|
When a person or group starts to become recognized for the things that they do, they start to receive requests for their knowledge. A few weeks ago we received an email from Morris Publishing asking us to review a book from local author Chris Gibbons. We were glad to be one of the groups that had been contacted and when Chris' book arrived I jumped right in to it. This book is a true story, Chris and his family's true story, which details the events they experienced when the family purchased a new home. Once I started reading this book, I found it hard to put down. This is a home that every serious investigator would have loved to investigate. Check out this excerpt from Chris' story and then you will want to read the entire book as I did.
Trespass
I do wish to tell you, now, lest I progress too far without saying so, I was not
at that time particularly interested in spiritual matters, ghosts, and the like. I
didn’t come looking for any of these things. I only wished to work honestly to
provide a nice home for my family, to spend time with them, and to see to their
growing needs.
So shortly after we purchased the house, before we moved in, I would, with
excitement and a spirit of optimism, spend my evenings in the house preparing for
our occupancy. There was much to be done with repairs, cleaning, and the removal
of the worn out belongings of the prior owners. As I worked and spent time at these
tasks, alone in the house, I would often feel what I would describe as a creepy
presence in the house with me. It seemed at times, as though I were being watched;
sometimes from afar, sometimes as though someone were hanging right over my
shoulder, almost in my ear; nearly as though an invasion of my personal space.
This presence, this sense that someone or something was in the house with
me had a certain pressure to it. It was as if it wanted me gone, like it wanted me to
leave, as though it owned this space and it was not anyone else’s business, including
my own, to tend to it.
So, as I worked in the evenings, especially when alone, it would occur to me
that this house was not comfortable for this pressure. I would feel as though I
should leave before my work was done. This sensation that someone, or something
was present would come and go. I do recall a specific instance, which occurred on
one of those evenings; it was late, on a moonless night, and time to leave after a
good evenings work. Upon backing my car out of the driveway and into the street I
looked back to the house and noticed I had left a single light on in the upstairs back
bedroom closet.
This circumstance was of particular concern to me, as I did not like to leave
the lights on unattended. It seemed to me unsafe given the age of the house, and
the fact that most of the wiring was original to its installation so many years ago.
And when I noticed the light I thought I should go back into the house to turn it off.
Looking up, from the seat of my car, sitting in the street, I paused, struck by
the imposing dark silhouette of my towering three-story home standing out against
the night sky and the black emptiness of the windows hanging on its façade. From
this vantage point, in the dark of night, the house seemed ominous, as if its empty
black windows, and the rooms behind them, belonged to another.
From all of this, the misbegotten light emanated from the back closet, peering
out into the darkness from the rear side window. The light seemed to break
forward into the darkness of night as a challenge; as if some personality from inside
the house were leveling a threat; “Come, come climb these stairs, invade my
emptiness, come to the back of this house to tend this light. Come, break my close, I
dare you.” This space was occupied, and I knew it.
And I tell you now, honestly, I deferred. Sitting, outside in the street, safely
in my car, I made a choice. I chose not to pull the car back into the driveway. I
chose not to enter the home I had just purchased for my family. Despite my concern
for safety, I chose to leave the light in the back closet just as it was. I chose to leave
the house to whatever, or whoever, lay inside.
So I understood, then, as I do now, something, someone, some energy, or a
force, or a spirit existed within my house, and it felt an ownership of it to the
exclusion of myself, and anyone else who may have thought to conclude otherwise.
So you know, it did seem ridiculous to me, even on that night, that I had spent my
life savings to purchase a home perfectly suited to the needs of my family and I was
afraid to go into it after dark. I mean, after all, I am a professional (to the extent
that means anything), an adult, a father with children, a grown man, and there I
sat, responding to cues an objective eye would not recognize.
But I figured I would get over it. After all, what was there to do? What
exactly was the dilemma anyway? How would anyone, even myself, credibly
articulate the cold challenge existing within the walls of my newly acquired house?
The simple fact is I couldn’t. So I didn’t.
Instead, I continued on, with my wife to restore the house. We stripped the
woodwork from paint. Patched and painted the walls and ceilings, refinished the
floors, upgraded the electric, and in early summer, moved our children and things
into a house we were determined to make our home.
You can find out more about this book by going to:
http://trespassnovella.com/
http://morrisavenuepublishing.com/index.html
http://www.morrisavenuepublishing.com/Purchase.html
Morris Avenue Publishing © 2011
|
