The night before the party, we blew up hundreds of sixteen-inch red and white balloons. We filled sixty of them with helium and left them to float about the ceiling of the first floor. At some point prior to the arrival of our guests, we were alarmed to hear a series of loud and intrusive thuds. The sound sent my heart racing up to into the back of my throat. I wondered what Sallie was doing.
Terrified about what I might find, I ran from the kitchen and into the dining room where the noise seemed to have originated. As I rounded the corner I realized the ruckus had come from several balloons fighting for freedom from the blades of the ceiling fan. Although our hearts still raced, we laughed at how quickly we’d assumed it was activity from Sallie.
As our guests arrived, we took their coats to the master bedroom and allowed people to mingle, and indulging in conversation, laughter, drink and food. The children were shown to the back bedroom upstairs, which I had equipped with a television, VCR, several holiday movies, and craft supplies to keep them entertained.
We had planned for a relative to make an appearance as Santa. He was running late, and Taylor drifted to sleep before his arrival. Shortly after 8:00, jingle bells were rung outside the children’s playroom on the second floor and thumps on the roof simulated reindeer hooves. As the children hurried downstairs to meet him, Santa grabbed the sack full of gifts on the front porch and came in the front door.
He made it around the room with a “Ho, ho, ho, and a Merry Christmas” before sitting down in the rocking chair. It wasn’t long before each child had sat on Santa’s lap, posed for a picture, and collected a gift bag. I was enjoying the smiles and squeals of the little ones, but as I watched, I was saddened because Taylor had missed it. I felt a strangely compelling twinge of unhappiness and even envy as I thought of Sallie. I had not prepared a gift bag for her, and it seemed I could feel the sorrow of being left out. The sadness was overwhelming.
For the rest of the evening, my thoughts wandered over ways that I could have incorporated Sallie without making the rest of the family feel uncomfortable. In the end, I understood that there had been no way. Not having a gift for her, however, was like denying her very existence, and I wondered if this had upset her.
Santa left and the kids retreated to their party room while the adults began their gift exchange. It was during this time that my father-in-law saw the bean bag teddy bear move.
We ruled out alcohol as an influence because, with his diabetic medications, my father-in-law had stopped drinking years ago. In fact, he had not thought anything of the experience because he was sure a draft from the ceiling fan caused the movement. It wasn’t until my mother-in-law mentioned it to us after the party that we realized something had happened.
As it got late, the guests began to leave. Tony retrieved the last of the coats from our bedroom while his brother and niece waited near the bottom of the stairs. Tony had almost reached the top landing when the smoke alarm above his head abruptly began shrieking.
Tony caught sight of his brother at the bottom of the stairs looking up, wide-eyed, and pointing to a handmade mop doll sitting on the fifth step up; it had burst into flames. Tony knew that the doll had not been on fire as he passed it. In the time it took him to reach the top of the staircase, enough smoke had collected at the top of the stairs to set off the alarm.
Tony’s rushed back down the stairs, snatched up the doll, and ran back upstairs with it. He did this to avoid the remaining guests and the awkward questions that would follow. As he ran, the flame grew larger, and small burning pieces of the doll began to drop off onto the carpet. Trying to keep the flaming doll from burning his arm or setting his shirt on fire, he stomped out the embers falling to the floor as he raced up the stairs. Tony scolded Sallie under his breath, so those who had gathered at the bottom of the stairs couldn’t hear him.
He returned his attention to the flaming doll in his hands. The bathroom sink was closest and when he got there, he was also able to see his own injuries; both of his forearms were burned. Not wanting to draw further attention or concern, he didn’t speak of it until later.
One of the last people to leave was Aunt Louise, and as we hugged and said our good-byes, she said something surprising. “Sallie probably felt left out because she didn’t get anything from Santa.”
I could not believe my ears—someone else had said what I had been thinking all night! The next thing I knew, she had offered to bring Santa back so Taylor would have the experience, we would have the photos, and Sallie would have the opportunity for a gift from Santa. It was a wonderful offer and I thanked her for her understanding.
When everyone was gone, I called out to Sallie and demanded her presence. I explained that what she did was very bad and that the fire had caused damage. I explained how the fire had almost gotten out of hand, and the house could have burned to the ground. I told her that what she did scared us as well as everyone else. I told her she was a bad little girl. “You have got to stop this. NO MORE FIRES,” I said, and repeated it several times.
Then, feeling horribly saddened by her exclusion in the gift giving, I continued in a slightly more understanding tone of voice. “Santa didn’t know you were here, honey, and that’s why he didn’t have anything for you.”
After the scolding, Tony and I sat on the couch revisiting every detail of the experience. After much deliberation, we knew we had to put a stop to the uncontrolled fires and find a better way for her to communicate.
The next day I was in the nursery and noticed something written in green crayon on Sallie’s clipboard of papers. Not quite recognizing what it said, I took it to Tony. He could clearly see the letters “G” and “O.” Sallie had written to us just as I had suggested she do when she was upset or had something to say. Had I not seen it in time? Is that why she lit the fire?
Throughout the day, I thought about how to handle the fires. I figured that no matter what we threatened her with, the fires would not stop if it was the easiest form of communication she had available to her. I thought that if we couldn’t stop the fires, perhaps we could make them a little safer.
I called out to Sallie. “I have an idea and I’d like to talk to you about it. I think you will like it, too. See this fire?” I pointed to the oil lamp I’d already lit several minutes earlier. “I know we said no more fires, but now I am saying that you can put one in here and you won’t get in trouble.”
Two days after the Christmas party and early in the day on Sunday, December 20, I noticed the musical clown Taylor got as a gift from Tony’s parents was playing music as it sat untouched by human hands. No one except the three of us had been in the house all day. I couldn’t help but be pleased that Sallie was back to her usual self, and enjoyed her playful antics throughout the house that day.
We expected Santa late in the afternoon and, concerned that Santa’s overpowering presence might scare Taylor, we sat in the rocking chair at the far end of the living room. Next to the chair was an end table with a fish tank, a small figurine, a book, and the oil lamp I had given Sallie permission to use.
Santa arrived about 7:30 p.m., ringing a sleigh bell to signal his entrance. “Taylor, look who’s here. It’s Santa Claus. Hi, Santa Claus.” Santa paused at the front door, not wanting to scare the baby, and as he slowly advanced, I stood up and took a few steps toward him. Tony had been taking pictures of the baby and was already in front of us.
A moment later, Aunt Louise became wide-eyed with surprise and fear. Before I could ask what was wrong, she hollered, “There’s smoke, there’s smoke! My God, Debbie! There’s black smoke behind you!” Fear struck at my heart. I didn’t immediately think of Sallie’s oil lamp until I turned and saw the thick black smoke billowing out from the top of the lamp.
The wick was engulfed in a brilliant bright yellow flame. It was Sallie’s way to scream “I’m here, I’m here! See me, Santa, I’m here.” I felt a big smile sprawl over my
face as my heart filled with delight. Apparently Sallie did understand how to be noticed without the dangers of open and uncontrolled fires.
I told Aunt Louise about the arrangement with Sallie and the lamp. Her look of worry and concern quickly diminished. This allowed Santa’s jolly nature to return. “Well hi, Sallie. How are you? Yes, I know you’re here.” As she talked to Sallie, I walked over to the lamp and said warmly, “That’s great that you put a fire in the lamp to let us know you’re here. I am so happy and proud of you.”
We took a few pictures of Taylor on Santa’s lap and Santa even invited Sallie to join him. It was almost comical seeing Santa’s arm around Taylor on one knee, and his other arm stretched out as if he was holding someone on the other, empty knee. We were excited to get the photos developed, and hoped to catch a glimpse of Sallie, but we were disappointed. Not only was there no sign of Sallie, but the photos were dark and indistinct. Had her presence in the photos cause them to be so dark? We had not previously or since had any problems with that camera.
Christmas Eve was a few days later. Expected at Mom and Dad’s house at 9:00 a.m. the next morning, we decided to open gifts with Taylor on Christmas Eve. Our tree was so large that we had to move the table over to open gifts. By 8:00 p.m., there were toys and wrappings all over the dining room and Taylor was content. With camera in hand, Tony suggested I help Sallie open her gifts.
I was certainly caught off-guard by this suggestion, because I knew how difficult it was for him to acknowledge Sallie’s presence. I had bought her a few inexpensive things: a small stuffed animal, a coloring book, and a little white purse. In addition, I had made a wooden cradle for the baby doll we had given her several months earlier.
“Hey, Sallie, come on over here. We’ll open your gifts, okay?’ I waited a second and then peeked under the wrapping, saying things like, “I wonder what it is? It sure is funny shaped, isn’t it?’ I really felt foolish making a big deal about the gift, seemingly sitting there all by myself with Tony surely judging me from across the room, but I continued. I soon had the wrapping off and invited Sallie to have her picture taken with her new cradle. We had no sign though, that she was even in the room.
I dropped the film off for developing on the 26th and I looked at the photos as I stood in line to pay for them. Not only had Sallie been with us Christmas Eve, but some other entity or energy had been present. In three of the photos there were two distinctly different anomalies on either side of me; one was a grayish mass, the other a cloudy-looking blur of lights. These visuals certainly seemed to confirm what Tony had known for a while; there was more than one spirit in our house.
My mind whirled and I remembered what Barbara had said about the murky anomaly and the marbleized grouping of lights that had shown up in earlier photos. “She’s upset and protecting her space.” I wondered what these two spirits were upset about. Who were they mad at?
More question flooded my thoughts. Did Sallie bring this other spirit? Was the other one also a child? Did Sallie even know this other spirit? Was there an open door between our worlds for other spirits to come in? Could this that mean there were more spirits in our house, and would they be friendly or antagonistic?
Tony’s reaction to the photographs and the two separate entities was a profound, “I knew it. Sallie just doesn’t look or seem like the type of child who would do some of the things that have been happening around here.” I decided right then to write a letter to Barbara and ask if she was able to pick up anything more about our situation.
fourteen
January 1994
We rang in the New Year without incident and it wasn’t until January 5th that another of the spirits in the house made its presence known. For several hours, Tony and I had been sleeping in the master bedroom. The door, as usual, had been left open. Being a light sleeper, Tony woke to strange thumps that sounded a lot like footfalls on the stairs and in the hallway just outside our door. It was something he had heard for many a night, but had assumed that it was our cats playing outside the room. Because he had not thought it odd, he had not felt the need to mention it to me.
About 1:00 in the morning and frustrated that he had not been able to fall asleep because of the constant noise, he could finally take it no longer. He got out of bed and stood at the top of the stairs waiting for one of the cats to run up. He was planning to catch it and lock it in a room so it would be quiet.
As he stood at the top of the stairs waiting for one of them to come running up, he began to hear the familiar thumping noise; somewhat heavy and evenly spaced. But he saw nothing on the stairs. As the sound got closer to where he stood, he froze with fear and anticipation, his heart pounding in his chest. Every part of his body was paralyzed except for his eyes, which roamed to catch sight of what was to come. The sound passed by him, and he felt a distinct coldness go right through him. He remained frozen, waiting for something to happen, something to move, but it didn’t. Then, for a split second, his fear released its grip on him and he was able to run back to the bedroom to wake me and tell me of the event.
I woke to the abrupt sloshing of the water bed as Tony, alarmed by what had just happened to him, jumped into it hoping for my support and comfort. He was gasping for air and shaking my body in a desperate attempt to wake me. I am a very heavy sleeper, and even when it seems I am awake, I’m usually still incoherent. I hardly remember talking to him and after a few minutes, I drifted back off to sleep. Although I couldn’t remember details, I did remember being startled and opening my eyes to find his frantic, wide-eyed face above mine. Not realizing the desperate nature of the situation, I fell back asleep and left him alone with his fear.
Not long after I drifted off, Tony heard a thudding noise. He reached out to grab me and said, “Deb, Deb, it’s here in the room with us!” Although I was still in a sleepy stupor, I must have recognized a note of alarm in his voice and without even opening an eye, I told him in a monotone sort of voice that, “it was one of the cats jumping up on the vanity. Just go to sleep.” I’m sure Tony thought I was being extremely insensitive, but the plain fact of the matter was I was exhausted and incoherent. In hindsight, I wish I’d been more attentive.
When we woke the next morning, he recapped the nighttime events and an odd dream he’d had afterwards. This was strange, because Tony rarely dreamed and rarely recalled the few dreams he did have. In this one, someone he couldn’t see had taken him by the wrists and had been trying to pull him out of bed.
“But there was no one there!’ he exclaimed.
“How did it end?” I asked.
He said that he had firmly told whoever it was to let go and it did so almost immediately. He went on to explain, “My legs were still on the bed and my top half was over the edge. When the hold on my arms eased up, I crawled back into bed. But what was weird is that I think I was actually awake when I crawled back into bed.”
The dream seemed all too real. Later that day Tony grew curious about a persistent pain on his wrists. When he unbuttoned his shirt sleeves he found red and blistered welts on the inside of each wrist.
When he showed them to me, they looked like second degree burns, but looking closer I could detect that someone’s fingers had grasped his wrists and in doing so, had left marks on him. The blisters were in the shape of a child’s hand and fingertips.
“Remember that dream I had last night? That is the same place where I was grabbed in my dream.” We sat there for a long time, speechless and trying to understand what had happened.
For the rest of the month and until the latter part of January, the house remained rather quiet. On the 29th we got together with Tony’s brother George and a few friends: Mark, Samantha, and their little girl Tara; Rodney, his wife Jenny, and their little girl Michelle. The babies were all within six months of each others’ age and we often got together in order to compare notes as parents. We had strange experiences throughout the ent
ire evening.
The group started out in the living room while the little ones played on the floor in the middle of the room. The TV volume was low, and there were several different conversations going on. Although no one had entered the kitchen since their arrival, we heard the sound of the microwave timer several times.
Before long, all the conversations centered on Sallie and her activity. Tony and I had pulled out several bizarre photos and numerous other things that we had surmised had been affected by Sallie and or her energy. Later that evening, as the babies napped, we moved our conversation to the dining room table. At one point, we all smelled something burning. After searching the immediate vicinity, we were not able to find the source and continued our discussions.
Mark had been looking at a stack of photos that he held in his hand, slightly tilted backward but still somewhat upright. Suddenly several of them simply jumped up and out of his hand. “Did you see that?” he asked. Unfortunately no one had. “It was like someone hit the top picture and then they jumped off over the back of my hand.”
Somewhere around 8:30 p.m., George walked into the kitchen to get a drink. On the way back to the dining room, he had noticed my collection of small spoons from various states. Each had been turned around backward. When he came back into the dining room he asked me why I had them facing the wall.
Samantha jumped up and ran into the kitchen. “No way,” she said. “I was just looking at them a little while ago and they were all facing forward.” As she rounded the corner to see them, she shrieked, “Oh my God, they are!” Thinking back, none of us could remember anyone having gone around the corner of the kitchen unnoticed; especially long enough to have turned all eighteen of them around so nicely and neatly. Samantha insisted that she had been admiring them only minutes before they were discovered turned backward.
The Sallie House Haunting: A True Story Page 15
