When Craig and I got together, we moved in together immediately. We’d known each other over 20 years…we were just a little tardy to the dating party (the age difference, for one and secondly, neither of us ever knew the other was interested). Plus, I intuitively trusted him, from day one. I had a psychotic ex (don’t know if he is still, I refuse to deal with him on any level) and Craig moved in right away as a matter of my safety.
Maybe two weeks later, one morning my ex showed up to rape me, because (in my ex’s words) “She’s my wife and I’ll do whatever the fuck I damn well please with her”, and Craig answered the door. Certainly verified my gut instincts (and, rectified the problem – my 5’6″ ex was no match for my 6’2″, now, husband. This is important later in the story, by the way).
I think it was either later December or early January, because I remember it being after Halloween and cold (well, Arizona cold).
Now, our bedroom is on the far end of the house (away from street noise) and there’s a long hallway into the kitchen and dining room. There’s a back door immediately to the right, just outside our bedroom door, and a front, glass sliding door at the complete opposite end of the house that is heavier than hell and squwaks whenever it’s opened (if you have an older, sliding glass door, you know that cross between a squeak and a grind it makes when you slide it open or shut).
It had been a restless night for both of us. I don’t sleep well to begin with, but when I’m out, I’m OUT. He kept waking me asking if I heard “that”.
He sleeps on the outside of the bed, nearest the door, while I sleep on the inside. And yeah, chances are, if someone is breaking in, I’ll be up and over him and dealing with it, before he even wakes up (I’m just aggressive like that ). Not to say he wouldn’t defend me; he loves me to death and I know he’d die to defend me. Its just, I’m the fighter in the relationship, where he’s the calm, cool, collected one more often than not.
He kept hearing footsteps in the hallway. I’d wake up, groggy as hell, say I didn’t hear anything (because at that point it would stop) and go back to sleep.
After a couple hours of this, I just finally decided to lay awake and see if I’d hear it – at the very least, not just finally fall back to sleep, only to be awoken.
About half hour later, he shook me, thinking I was asleep, and I had heard it. I got up to investigate, as had he several times before, and found nothing but several cats, sleeping peacefully in a “puddle” on the couch (when you have multiple cats, and it’s cold, you know the kitty puddle).
Normally, animals alert way before humans to any kind of suspicious or supernatural shenanigans, so I assumed if the cats were cool, we were fine.
We drank a beer or something (since it’s now about 4AM), and laid down, snuggled up, to finally go to sleep.
Not even ten minutes later, we both started tossing and turning (which we normally don’t, sleeping together) and couldn’t get comfortable. Making small talk and such, we heard it.
Angry footsteps coming down the hall;like a large man in heavy work boots. If I had to guess, I’d say someone about 6’2″-6’6″, 250+#, and thinking back on it as I write this, very “lumberjack” feeling (tall, husky from strenuous labor, dark hair, beard, red, plaid, flannel shirt and those tan, leather steel-toed boots…one was un-tied.)
And, at a rapid pace, I might add.
Rapid stomps, that increased in speed as they came down the hall.
We both laid perfectly still just listening…
Until our bedroom door was kicked open.
Let me repeat that.
OUR SOLID WOODEN BEDROOM DOOR WAS FORCIBLY KICKED OPEN.
Had the door inexplicably swinging in not been enough, the sound was thunderous. I’ve kicked some doors in, in my day, and I’m not a small woman – add to that, I used to lift weights competitively in high school, I could bench a solid 300# on my legs. I know the sound a door being kicked in, makes.
Magnify that by about 100, in the wee, silent morning hour.
We both sat bolt, upright in bed;me knife in hand and Craig with a 2X4 we’d kept in the bedroom in case my ex tried another stupid stunt, to peer down the dark hallway and see all the cats (I rescue and had several), lined up on either side of the hallway, eyes glowing in the dark as the subtle incandescence from my laptop illuminated them.
If you’ve ever owned a cat, you know there’s two things they don’t do:
1. Take a bath without plotting your death, and exacting revenge.
2. Line up like perfect little soldiers, at attention, waiting for anyone or anything to get out of their way (as the proud owner of a twice broken ankle, a result of them constantly wanting to be underfoot, I guarantee our cats are no exception).
Needless to say, we didn’t sleep that night. Craig inspected every door, window and vent in the house for signs of entry. Everything had been locked down (I’m OCD about that, and will check locks, or ask him to, multiple times).
There were, however, slightly muddy (like, dried, caked mud) boot tracks in the hallway which appeared to be about a size 12 shoe (we both wear a 10 and neither of us own a work boot type boot) and a print to match, on the outside of our bedroom door.
To this day, we both vividly remember that night, and had one of us told the story to the other, without playing witness, would have undoubtedly listened sympathetically and tried to “reason it out”.
I’m sure perhaps, maybe a quarter of you who read this, will do more than pawn it off as just another spooky story for the season.
And, by all means, believe what you will.
But, I’ve been through some pure hell in my life; seen some things, done some things, that would make even the least faint-of-heart shit their draw’rs.
That experience, still ranks on my top 5, as one of the most haunting (no pun), horrifying, truly unbelievable things I have ever experienced.
Because I promised y’all on Facebook for a scary story of my own, here it is.
On the flip side, we’ve also had some amazing, enriching and truly fantastic encounters of a paranormal sort. Some sad, some uplifting and some just bizarre.
I guess until you truly experience it, it’s hard to believe.
But, think what you may; we sure as hell don’t care. We lived it, and it still, to this day, seven years later, makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up just thinking about it.
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