So when do you dare to believe?

Before I get too far into this thing, let me state the obvious: Yes, I know Halloween was last week.
That said . . .
We live in an old home. An old home that is next door to an old hospital. An old home that used to be a medical center, and prior to that a maternity ward for the old community hospital. And, sometimes when I think of old homes like ours I think of — well, how did the Cowardly Lion put it when he, Dorothy, Toto, Scarecrow and the Tin Man wandered into the haunted forest?
‘I do believe in spooks. I do, I do, I do!?
But, I don’t . . .
Sometimes . . .
Most of the time.
I don’t believe in spooks most of the time because I don’t want them to be. I don’t like the idea of ‘spirits? wandering around while the family and I are sleeping. And if I don’t think about them, they aren’t. Conversely, if I spend any brain activity on the subject I think, ‘Well, you never know. Maybe. Could be. I’m scared.?
Then I close my eyes and try to fall asleep.
When we first moved into our old home, Shamus was about two years old. Jen was with child (that child turned out to be Sean). Shamus had a bedroom unto himself, which was just next to ours. Well, um, for awhile Shamus? door would close during the night. We thought this was odd. Shamus was and is a hard sleeper. It is hard to move him during his sleep, so I don’t believe he got up in the middle of the night to close his door, thus leaving himself in complete darkness.
And, there are no drafts in the room.
One night, before turning in, I put a big sack of wooden blocks in front of the door to keep it open. I awoke at three the next morning and danged if that door wasn’t shut.
Apparitions? Ghosts? Spirits? I don’t know what got into me, but with all the faith of a C & E Catholic (I feel guilty about not going to church on Christmas and Easter) I did what I had to do . . . I got a bottle of holy water from church and splashed it around all the doorways. I told whomever was there with us to leave us alone. Go to the light. Get. Scram. Be Gone.
Hey, it couldn’t hurt . . .
And, the door stays open now, except when the boys close it to conspire against their parents. Time went by, no door closed on its own, I forgot my fears. Life was good.
Until last month when Jen woke me late one evening with, ‘Do you hear that??
Groggy with sleep I said, ‘Wha,? even though I knew what she had whispered.
‘There it is again.?
There in the dark, I laid still as a corpse and listened. Silence. Then from somewhere in the basement came a barely audible, almost vibration-like, ‘whoomp.? And a few moments later, ‘whoomp.?
‘Vibrations in the sewer pipes, caused somewhere down the road whenever a car drives over a loose spot,? I declared to my wife, displaying all the confidence of a true skeptic. ‘I’m going back to sleep.?
I closed my eyes and feigned sleeping, but my ears were still working. Silently I started timing car sounds in comparisons to the low ‘whoomps.? My theory worked sometimes and . . . didn’t work sometimes. In self defense I fell asleep.
To make matters worse, before Halloween I interviewed Cindy Blake, president of the Michigan Ghost Watchers about ghost hunting and not about my house — I’m trying not to think about that. But, the mere fact she’s gone looking and found what she was looking for (ghosts) is creepy. (Unfortunately the story didn’t run — I wanted to know if she knew of the rumored ghost sightings at an old Clarkston hangout or an old Orion farm property on Joslyn Road. She didn’t. Her group was a website, if you want to contact her.)
I should, however, take to heart that in 60 or so investigations she has conducted, she has never felt threatened by a spirit. She ain’t scared. She also believes house pets, like cats and dogs are more in-tune with ghosts and can sense flesh-and-bloodless entities easier than us humans.
I like that idea, because our two dogs and one cat have never barked or meowed at a spot on the wall. If our pets don’t sense any spooks, that’s good enough for me. I declare our house clean.
Until the next time . . .
Comments for Mr. Rush and his over-used imagination can be e-mailed to: dontrushmedon@aol.com

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