HORROR STORIES

Courtesy of Guardian BARRY

Tv Aliens 

Long ago when I was about four or five, I stayed over at my
grandparents' house for the night. My Mom stayed over with me, because Dad
was out of town on business.
Granny and Granddad quite enjoyed their television programs, and
had a set in each of the two bedrooms in the house, as well as in the
living room. I was still stupid enough to believe TV's flickering,
mind-sucking images were pretty neat, so I was in heaven.
Night came on softly, as it only can when you feel safety and
warmth around you. With one of Granny's home-cooked meals in my stomach, I
had begun to feel the need for slumber. So, we all piled in the monstrous
king-sized bed in Granny and Granddad's master bedroom, and soon we were
all snoring blissfully.
I woke up in the night and sat upright, looking around. Something
had disturbed my slumber. Granddad was still snoring rhythmically, and
Granny looked like she hadn't budged an inch, so I sat back and prepared
to visit the realm of dream once more.
Then the television turned itself on.
Now, I'm only 22 years old, but this was in the days when remote
controls were the providence of the wealthy and debased. Granny and
Granddad did not fit into any of those two categories.
To see a television turn itself on was an interesting thing. I sat
up again to see what would come on.
At that time, the TV in my grandparents' bedroom was a black and
white. I watched the white dot that had formed in the middle expand to
full screen, but only the static of a dead channel appeared.
Then, images began to appear.
I couldn't really describe them. They were sort of shadowy things
at first, but they seemed to be -- for lack of a better term -- "scopeing
me out." Slowly, an actual image began to appear.
Muppets! The Muppets were on! I was exalted, elated. I wanted to
wake my grandparents up, but I then started to feel a bit uncomfortable
about what was happening on the television.
Muppets did not usually have fangs as I recall. At least, not ones
that looked so ... real and out of place in an otherwise standard
Muppet-style mouth.
Well, uncertain about what to do, I decided to keep a close watch
on the television.
The "Muppets" looked at me. It was common of course on Sesame
Street and the Muppet Show for them to acknowledge the audience, so I
wasn't alarmed so much by that.
I describe these things as Muppets because that's primarily what
they looked like. Other than the rows and rows of unusual teeth, one
looked vaguely Grover-esque and the other sort of reminded me of Harry the
Monster (don't know if he's even ON Sesame Street anymore).
The Grover-esque Muppet leaned over and pointed at me, while
whispering something to his companion. They looked at me in unison,
whispering all the while in a strange, unusually guttural tongue. It
sounded completely random, although it did somehow seem t o follow the
meter and pattern of a language.
I noticed when the Grover-esque Muppet pointed, he had very long,
distinct talons on his furry hands. This, too, was quite disturbing.
The Muppets began to dance, sing and cavort about in that strange
language of theirs. It was sort of amusing, I recall. I began to feel a
bit more at ease.
The Muppets motioned for me to come forward.
I shook my head.
The Muppets tried again.
I shook my head. I was beginning to feel frightened. If they're ever
was a way Muppets could look pissed, these guys were doing it. With all
those rows of fangs, it wasn't pretty.
I should mention that all of this singing, dancing, cavorting
horror that was going on seemed to in no way disturb my grandparents. This
disturbed me as well, because these guys were LOUD.
I got out of bed and crept into the living room, being careful to
avoid approaching the screen. The Muppet-things wore visages of absolute
anger now, motioning violently for me to approach the screen. My attempts
rouse my grandmother and grandfather was in vain; they would not stir.
I ran into the living room, crying. I collapsed in my Granddad's
chair, buried my face into the fabric, and began to weep, certain doom had
come for me.
I looked over at the television in the corner of the living room.
It had already begun to turn itself on, the shadow-forms that had
dissolved into the Henson-styled horrors already beginning to flicker
across its surface.
I screamed, rooted to the spot. But as the scream left my lungs
and two grinning, fanged faces burst into being on the television screen,
faintly and then with increasing tempo I heard footsteps.
The things in the television looked worried, swirled into there
shadow-forms and were gone.
The television winked out just as my Mother ran into the room.
After consoling me, we went to check on Granny and Granddad. They
were both awake, and had heard me scream.
We all sat up for a while talking, and eventually the warmth and
love returned to fill the chill in my soul.
I went to bed and nothing more happened that night. Or any other
night I stayed with my grandparents.
A waking dream? Probably so. But one that still fills me with
terror.
I was awake of course, Mom will still assert, when I was in the
chair. So, I did move somehow from the bed to the chair.
Still, it gives one pause. What better way to snare a young boy
than to show him something he loves, then pull him in unawares?
Whatever those two things were, I'm sure the Muppet-forms were not
their natural shape. I'm sure the fangs and talons were part of it,
though.
If they're still out there, I hope they haven't had much time to
practice those forms. If they could get them just right ...
I still wonder what would have happened dream or not if I
had put my then-small hands up to the screen there in my grandparents'
bedroom.
Perhaps nothing.
And then again, perhaps it's better not to know.

Author unknown

THE RED DEMON

This is a true story of a mysterious being that appeared during World War 2 and in future times this story gives a chronological record of the events. What was this mysterious being a demon? An alien? Or something else?


Now, when I dug up the police records of the brutal death which occurred
in Horshoe Camp in 1968, I was reminded of something I had read once
about World War II. I dug up the records on the infamous "Red Demon",
the Nazi Johann Hessler. So I can confirm that everything contained in
this e-mail is true, however the connection between the two events is
entirely my own inference. I will go chronologically, so I will begin in
December of 1941. It was the height of World War II. In Russia things
were going very well for the Germans. Columns of tanks were tearing into
Russian divisions like they were cardboard. The Germans advanced at
spectacular speeds, and the Russians retreated and retreated into the
gloomy red snows of Siberia.
There was one German general in the Russian Front who had earned
particular infamy. His name was Major Johann Hessler, but he was
better known as The Red Demon. This was partly because he had drawn a
red stripe on his uniform. He had also ordered all of the tanks, jeeps,
and motorcycles under his command to be painted red. The Blood
Division, as they came to be known, was feared throughout the world.
Even some Japanese troops in the Pacific had taken to painting there
tanks red in order to scare the Allies.
But Hessler was known as the Red Demon for another reason. He loved to
take prisoners, but he hated keeping them. Whenever he had a group of
prisoners after a battle, he would line them up, and order his men to
stand with flamethrowers and just cut the prisoners down in swathes of
fire. Whenever he invaded a Russian town, he ordered everything set to
flame, even houses that still had women and children in them. When
Hessler passed through Russia, there was nothing left in his wake but
ashes and snow.
Now, towards the end of the war, Hessler was transferred to the Western
Front, to battle Americans. The Red Demon continued to perform to his
usual spectacular and brutal standards there, too. He finally met his
match at the Battle of the Bulge, though. The Blood Division ran smack
into General Patton's Third Army, and they were torn to shreds. Hessler
was captured alive, along with most of his officers
The Red Demon and his men were shipped back to America and placed in
prison camps here in Pennsylvania. Hessler was placed right here in
Camp Horseshoe, which was a P.O.W. camp at the time. One night Hessler
was put in a barracks with some Italian prisoners. The next morning the
guards came in to find Hessler sleeping soundly, but every last one of
the Italians had been beaten to death. The guards became scared and
locked The Red Demon up in solitary confinement.
When word of the Holocaust began to reach America, there was a terrible
backlash against German P.O.W.s. Many guards took to shooting prisoners
for fun. One night Hessler's guard, a young Jewish soldier who had
managed to escape from Germany before the war, received news that his
brother had been killed in one of the concentration camps. He took his
rifle and calmly pumped Hessler full of so many bullets that he was
unrecognisable. He was identified by his dental records. But he was
never given a burial. His body, and the bodies of his officers, were
just left in the woods to rot.
The story doesn't end there, though. A couple of years later Horseshoe
as a prison camp was taken down. By the sixties it was a popular scout
reservation. It was in late November of 1968 when Troop 53 came to camp
here in this very campground. Now for two scouts, Harry and Eric, it
was their first camping trip ever. They had only just joined the troop,
and they were really excited about going camping.
Friday night Troop 53 arrived pretty late. Their leaders had taken a
wrong turn on the interstate, and had gotten lost. So they didn't arrive
until eleven that night. They quickly set up their tents and flies,
threw down their personal gear and went to sleep. Harry and Eric went in
a tent. They had both had a lot of soda earlier, so they weren't as tired
as anyone else. While the rest of the troop fell immediately asleep,
Harry and Eric stayed up talking and telling jokes.
In the middle of one of Harry's jokes, Eric suddenly interrupted him.
"Shhhh," Eric said.
"What?" Harry asked.
"Just shut up!"
They both became instantly silent. But there was no noise.
"What are you talking about?" Harry asked.
"I could've sworn I heard a noise," Eric replied.
They waved it off and started talking about the girl Eric had met in
school on Thursday. After a few minutes, Eric became deadly quiet again.
This time Harry heard it. Outside of the tent there were strange noises.
It sounded like there were voices whispering, small boat engines
puttering, and matches burning. Eric looked at Harry a little frightened.
"It's probably just animals or trees or something," Harry said, "I mean,
this is our first trip. Maybe that's just what the woods sound like."
Eric shrugged, but he still seemed a little uneasy. Harry did most of
the talking for a while. After another couple of minutes Eric grabbed
him and motioned for him to shut up. This time the noises were much
louder and clearer. There were men laughing and yelling at each other
in German. There was the noise of huge machines moving. And there were
huge bonfires burning.
"There's someone out there," Eric said, a bit terrified.
"Maybe it's the rest of the troop having a party or something," Harry said.
"And speaking in German? It's a bunch of foreign guys in our camp!"
Harry was scared at this point, but he didn't want to let on to Eric that
he was afraid. He wanted to seem cool and calm. So he stood up and opened
the zipper of the tent. Eric grabbed him.
"What are you doing?" he exclaimed, wildly excited and petrified.
"I'm going to go out and see what's going on."
Eric begged him not to go, told him to just stay and they would go away
and nothing would happen. But Harry was adamant. He left the tent. Eric
quickly zipped the flap after him, and buried himself into his sleeping
bag. Now he waited for a long time, listening intensely for Harry to
return. All he could hear were the creepy motors and German voices.
Eventually his exhaustion got the better of him, though, and he fell
asleep.
In the morning, he woke up and was horrified to see that Harry was still
not back. He looked at the tent and noticed that something heavy was
leaning on the side of it. He could make out the outline of the object,
but he couldn't see exactly what it was. He slowly opened the tent with
his pale, cold, shaking hands, and stepped out. There, leaning on the side
of the tent was Harry. Eric knew it was Harry, even though it was
unrecognisable, charred corpse.
The park rangers came immediately to investigate. They blamed the death
on some sadistic murderers, and, from Eric's account, they assumed they
were German immigrants with a truck or some other large vehicle. In all
the confusion and terror, no one had considered leaving the site. One of
the youngest scouts, though, anxious to get away, ran down to where the
leaders had parked all the vans and cars. He screamed loudly and everyone
in the troop came running. Every van and car, every single vehicle the
troop had come in had been painted a pure, blood red.

Written by guderian2@worldnet.att.net

THE LITTLE ONE ON THE ROAD


I was driving up towards Prescott, AZ, my girlfriend, Becky, dozing
off in the seat next to me. Rolling the window partially down, in the
hopes the cool air would keep me alert, I wearily kept driving my Chevy
down this narrow highway road, with nothing but a thick forested area on
the passenger side of me, and mostly open meadow land, with a few clumps
of trees here and there, along the driver's side of the road.
I had wanted to leave first thing in the morning on Friday, but Becky
was called into work at the last minute, so we ended up leaving at close
to eight o'clock that night. Knowing we had to head back before early
Monday, I didn't want to wait until the next day to go and end up losing
a good chunk of a Saturday to boot.
So here I was, it had to be close to at least 10 o'clock by then,
driving by the light of my dim headlights, with a close to full moon
overhead (full enough to see the open expanses of the passing meadow
areas, anyway) when I noticed some smoke or steam coming up from the sides
of my car hood. This, in and of itself, was not unusual as the car was
close to fifteen years old, dented up a bit, with dimmer than usual lights
and hoses that seemed to know the most inopportune time to break. Add to
that, a radiator that overheated during the summer months or when in use
for long periods of time. This being early October, I hadn't given the
radiator much thought - it hadn't bothered to act up since August, and as
the saying goes 'out of sight, out of mind'. But something sure was
putting off plumes under the hood, so I nudged Becky and explained in
short that I had to pull over.
As I slowed down a bit, Becky rolled down her window and peered out
along the edges of the dark wall of pine trees.
"Up there," she exclaimed, pointing forward, "about twenty feet or so
there's a dirt shoulder of some kind."
Slowing to a crawl, feeling safe at the moment as another car hadn't
passed us for a number of miles now, I quickly saw the flat, dirt
indent, about the length and width of two cars, just to the right of the
road. The dirt area, much like that whole side of the road, was lined by a
knotted mass of trees, giving it the look of a half circle cut down the
middle by the road. I pulled over, and turned the car off - leaving the
keys hanging from the ignition.
With the headlights on, I got out of the car and walked to the front
of it, popping the hood. I had grabbed a flashlight out of the glove box,
and so proceeded to inspect the damage. Sure enough, the radiator had
overheated. I bent down a little, to peek between the crack of the
hood's bottom edge and the top of the car front, to look at Becky through
the front windshield. I was going to call out, to ask her to grab the
gallon bottle of water I kept behind the front seat (there since August,
at least) so, once it cooled a bit, I could add water to the radiator.
Expecting to see her dozing off, or looking toward me, I was surprised
to see her staring wide-eyed, mouth agape, out the direction of the
driver's side window. She was as white as a ghost.
"What are you doing?" I demanded to know. She kept staring out at
the mead owed fields, only raising her arm slightly to point in the
direction she was looking.
"What?" I said, walking back towards the driver's door.
As I did, I looked out into the moonlit meadow. I saw a short line of
trees in the distant background, a small pine about 20-25 ft out, directly
in line with the back end of the car, and, running about ten feet from
that point forward, in a line almost parallel with the road, was a short
brick wall, about three feet or so high. A sparse forested area began,
about forty feet or so from the wall's edges, in either direction of the
small meadow.
"So?" I said, "Probably part of an old house, or a fence. What's the big
deal about the wall?"
As I got into the car, and shut the door to wait for the innards to
cool, she replied - slowly, quietly - "It isn't the brick wall. It's what
I saw looking at us OVER the top of the wall."
I turned to her, "What? Quit screwing around."
"F**k you!" she said, "If I..." Then she stopped talking, and her gaze
drifted past me, to the wall.
I turned to look.
I saw a small translucent-white stocky humanoid form, just shy of three
feet tall, its tiny round eyes from this distance appearing as black as
night, standing in front of the wall. It slowly took a step or two towards
us, its short chubby arms at its side.
I screamed, and tried to turn on the flashlight. I knew the batteries
were low, and sometimes had to jiggle it and turn the cap slightly to get
it to work, so in my excitement I twisted the cap, the batteries flew out
and I about dirtied by pants. As the batteries were now rolling under the
seat and across the floor of the car, I decided to forget that.
I looked up, saw the hood was still up, and froze.
"He's going back," Becky then said.
I looked out over the moonlit field again, just in time to see this....
thing... scamper around the side of the wall, out of view.
As Becky quickly rolled up her car window, I said I was going to shut
the hood - to hell with the water, if the radiator didn't burn out we'd
stop down the road and add water.
"Give me the bottle. I'll dump some in the reservoir and shut the hood,
you just start the car." Becky replied.
As she got out and went to the front, I turned the key. The engine
groaned, trying to turn over. I looked from the steering wheel, to Becky
pouring some water into the reservoir, to the wall, and back again. As
Becky slammed the hood shut, I looked towards the wall - to see the small,
white head of the ghostly entity peering over the top of it.
"Get in the car!" I yelled, as the entity's tiny hands gripped the top
of the wall, and it hoisted itself clean over - landing on its feet,
running.
Running towards us.
Becky jumped in the passenger side, locking her door. She no longer had
the bottle, which couldn't have been more than half empty now, but, under
the circumstances, I didn't ask and I didn't care.
I turned the key, still it wouldn't catch.
"Oh, god!" Becky murmured.
I didn't want to look.
I turned the key again, still just that tired groan.
Becky leaned over, reaching past me, hitting my door lock with one hand
while rolling the window up with the other (it was one of those older,
manual window knob rollup jobs.)
"Hurry!" she said, frightened, as she sat back up.
With one more turn of the key, the car finally started, and as I punched
the accelerator, I looked toward the field.
That little thing was only a few feet from the edge of the road - the
edge on the OTHER side of the road, thankfully, but close enough that I
could see its eyes were, indeed, dark, empty holes, its mouth was open
now, in a wide leering grin, and I could have sworn it had small pointed
teeth but it all happened so fast. Its skin, or surface, seemed to be
roiling, as the entire entity ran at my car.
As we headed down the road, I turned my rear-view mirror in such a way I
could see "it" - quite a bit back now, turned away from us, walking
alongside the road in the opposite direction.
I watched the road ahead.
Then, Becky screamed. She had been half turned, looking back at the
entity too. Now, she was bent straight over, her head buried in her hands.
I turned my rear-view mirror to and fro, but only saw the road - "it" was
gone.
We drove another twenty minutes or so with the car smoking a small
portion of the way. The car overheated again as we entered the outskirts
of town, only then would Becky let me stop.
As we parked and waited at the first gas station we hit, I asked what
had happened.
"I was watching it, it stopped at the edge of the road." she answered.
"I know," I said, "I saw it walking away."
"Yeah," she answered "it was walking away. But as it walked away, its
head turned all the way around, still grinning, and it watched us drive
away."
Needless to say, when we headed back we left at 10 A M, to be sure we'd
get back LONG before nightfall.

written as told to me, by Peter Petrisko * ptp@primenet.com

Humans can Lick too


Once there was a beautiful young girl who lived in a small town just south 
of Farmersburg. Her parents had to go to town for a while, so they left their 
daughter home alone, but protected by her dog, which was a very large collie. 
The parents told the girl to lock all the windows and doors after they had 
left. And at about 8:00pm the parents went to town. So doing what she was 
told the girl shut and locked every window and every door. But there was one 
window in the basement that would not close completely. 
Trying as best as she could she finally got the window shut, but it would not 
lock. So she left the window, and went back upstairs. But just to make sure 
that no one could get in, she put the dead-bolt lock on the basement door. 
Then she sat down had some dinner and decided to go to sleep for the night. 
Settling down to sleep at about 12:00 she snuggled up with the dog and fell 
asleep. 
But at one point, she suddenly woke up. She turned and looked at the 
clock...it was 2:30. She snuggled down again wondering what had woken 
her.....when she heard a noise. It was a dripping sound. She thought that she 
had left the water running, and now it was dripping into the drain of her 
sink. So thinking it was no big deal she decided to go back to sleep. 
But she felt nervous so she reached her hand over the edge of her bed, and 
let the dog lick her hand for reassurance that he would protect her. Again at 
about 3:45 she woke up hearing dripping. She was slightly angry now but went 
back to sleep anyway. Again she reached down and let the dog lick her hand. 
Then she fell back to sleep. 
At 6:52 the girl decided that she had had enough...she got up just in time to 
see her parents were pulling up to the house. "Good," she thought. "Now 
somebody can fix the sink...'cause I know I didn't leave it running." She 
walked to the bathroom and there was the collie dog, skinned and hung up on 
the curtain rod. The noise she heard was its blood dripping into a puddle on 
the floor. The girl screamed and ran to her bedroom to get a weapon, in case 
someone was still in the house.....and there on the floor, next to her bed 
she saw a small note, written in blood, and saying: HUMANS CAN LICK TOO MY 
BEAUTIFUL. 
Variants of "Humans Can Lick, Too" have been collected from as far back as 
1967. In fact, it appears that the email variant above was cribbed from a 
1967 rendering first published in Ronald L. Baker's Hoosier Folk Legends 
(Indiana University Press, 1982). In that version, too, the events were said 
to have taken place in the vicinity of a small town called Farmersburg, 
although two female characters were featured instead of one, and the note 
left by the murderer supposedly read: "I'm coming to see you. I had my chance 
once before, but I didn't take it. Not only dogs can lick. 

ChromeY2G@aol.com 

A Strange Feeling about My House 



I have a feeling that something is going on in my house. I don't know if 
you would say it is haunted, but some unusual things happen here. My 
mother tells me it is coincidences, but I don't think so. You be the 
judge. 
My parents bought the house I live in in 1987. They moved in 2 days 
before Christmas, that in itself was a mess, but we had a family 
Christmas there anyway. 
The following July my mother was transfered to Washington D.C. Since I 
was the only unmarried daughter, I was told I needed to move into the 
house, help pay the bills, and take care of my father. With that my then 
boyfriend Bill who I had lived with for 4 years before my parents bought 
the house, moved in. 
From the moment we moved in, something did not feel right. I would see 
"something" out of the corner of my eye, but when I looked towards it, 
nothing would be there. My dog Wrinkles, a Bassett Hound, would sit in 
the family room and all of a sudden look upstairs towards the bedrooms 
and bark and growl, every hair on her back would be standing up. I 
would go upstairs and again saw nothing. 
I would hear noises at about 2:30am, a loud banging sound, like someone 
took a sledgehammer against the side of the house. This of course would 
wake both my dog and myself up. I would go into the kitchen, where the 
sound seemed to be coming from, and nothing was out of place. No one 
else would hear this, except one time my sister Penny. She came to visit 
me and was in the family room watching T.V. At 2:30am she too heard the 
noise. It scared her so much she wanted to call the police. 
Anyway, the uncomfortable feeling continued. I was home most of the time 
by myself, my father would leave for work between 4:30am - 5am and come 
home about 9:30pm - 10pm. Bill was self-employed and would stay at his 
parents a lot since his father worked for him, and he would pick up and 
drop off his workers who didn't drive. 
One incident will haunt me forever. I was always the last person to 
leave the house in the morning. One day when I came home, I was standing 
in the kitchen and out of the corner of my eye I seen something move. I 
looked into the family room and the T.V. was on with the mute activated. 
Needless to say I was scared. I grabbed a knife and ran out of the 
house. I went to my neighbours house and called the police. They checked 
my entire house and found no one there. No one was at my house that day, 
an no, I did not leave the T.V. on, I did not watch T.V. before I went 
to work. 
I spoke to some of my neighbours, but never told them any experiences I 
was having. I was told that the couple who lived there before us ended 
up divorcing. They told me that the man who lived always thought someone 
was trying to break in the house, so he put rod iron storm doors in the 
front and on the patio doors. He even went so far as to brick in the 
windows in the basement. As far as I know, no one ever tried to break in 
the house, it seemed to be "all in his mind". In hine site, I wonder if 
he was experiencing the same "feelings of uneasiness" as I had. 
I was transferred to Pittsburgh in January 1992. We moved my father into 
an apartment, and rented out the house (that in itself is another story 
altogether). Bill bought a house and lived between there and staying with 
friends. I was gone for 1 1/2 years and hated every minute of it, I 
missed my family and friends. I did not have any uneasy feelings while I 
was there. 
I was transferred back to Cleveland in March 1994. Since we had evicted 
our tenants we (my father, Bill and I), moved back into the house. The 
feelings and sightings came back again. 
In January 1996, after living together for 11 years, Bill and I married. 
My mother was transferred back to Cleveland the day before my wedding. 
Bill and I decided to live in the house until we had a new house built. 
His parents were living in the house that he had purchased a few years 
earlier, and we did not want to rent an apartment. 
Bill was killed in a car accident by a drunk driver on August 9, 1996. I 
buried him one day before our 7th month anniversary. The uneasy feelings 
and sightings that I had had seemed to be stronger after my husband 
died. I don't know if the sounds I heard were part of my grieving or 
actual sounds. 
Our bedroom was above the kitchen. After he died, I would sit in the 
kitchen and hear sounds like he was getting out of bed. I had the 
feeling he was watching me, but I never seen him. 
My mother had a few experiences after Bill died too. Keep in mind that 
she never seen or heard anything unusual in the house. The first 
incident she had was when she was in the kitchen cooking. She had the 
feeling Bill was standing next to her, and she even turned around to 
talk to him, but of course he was not there. 
Another incident she had was a few days after that. She was up alone 
very late one night, in the family room watching T.V. and got up to go 
upstairs to bed. She turned off the lights and was immediately afraid. 
She said it felt like someone was there watching her. She said she ran 
for the stairway to turn on the lights and ran upstairs. She did not see 
anyone. She said that was the 1st and only time she has every been 
afraid in the house. I told her maybe it was Bill, she said, "No it was 
not Bill. Bill would never scare me like that". 
I started to date again. My family had a party at my house and I invited 
the man I have been seeing to the party. Jim and I had pictures taken 
together and every picture he and I are together in has a white Smokey 
clouded area over us. The other pictures of family members are clear. 
I showed these pictures to family and friends and jokingly said it was 
Bill, a lot of them thought maybe it was. 
I asked the camera shop where I have my pictures developed what the 
shadow was, they told me that it was in the picture and they could not 
remove it, they could, however touch the pictures up, but that would be 
very expensive. 
To close, something happened to all of the families who lived in this 
house. The first couple divorced. My parents did not divorce, but my 
mother was transferred out of state. Bill and I moved in and I was 
transferred out of state. I was transferred back, Bill and I married, then 
he died. My mother transferred back and my father did not die, but ended 
up having a stroke and is now unable to work. He was forced to retired 
from a job he loved, after 35 years at the same company. 
I don't think what has happened here is just coincidence. What do you 
think?

by kkaczur@ameritech.net

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