By Joe Glasgow
It was a bitter cold night, and I pulled the quilt up around my neck around my neck. The voices of my parents comforted me as I drifted off to sleep. The aroma of coffee wafted into my bedroom, and awakened me. I was comforted by the sound of their voices they spoke in hush tones about the winter storm.
A chill went down my spine despite being wrapped in my quilt, and pajamas equipped with feet covering. My eyes were closed, and temperature seemed to drop in the room I could feel the warmth of the quilt being tucked in around me. I was startled that I could hear the voices of my parents in the kitchen. I could see that my brothers sound asleep in their beds.
I gave a cautious glance over my left shoulder, and sitting in the bedroom chair was an old woman. She was dressed in what appeared to be early 20th century clothing. She was just watching over us three boys as we slept. When I turned to call for my mother, she vanished.
We always referred to this home as the “farm house.” It was a small place that we raised several head of cattle. It was built in the late 1800’s, and the feel of the mysterious enveloped the home.
After I told my youngest brother Gerry, we decided to go into the attic to see what we could find. We found a treasure trove of old late 19th century shoes, and bits of clothing. It would be Gerry that was the first to notice a temperature drop one summer in the room just off the loft. It was unusually cool; the loft itself was getting stuffy in the under the midday sun.
In the early morning hours one fall morning, dad heard a knock on the door. He checked his alarm clock, and started swearing that his brother-in-law had stopped by nearly an hour earlier than usual for coffee. He slipped on a t-shirt, and pants. When he went to the door, there was nobody at the door. Puzzled, he thought he had just been dreaming, but when he turned around he saw the old woman ascending the staircase into the loft.
I only saw apparition twice, but I felt her often in my presence. In the summer, we would sleep in the loft. During a bad thunderstorm, I saw her looking over us in the flashes of lightning. I was comforted by her presence that we were going to be fine despite the violent thunderstorm. I would look for her during the flashes of lightning again, but never saw her again. Her presence always felt in the loft more than anywhere in the house. We would have running conversations about who was she? Why did her presence stay in the home? All unanswered questions to this day.
Through the years, I would think about her as I passed the old decaying house, wondering if she still dwelt at the old place. Then one day, the house was finally torn down. I wonder if her presence is still on the property. I think of her comforting presence always when I drive by.