I should have realized that she was excited about our visitors. In hindsight, I’m sure she just wanted to say “hi,” or simply let us know she was there. I imagine a spirit’s difficulty in communicating might be similar to autism, which makes it is very hard to convey what you really want to say.
After dinner, as Tony, Karen, and I sat in the living room, we heard noises coming from the kitchen. Most of the sounds I recognized: baby bottles being knocked over, silverware rattling in the drainer, and electrical timers going off. There were no drafts; our windows had been shut. Our dog was outside and I had recently adopted out my two cats, which left no animals in the house. There wasn’t an obvious explanation for what was making the noises we heard.
About 8:00 that evening, Karen stood at the sink doing dishes. She heard disturbing scratching noises at the window in front of her. She refrained from looking up for fear that she would see something frightening; too many horror movies can make a person’s mind run wild at times like these. The noise continued, and as her mind wandered the sound got creepier. She told herself that a tree branch was scraping the window, but at a certain point she could take it no more and left the room.
The three of us assessed the situation and noted that there was no tree in the yard near the window. There was nothing in the yard tall enough for anyone to stand on or allow an animal to jump on to reach the windowsill in question. The window’s ledge was seven or eight feet from the ground.
By 10:00, Kori was tucked into her makeshift bed in the nursery, and an over-stimulated Taylor was being rocked by Tony in the living room. Tony suddenly felt a brisk coldness across his lower legs. With his cowboy boots still on, he knew he wasn’t feeling an ordinary draft. Tony hated knowing a ghost was that close. Although he wanted to move, Taylor had just drifted to sleep and he knew if he moved the baby would wake. To his surprise, the cold sensation did not stay long and twenty minutes later he was able to lay Taylor in his crib.
With the children in bed and the house quiet, the three of us sat down to watch a movie. Suddenly there was a commotion in the kitchen. The dog lying at our feet perked his ears and our eyes went wide with surprise. Tony turned down the television and we glanced at each other to see if we had all heard the same thing. We remained motionless for several minutes, awaiting the next sound. For almost half an hour we spoke only in whispers, but the house remained silent. Midnight came and we decided to go to bed. To our surprise Karen claimed the couch and I can remember joking about how fearless she was. The rest of the night was uneventful.
The next day we didn’t notice any sign of Sallie and the mood in the house was calm and relaxed. While Tony was at work, Karen and I spent the day playing with our children and catching up with each other. We had dinner after Tony got home. Shortly before 11:00 p.m., I drove to the airport and picked up my mother, who had flown in from Atlanta, Georgia. We all visited for about an hour and then went to bed.
The next day we were all up early and filled the morning with breakfast activities, cooing over the children, and girly chatter in the kitchen. Karen and I almost forgot to be aware of Sallie’s activity, but while we were making pies in the afternoon, Mom just happened to be looking at the microwave clock when she suddenly saw it flip to 00:00 and start counting backwards. Never having seen a timer work of its own accord, she asked what was wrong with it.
Karen did not miss a beat. With an almost comical grin and a matter-of-fact tone in her voice, Karen said, “Sallie.” Our eyes met, and we knew that the time had come for an interesting conversation. Grins streaked across our faces. I’m sure Mom thought we were pulling a joke on her, but I assured her that she had just witnessed the activity of Sallie.
“I can’t believe it,” she said. “I just happened to be looking at it.”
We said nothing more, for there was nothing either of us could say that would convince her; she would have to process the experience in her own way.
Interestingly, this was the first time someone saw the exact moment the clock reset itself. I noted that the mixer, which had been running at the time of the incident, was on the same circuit and did not have a power disruption. Knowing the clock in the living room was also on the same circuit, I checked it. It was not blinking or otherwise indicating that the power had been interrupted. The power fluctuation had been specific to only one appliance. Mom was rather puzzled by our serious approach to the situation and our tenacity in checking the other electrical items on that electrical circuit. Her silent curiosity
was apparent as she shifted her eyes between Karen and me, looking for an indication that we were pulling her leg.
By 1:45 p.m., both children were taking a nap and Tony and Karen were in the living room observing the distinct and patterned movement of the wooden balls on the ceiling fan. Karen was aware of what the movement signified, and the two of them watched it for several minutes before it dawned on them that Mom might be interested in seeing it. By that time, the movement had ceased. The three of us knew that Sallie was letting us know she was around.
That afternoon, we headed to the airport once again to pick up Donnie, returning without any delays. About 3:30, while the children napped and the rest of us fixed dinner, Donnie and Karen fell asleep on the couch. The house had been quiet for a while and I was startled when I turned around to find Karen standing in the doorway, eyes wide. She was holding out the bean bag teddy bear—the same one that had been turned toward the wall by Sallie on several occasions.
“It was on fire!” she said as she entered the room.
“What?” I asked, not quite believing what I had just heard.
“I don’t know why I woke up,” she continued. “But when I did, it had a six to eight inch flame coming out of its head. Just like on that TV show I called you about a few weeks ago. When I picked it up, it was still shooting a flame and as I got to the kitchen, it went out.”
A week earlier, I’d received a call from Karen about an episode of Unsolved Mysteries. She explained that the young couple had a ghost and its activities had driven the couple to the point of moving. In the midst of packing, the woman said something derogatory about the ghost, and almost immediately the crown of a bare light bulb shot out a flame two to three feet high. The story had ended with the couple moving and never being bothered again.
Inspecting the bear, I was completely stunned by its appearance, and wondered if Sallie had learned this trick from watching the television. Did we now need to censor what we watched on TV?
The Sallie House Haunting: A True Story Page 13
