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<blockquote data-quote="jakeman" data-source="post: 3649996" data-attributes="member: 10690"><p>When I moved in the house I was married to a lady that was a little “touched”. What she was actually was nutty as a **** house rat.</p><p></p><p>Not long after we move in she started telling me about a ghost. I never saw anything. Heard some weird stuff from time to time, but it was a crappy old house in the country. I told her she was nutz. She said “she” didn’t bother me because “she”liked me, but “she” didn’t like her. This s*** was constant.</p><p></p><p>We’d lived there a few years when I was talking to the old man across the fence and he asked me if I knew about the girl that has been killed in my kitchen. I about pissed my pants. So, this was the daughter of a fairly infamous ass hole about town. Had pulled a gun on several people, including a cop and the school principal. He’d gotten into it with his wife, whipped out a shotgun, and the little girl got between him and her mom. Gun discharged and she was DRT. He did no time in jail. Accidental shooting. The house was sold a few years later to the family I bought it from. They had young girls. 3 of them. They stayed in the back bedroom. Holy. S***. I never told the wife and made the neighbor promise not to ever mention it, cause it would cause problems. I also told him the wife had mentioned it and he said yeah, I hear she’s still down there from the folks you bought the house from.</p><p></p><p>The @ss hole has a very distinctive name. Local people ask me where I live, I tell them about where and they say something like “where now?” And I say “I live in *** ******’s old house.” Everyone knows this guy and where he lived.</p><p></p><p>I divorced the crazy lady. Lived alone for 2-3 years. Married the next gal. She had a 8 yo boy and 2 cats. She never talked about ghosts, but she would come find me and say she hadn’t heard me clearly, “what did you say?” I didn’t say anything. Strange looks. Came and got me once and said, “why didn’t you say good morning when you walked by the bathroom?” I hadn’t walked by the bathroom. The 2 cats avoided that back bedroom like the plague. The boy’s room. Loved that boy. Both of them. If he sat down they were both all over him. When he went in his room they left him alone. They didn’t have a problem tear ass’ing around the rest of the house, but if they were following you and you went in that room, they would stop at the door and wait until you came back out. I told her about the first wife and her ghost and the story about the little girl. She deduced that that was the little girl’s room, she liked the boy, so that’s where she must be hanging out, and only came out when something else was amiss, and she probably hated the crazy lady because her dad had been bat **** crazy. We lived with her. She was never a lot of trouble for me, and rarely bothered the wife, and as far as we knew the boy knew nothing about it.</p><p></p><p>A few years later I’m remodeling the house. There are 2 very small crosses painted above the windows in the back and front bedroom. None in the master. I’ve lived there 15 years, never saw them. Painted over them. Came right back. I’m a paint guy, work for the largest paint company in NA. I can fix that. Nothing, and I mean I nothing I put over them would seal them up. Not a big deal, curtains hide them anyhow, and they’re only 2-3 inches tall. Screw it, hang the curtains.</p><p></p><p>Several years pass, probably 7, she’s just kinda there. She likes us I guess. Adores the boy my wife claims. Scares the piss out of the cats, one of which has been replaced, but same behavior. I come home on a Wednesday. Wife meets me at the back door. “Come look at this”. Both cats are curled up on the boys bed. Sound asleep. Hmmm. No big deal.</p><p></p><p>Local paper is published on Thursday. I go get a coffee in the morning and the headline on the paper in the rack by the door on my way out reads, “local @ss hole dies”. (That’s not verbatim, but something like that). I drop my coffee. I buy a paper. I show it to the wife when I get home, and she looks up at me with eyes as big as coffee saucers. It all comes together and makes a bunch of sense. The old man is dead. She’s gone. Moved on. Hopefully to a really nice place. Next time I paint the bedroom, the crosses are gone. The cats hang in the boys room until they their last day on earth as well. Never another incident.</p><p></p><p>Take it for what it’s worth.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="jakeman, post: 3649996, member: 10690"] When I moved in the house I was married to a lady that was a little “touched”. What she was actually was nutty as a **** house rat. Not long after we move in she started telling me about a ghost. I never saw anything. Heard some weird stuff from time to time, but it was a crappy old house in the country. I told her she was nutz. She said “she” didn’t bother me because “she”liked me, but “she” didn’t like her. This s*** was constant. We’d lived there a few years when I was talking to the old man across the fence and he asked me if I knew about the girl that has been killed in my kitchen. I about pissed my pants. So, this was the daughter of a fairly infamous ass hole about town. Had pulled a gun on several people, including a cop and the school principal. He’d gotten into it with his wife, whipped out a shotgun, and the little girl got between him and her mom. Gun discharged and she was DRT. He did no time in jail. Accidental shooting. The house was sold a few years later to the family I bought it from. They had young girls. 3 of them. They stayed in the back bedroom. Holy. S***. I never told the wife and made the neighbor promise not to ever mention it, cause it would cause problems. I also told him the wife had mentioned it and he said yeah, I hear she’s still down there from the folks you bought the house from. The @ss hole has a very distinctive name. Local people ask me where I live, I tell them about where and they say something like “where now?” And I say “I live in *** ******’s old house.” Everyone knows this guy and where he lived. I divorced the crazy lady. Lived alone for 2-3 years. Married the next gal. She had a 8 yo boy and 2 cats. She never talked about ghosts, but she would come find me and say she hadn’t heard me clearly, “what did you say?” I didn’t say anything. Strange looks. Came and got me once and said, “why didn’t you say good morning when you walked by the bathroom?” I hadn’t walked by the bathroom. The 2 cats avoided that back bedroom like the plague. The boy’s room. Loved that boy. Both of them. If he sat down they were both all over him. When he went in his room they left him alone. They didn’t have a problem tear ass’ing around the rest of the house, but if they were following you and you went in that room, they would stop at the door and wait until you came back out. I told her about the first wife and her ghost and the story about the little girl. She deduced that that was the little girl’s room, she liked the boy, so that’s where she must be hanging out, and only came out when something else was amiss, and she probably hated the crazy lady because her dad had been bat **** crazy. We lived with her. She was never a lot of trouble for me, and rarely bothered the wife, and as far as we knew the boy knew nothing about it. A few years later I’m remodeling the house. There are 2 very small crosses painted above the windows in the back and front bedroom. None in the master. I’ve lived there 15 years, never saw them. Painted over them. Came right back. I’m a paint guy, work for the largest paint company in NA. I can fix that. Nothing, and I mean I nothing I put over them would seal them up. Not a big deal, curtains hide them anyhow, and they’re only 2-3 inches tall. Screw it, hang the curtains. Several years pass, probably 7, she’s just kinda there. She likes us I guess. Adores the boy my wife claims. Scares the piss out of the cats, one of which has been replaced, but same behavior. I come home on a Wednesday. Wife meets me at the back door. “Come look at this”. Both cats are curled up on the boys bed. Sound asleep. Hmmm. No big deal. Local paper is published on Thursday. I go get a coffee in the morning and the headline on the paper in the rack by the door on my way out reads, “local @ss hole dies”. (That’s not verbatim, but something like that). I drop my coffee. I buy a paper. I show it to the wife when I get home, and she looks up at me with eyes as big as coffee saucers. It all comes together and makes a bunch of sense. The old man is dead. She’s gone. Moved on. Hopefully to a really nice place. Next time I paint the bedroom, the crosses are gone. The cats hang in the boys room until they their last day on earth as well. Never another incident. Take it for what it’s worth. [/QUOTE]
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