We took off to the west coast for a teeny break/bit of work, and I loved seeing the sun. And sitting on the beach listening to the waves. It was a short trip, but it was heaven. I can't wait for things to heat up and get green here at home.
My mom came in and hung with the kids while we were away, and I know that everyone had a good time. Except, of course, for that one night. You knew there had to be one, right?
I received the following text from my mom:
Ok, WTH is going on with these noises in the house? I haven't heard these til tonight...I don't get freaked out easily, but...
The first time I heard it, I was in the house at night painting. We hadn't yet moved our furniture in, and so everything was empty and echo-y. When the knocking started, I almost dropped my paint brush. I froze, listening intently to determine the source. It clearly was NOT coming from the front door. It was coming from the center of the house. I walked slowly, side stepping here, shimmying there, with pointed toes and held breath.
As I opened the closet door, I had clips of Poltergeist and Amityville Horror playing in my head. What would I find in here, hiding, waiting for me? I quickly told myself to stop being ridiculous, as this house was most definitely NOT built on some ancient Indian burial ground. But if something sinister lurked in the depths of the structure, unlike the Lutz family, I wouldn't be calling someone to come do an exorcism. Nope, you'd see nothing but a vapor trail behind me, baby. Front door still swinging on it's hinges.
I started to peel the door back an inch at a time, still holding my breath, and then decided to go all in and throw it open with one aggressive swing...you know to project confidence...and of course, I found nothing but an empty closet. But, inexplicably, I could still hear the knocking. Then, just as quickly as it had started, it stopped. Hmph, I thought. Oh well. And I went back to painting.
When it started up again a short time later, I was determined not to let it get my heart racing again. I would show it who was boss. It was not going to win. Nope. I kept painting. I didn't stop for a second. Only, it didn't seem to stop either. I kept painting. It kept knocking. It was like some sick battle of wills. I wasn't scared so much anymore as I was annoyed. I finally dropped my paintbrush into the tray, stomped over to the area of the house the noise was coming from, and yelled at the top of my lungs, "ALRIGHT! Enough already!!! Cut it OUT!!!" And it suddenly stopped. That's what really got me. My heart was racing then, let me tell you.
So, I did what most wives would do in this situation: I sent my husband into the crawl space to try and solve this mystery. He inspected it for any creatures, alive or--gulp-- dead, and could find nothing. Thank goodness I only had to live in suspense for a couple of days before the noise started again. He quickly went into the crawl space while the knocking was happening and was able to identify the cause. No undead being or specter from another plane. No, it was a %$&$#@! gas valve.
My overactive imagination and movie memory banks got the best of me. And I laughed thinking about my mom now going through that at the house. I called her right away to explain before she packed up the kids and headed to a hotel.
Relieved to hear it was completely explainable and normal, she could once again relax with our brood...and I could get back to ocean waves and sea breezes.
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