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In the early 1980's I attended college in Switzerland. The building that
housed our small college had been, alternately, a lavish hotel, an
Institute for those suffering from tuberculosis, a hotel again and
finally, a college. I knew that the building had a sordid history, but
never felt uncomfortable in any part of it, unlike my roommate Kate, who
would wake in the night to see an apparition standing over her bed
dressed in elegant dinner attire and wearing what she described as a
menacing expression. I never once saw Kate's ghost nor did I feel any
presence whatsoever. I've always felt that people need to be receptive
to certain energies in order to "see" an entity, and perhaps
this is why none appeared to me before the spring of 1994. You see, it
was then that I entered a 12-step program to deal with my alcoholism,
there-by opening spiritual doors which, until then, had been locked and
bolted. It was not only a new spiritual foothold I was experiencing, but
also a fresher, more open way of life for me. My mind was free and I can
only guess that with this freedom, came the ability to receive energy.
My
husband, son and I had moved back to Connecticut from Nebraska in August
of '93. Not wishing to purchase a home until the other one sold, we
rented a small condo and spent our weekends looking a various properties
around the area. When I saw the 1750 saltbox Colonial in Easton, I knew
this was the house I wanted. It's wide plank floors and walk-in
fireplaces appealed to me, as did the lush and private property it sat
on. With great timing, the house in Nebraska sold and we bought the
house in Easton just after the New Year, 1994.
The first room I decided to redecorate was my son's, about
a month after we moved in. I ripped out a section of a wall to enlarge a
closet and made repairs to the wood floor, before adding a new carpet
and wallpaper. It was around this time that my son started complaining
of the "woman in the corner". I really thought nothing of it
at the time and chalked it up to my three-year-old's wonderful
imagination. Kate (the college roommate) came to visit our new home and
also spoke of a shrouded figure after her first night in the guest room,
and insisted upon spending the rest of her stay sleeping on the couch in
the den. Again, I couldn't see or feel anything and put it out of my
mind.
Shortly after this, I entered a re-hab center, and spent
the next six weeks away from home. Upon my return, embracing my
new-found sobriety and feeling a sense of serenity, I noticed
immediately that something within my household had shifted and that I
was not alone. All of a sudden, I felt followed and watched. I wondered
if I was experiencing some sort of paranoia due to my recovery from
alcoholism, or if perhaps I was just becoming more sensitive to things
around me.
One day I was in the guest room, clearing a closet out and
getting ready to resume my redecorating. I heard distinctly my name
being called from downstairs, and rushed down thinking it was a neighbor
stopping in. Finding no one, I went back up the stairs. Halfway up I
glanced into the guest room and, standing in the corner was the
unmistakable figure of a woman wearing a long brown cloak, facing me. I
did a double take and now the figure had turned, facing the wall. I
stood, rooted halfway up the staircase, not daring to breathe. Out of
habit I said the serenity prayer, and when I got to the word
"courage" the figure started to dissipate. I remained on the
stairs for some time, holding tightly to the banister before heading
back down the stairs to call my AA sponsor.
My sponsor had been a lifelong Easton resident and was
familiar with local history and legends. Being somewhat new
acquaintances, I had never before had reason to tell her where I lived.
After I told her what had just happened to me, she asked me where I
lived and when I told her she let out a sigh. Apparently, my home was
part of a property owned by a "hag" back in the early 1700's,
a reputed witch, and a hermit. After her husband was killed at sea, she
went crazy, killing her livestock, and cursing those on the surrounding
farms. She lived out the rest of her life alone, at the swampy foot of
the property, known as the Easton Witch.
Did she appear to me? If so, why? Had my sobriety opened
some sort of door? Was she "the woman in the corner" my son
and friend spoke of? I'll never know. Although I continued to feel
"watched" and "followed" I never saw the apparition
again. We moved to Pennsylvania a year later and sold to house to a
lovely couple from New York. I've often thought of calling, just to see
how they're doing and how they like the house...
Anonymous |
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