A Haunting in PA 3: Mary Potter’s Haunted House
As Mary spoke of her strange encounters I pretended to take notes. To be honest, I expected this to be just another case of some half-wit thinking their house is haunted while an ordinary explanation is readily available, and forthcoming with minor investigative effort. For example: water hammer in the plumbing supply lines; expansion or contraction of floor boards and beams; rats. Neighbors.
Mary continued her story and I sat doodling. I ended up with a picture of Stewie Griffin because my pencil happened to create just the right football shape so I decided to put ears on the ends, and finally added the eyes and mouth.
I was penciling in the hair when Mary stopped talking and gasped. For a panicky moment I thought she had seen my drawing and was pissed that I wasn’t taking real notes, but when I looked up she was sitting bolt upright in her chair. Her arched back defying the gravity that was acting on her massive breasts moments earlier.
“Did you hear that?!” She asked in a hushed whisper, her eyes fixed on the stairway which met the foyer in the main hall.
I waited for a moment, listening quietly. Finally I responded, “No.”
We sat for a painful moment which seemed like an hour waiting for a sound. Then, finally, we heard something. Footsteps, clear as can be. The sound of some big-booted foot walking on a hardwood floor. Muffled of course, but there was a distinct creaking associated with the footfalls that suggested whoever wore the boots was walking down a flight of old rickety stairs. I wasn’t really surprised.
Mary Potter turned to me, beaming, barely able to contain her excitement. She leaned across the table and delivered an unpleasant dose of whatever-she-had-for-brunch breath as she proclaimed the existence of her ghost in a hot, breathy whisper, “You see!? There HE is!”
I sat for a moment listening. The footsteps had continued, had apparently reached the bottom of the stairs, wherever they were, and then continued on without making a sound. The “ghost” had probably stepped onto a carpet.
Mary awaited my reaction, smiling and staring wide-eyed at me from across the table.
“I think it may be your neighbor Mary. You live in a duplex.”
I had noticed the neighboring door on the other side of the porch from where I saw the creepy doll, which the little girl had taken.
Mary’s smile had dropped to a frown. She pulled back against her chair and raised her chin defiantly.
“I don’t have any neighbors. That house has been vacant for years.”
To be continued…