said he was going to kill me!”
About that time, the entry door down stairs slammed. From the bottom of the stairs, Mike screamed, “You ain’t getting away this time!” Thump, thump, thump echoed up the stairwell as he made his way to our door.
I grabbed the phone and dialed. Nothing. It was completely dead. I tried again. Still nothing. “Sandy, go to the bedroom and lock the door,” I said as I picked up the baseball bat.
“These doors are paper thin; the locks won’t keep him out.”
Holding the bat as if ready to hit a homer, I replied calmly, “Someone in this building will call the police. There’s no way they’ll just let him break in here. Go to the bedroom.”
The door rattled on its hinges with the force of the first impact, but the locks held.
I bent my knees in anticipation of his entry. As big as he was, I knew I only had one chance to get in a good hit. If I didn’t get him good the first time, I was toast.
Another boom announced his second hit. It seemed stronger than the one before. Once again the door rattled violently. The locks held.
The third hit sounded as if he’d thrown his massive body against the paneled door. Close to 300 pounds of man should have sent that door swinging wide open, but the locks held. The scent of pipe smoke had grown so strong it nearly choked us.
Four strikes, then five, then God only knows how many more. Each time, the noise was louder than before, but each time the door remained closed and the locks held.
Soon the sound of running footsteps and yelling wafted through the door. Another slam, followed by swearing, and then a knock on the door. “This is the police. We have him in custody. Open the door.”
I dropped the bat and unlocked the door. I could have hugged that cop! He came in and asked us a bunch of questions. We answered, and right before he left he said, “You girls don’t know how lucky you are. He was nearly through the door.”
We moved into the narrow hallway to see what he was talking about. The door was made up of two thin sheets of particle board that looked like paneling. There were giant holes all over the outside panel. You could easily see where he’d pushed his shoulder through and the places he’d kicked. The inside panel remained pristine. Not one dent, crack, or mark of any kind. It wasn’t possible. Even though the door opened outwards, he should have busted right through.
Sandy moved out the next day. Between Mike and the ghost, she’d had enough. I stayed for another week, but couldn’t find a roommate and unfortunately had to move back home. There are many who will say this was all just coincidence. Just the over active imaginations of two teenagers who’d never been out on their own before. Possibly they’re right. However, if you have the opportunity, I suggest you hit one of those flimsy panel doors sometime. See how easily they break. Then consider the force a 300 pound man would exert when throwing his entire weight against it. Coincidence? Or maybe, just maybe, we had a protector no one could see.
To this day, I still love the smell of pipe smoke. And when I smell it, it brings a smile to my face and a reminder that we are not alone.
Inherited Troubles
While I was pregnant with my first child, my best friend (for story purposes we’ll call her Lola) came to me with a peculiar tale. She lived in a duplex on Central Ave. with her roommate Tina, who was a police officer. When Lola started spending the night at our house on a fairly regular basis, I didn’t think much of it. We’d been friends our entire lives and were prone to doing so. However, one night it wasn’t terribly convenient to have a house guest. Being such good friends, it was easy to explain the situation and ask her to go home for the evening.
Lola’s eyes grew wide and for a
About that time, the entry door down stairs slammed. From the bottom of the stairs, Mike screamed, “You ain’t getting away this time!” Thump, thump, thump echoed up the stairwell as he made his way to our door.
I grabbed the phone and dialed. Nothing. It was completely dead. I tried again. Still nothing. “Sandy, go to the bedroom and lock the door,” I said as I picked up the baseball bat.
“These doors are paper thin; the locks won’t keep him out.”
Holding the bat as if ready to hit a homer, I replied calmly, “Someone in this building will call the police. There’s no way they’ll just let him break in here. Go to the bedroom.”
The door rattled on its hinges with the force of the first impact, but the locks held.
I bent my knees in anticipation of his entry. As big as he was, I knew I only had one chance to get in a good hit. If I didn’t get him good the first time, I was toast.
Another boom announced his second hit. It seemed stronger than the one before. Once again the door rattled violently. The locks held.
The third hit sounded as if he’d thrown his massive body against the paneled door. Close to 300 pounds of man should have sent that door swinging wide open, but the locks held. The scent of pipe smoke had grown so strong it nearly choked us.
Four strikes, then five, then God only knows how many more. Each time, the noise was louder than before, but each time the door remained closed and the locks held.
Soon the sound of running footsteps and yelling wafted through the door. Another slam, followed by swearing, and then a knock on the door. “This is the police. We have him in custody. Open the door.”
I dropped the bat and unlocked the door. I could have hugged that cop! He came in and asked us a bunch of questions. We answered, and right before he left he said, “You girls don’t know how lucky you are. He was nearly through the door.”
We moved into the narrow hallway to see what he was talking about. The door was made up of two thin sheets of particle board that looked like paneling. There were giant holes all over the outside panel. You could easily see where he’d pushed his shoulder through and the places he’d kicked. The inside panel remained pristine. Not one dent, crack, or mark of any kind. It wasn’t possible. Even though the door opened outwards, he should have busted right through.
Sandy moved out the next day. Between Mike and the ghost, she’d had enough. I stayed for another week, but couldn’t find a roommate and unfortunately had to move back home. There are many who will say this was all just coincidence. Just the over active imaginations of two teenagers who’d never been out on their own before. Possibly they’re right. However, if you have the opportunity, I suggest you hit one of those flimsy panel doors sometime. See how easily they break. Then consider the force a 300 pound man would exert when throwing his entire weight against it. Coincidence? Or maybe, just maybe, we had a protector no one could see.
To this day, I still love the smell of pipe smoke. And when I smell it, it brings a smile to my face and a reminder that we are not alone.
Inherited Troubles
While I was pregnant with my first child, my best friend (for story purposes we’ll call her Lola) came to me with a peculiar tale. She lived in a duplex on Central Ave. with her roommate Tina, who was a police officer. When Lola started spending the night at our house on a fairly regular basis, I didn’t think much of it. We’d been friends our entire lives and were prone to doing so. However, one night it wasn’t terribly convenient to have a house guest. Being such good friends, it was easy to explain the situation and ask her to go home for the evening.
Lola’s eyes grew wide and for a
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