I was a young boy when I witnessed something that defied logic, an experience so strange and terrifying that even now, many decades later, I struggle to make sense of what happened on that terrifying night. It took place in Abilene, Kansas, in our green two-story, three-bedroom house. I spent several years of my childhood living in this house, on the edge of town on SW 2nd Street that was a dirt road. To most, this part of town was considered the wrong side of the tracks, but I had no idea what that meant back then. To me, it was just home.
The property was once a farm, and the house, so I was told, supposedly caught fire many years ago and was repaired. At the end of the sanded driveway was a large grey barn, big enough to accommodate three cars and equipped with a hayloft that had many stories of its own. Two other outbuildings stood next to the barn on the east side, that is, until Dad, to please Mom, decided to tear them down and used the lumber to build a privacy fence to hide the view of the old, rusty junk cars adjacent to our backyard.
My mom was embarrassed and hated this area of town because of the stigma attached to it, but Dad immediately fell in love with the property because, it reminded him of the farm, and he loved the farm.
On the east side of the house, we had a small orchard with pear, apple, apricot, and cherry trees. Until one summer, a windstorm uprooted several of them. The backyard had a massive elm tree that provided lots of shade on those sultry, hot summer days, and two worm-infested smaller Chinese elms stood right outside the kitchen window. We also had several walnut trees along the west side of the driveway. Out front, a catalpa tree we kids used to throw firecrackers down its hollowed-out trunk on the 4th of July, sometimes setting the inside on fire. I always thought it was an odd-looking tree with those extra-large leaves that reminded me of elephant ears and long, string-bean-like pods.
About a mile and a half to the south were the Union Pacific railroad tracks running east and west through the flat fields of wheat and corn. At night, while in bed, and my window open, I often heard the lonely, distant horns of the train engines as they rolled down the tracks. There was something about the eerie, drawn-out wail that made me sleepy and I would slowly drift off sleep.
There was one room upstairs that gave me the Heebie-Jeebies. The storage room was crammed with boxes of books, records, toys, and board games. An unfinished section of the wall, without sheetrock, in the back right corner formed a pitch-black abyss that fueled not just my imagination but also my brother and sister, too.
What might be lurking in that black hole? Creepy!
However, on this particular night, the freakish events occurred in our bedroom. My brother and I slept in the south bedroom upstairs, with my bed next to the west window, and my parents' bedroom window was directly below mine and to the right, facing south. Late one night, I woke to what sounded like someone walking around right outside my window in the leaves, crunching with every step, which, of course, terrified me. Who or what is out there right below my window in the middle of the night? My imagination ran wild. I immediately yelled for my dad, who was downstairs in bed. Within seconds, the upstairs hallway lights snapped on.
Dad rushed up the stairs and with bewilderment asked what is it, what’s wrong? I frantically explained to him about the strange noises I was hearing coming from right outside my window. He said I don't think you could have heard someone walking on the leaves. With the several inches of snow we just had it would more than likely completely muffle the sound of any crunching leaves. Just then, in the other bed, my sleepy, cranky older brother angrily shouted, “Shut off the light! I’m trying to sleep!” Dad reassured me that nothing was out there other than the snow and cold, then headed back downstairs. He had probably just reached his bed when both my brother and I heard a tremendous bang, as if a brick or something really big and heavy had been thrown against the house just outside my bedroom window. This time, both of us screamed for Dad. And Dad again ran back up the stairs. When he asked again, what happened, we said, "The bang, didn't you hear the bang?" What bang? he said. My brother and I were utterly shocked by his response; he said he didn't hear a thing. We were bewildered; neither Dad nor Mom, who was almost directly below us, heard a thing. I don't think I slept at all the rest of that night. The next day, Dad and I searched the area where I thought I had heard the footsteps. There was nothing, not a single track in the snow. What the heck was it, and what was that tremendous bang? It was undoubtedly one of the most bizarre incidents I encountered as a young kid. We never did find out what it was; maybe it's just better that way. ❦
The actual house along with a few
creative liberties.