Poltergeists by Hans Holzer Page B

always accounted for at the critical times. The village is small and strangers lurking about could not escape attention, certainly not that often.
    As I carefully examined the written notes of poltergeistic or other uncanny activities in the Leuthold house, I realized that it was certainly worth looking into. Consequently, I telephoned the farmer and we arranged for a visit the following afternoon. The Swiss television network had evinced great interest in my work, although they had never heard of the Maschwanden case, or, for that matter of any other psychic investigation. It took an American to bring the entire area to their attention and reluctantly Jacob Fischer, the production head, agreed to send a crew with me.
    “But we won’t pay for this, you understand,” he added with careful Swiss frugality.
    The next afternoon, my wife and I joined two news-reel reporters, one handling the camera and the other the sound equipment, in a station wagon. We rode along the outskirts of Zurich, over a couple of hills and out into the open country to the west of the city. It took us more than an hour to get to Maschwanden, a village very few people, especially Americans, ever visit. When we reached the Leuthold farmhouse, we were expected. While the television people started to set up their equipment, I lost no time asking Paul Leuthold about the most memorable incident in the haunting of his house.
    “My wife and I were inside the house. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door which sounded as if it was made by a hard object. My wife was in the kitchen. She left her work and went to look outside. There was no one outside. Shortly after, there was another knock. The maid was downstairs in her room and she didn’t see anyone either. My wife went back to her work. Soon there was a third set of knocks. This time, she was alerted and kept close to the door. As soon as she heard the knocking, she jumped outside.”
    “Did she see anything or anyone?” I asked.
    “She saw a piece of wood, about a yard in length, hitting the ground from a height of about a foot.”
    “You mean a piece of wood moving through the air by itself?”
    “Yes. The wooden stick was there in the air, all by itself. Nobody could have thrown it and run away. It was plain daylight, too.”
    I examined the wooden stick. It was a heavy piece of wood, weighing perhaps half a pound.
    “How did the whole thing get started, Mr. Leuthold?” I asked, and he brought his diary and showed me an entry:
November 18, 5:15 p.m . The cover of the milk can is found inside the barn, on the grassy floor. Fifteen minutes earlier I had left it in place in the stable.
    “The next day,” he added, “the cover was again found in the ash can.”
    “Charming,” I said. “May I see the book?”
    The entries followed each other in the orderly, clinical manner of a medical history. Only, the patient was invisible.
November 19, 5 a.m . I plug in the motor of the cider press and leave it to do my milking chores. Suddenly, there is a singe boot in the middle of the barn. The milking pail floats in the water trough. I decide to check on the cider press. I hear the motor sputtering as I reach the cellar. I find the plug pulled out and the cable pulled back about four yards.
    That day was a particularly busy one for the ghost. At 7:30 A . M . Leuthold finished his first meal and returned to the stables.
I turn the light on and fetch a container full of unthrashed corn, which I place inside the barn, in front of the door leading to the stables. Elfi, the maid, is busy washing milking equipment at a considerable distance in the feed kitchen. I leave for a moment to go to the bathroom, when I return, I find the light turned out and the container of unthrashed corn gone. I find it upside down, in the middle of the barn, and next to it, a broom, which had not been there before either.
    But that wasn’t the end of it by a long shot, that busy morning. Half an hour later Mrs. Leuthold appeared