My toes were being wiggled back and forth
while I rested with my eyes closed in our new bedroom in the house-by-the-cemetery. I lay there wondering why my husband would wiggle my toes.
In the early 1970s, my father was one of the first persons to have an extremely invasive heart
surgery, spending weeks in the hospital struggling with
healing, electrolyte imbalances, hallucinations, weight loss, until finally, he was "well" enough
to return home. A couple things about him that struck our family was how big his eyes were in his sunken facial bones and how odd he acted at times.
Dad's new nightly ritual was to wander around the house after bedtime, wiggling toes of his seven children, beginning the never understood tradition of The Wiggling of Our Toes. Later years my siblings recalled this irritatingly sentimental and strange act my father began after his heart surgery.
Hey sweetie, I said to my husband when he returned to the bedroom. What caused
you to wiggle my toes, sharing with him about my father doing this very peculiar thing. My husband denied coming into the bedroom to wiggle my toes or even knowing my father use to do this.
There began our adventure in our new country home-by-the-cemetery. This coincidental incident was only one of the curious things occurring while we lived in that house.
A skeleton clawing at the siding
The first night in our house-by-the-cemetery my husband had to leave for the evening to a planned event. A sound emanated from our bedroom outside wall ... a scratching and rubbing noise. I KNEW it was a skeleton trying to get in the house. After a long, scary night where most of it was spent holding a flashlight toward the wall, my husband returned home. I gave him an earful of what scary things happened during the night. You have to take care of this I pleaded. So, together we wandered around to the cemetery side of the house to find a leafless tree with branches touching the siding under our bedroom window. No, not a skeleton, but rest assured I had my husband tear that tree down before the dark of night.
The Indian
An Indian keeps walking down to my bedroom at night said our three-year-old daughter shortly after we moved into our house-by-the-cemetery. We questioned her - maybe it was a dream? But she was insistent what she saw, even how he was dressed - like an Indian.
Spirits in our room
One morning my husband shared that he was laying in bed when a woman - in Victorian clothes - stood over us and came right at him, melding into him as she disappeared. He NEVER woke me up after this happened, only shared it casually the next day, saying it did not scare him. It did not scare him!
Our grown daughter was recently talking about the strange occurrences in this house-by-the-cemetery and recalled a night she couldn't sleep. She came into our bedroom for comfort and to climb into bed with us. Apparently, I was in the frontroom sleeping in a lounge chair as I'd had back surgery and felt it was more comfortable. She didn't know I wasn't in bed but saw me standing at the bedside looking down at her and my husband. She reached out to touch me but her hand went through my "body". She woke her daddy who found me sleeping in the recliner.
Skeptically open-minded
Who knows what happens "on the other side" - we are skeptical and never felt unease in this house-by-the-cemetery. It was a peaceful place which made us feel welcomed and perhaps "accepted" by these spirits. Who knows?
