A Visitor in the Night

Saturday, June 23, 2007, I was awoken from a deep sleep to the sound of footsteps in the kitchen. It was 3:30 in the morning as I lay stiff in my bed listening to the even steps crossing the kitchen floor. It sounded like someone was wearing high heeled boots. My breathing was shallow as I strained my ears to listen closely. There was a pause and then something happened that I didn't expect. The intruder lightly blew their nose. All my senses were on alert as I could hear the steps advance into the gift shop. The wooden plank flooring echoed in the stillness of the house.

My heart was pounding in my throat, nearly choking me. I resolved that it must be my son, Ian, getting a drink. I glanced over at my peacefully sleeping husband and decided to go check it out for myself. Carefully, I opened the door. I heard the footsteps creak on the floorboards between the gift shop and the Roman Garden Room. Standing in the centre of the hallway, I could see that Ian's door was still closed. I turned the knob slowly and peeked inside. There was Ian curled up in his bed with his back to me. I noted with a sigh of regret that he was not the one wandering around downstairs. Neither of my daughters was home, so that ruled them out.

At this point, I was certain that the entire neighbourhood could hear my pounding heart as I stepped closer to the edge of the stairs. With my right foot hovering over the first step I listened to the footsteps draw nearer at the same slow and even pace. The old pine plank flooring echoed each hard heeled step. Who was there? The word Mary whispered in my head and the hairs on my arms stood up. My heart pounded hard and made my ears ring. I thought I need to peek over the railing to see who's there. My legs were rubber and my feet were nailed to the floor. I couldn't move. Fear had paralyzed me. The footsteps continued to the edge of the new floor tiles near the front desk and the cash drawer.

Suddenly everything stopped. The footsteps, my breathing and my heart. The house was encased in a vacuum of silence. It felt like an eternity before I was able to take one cautious breath. I could hear the air waver through my mouth as I slowly released it from my lungs. I was defeated - too afraid to face my equally cautious visitor. Quietly I crept back to my room.

I stood in the darkness wondering was it Mary or was it someone else? Are they listening to me just as I am listening to them? My mind whirled out of control. What if it's a crazy person down there living out some serial killer fantasy? That did it. I had to wake my knight in shining armour. I had scared myself into a sleepless state. We (he) would have to go and make sure nobody was in our house. I began prodding Mark gently to wake him up.

Reluctantly my patient husband listened as I shared my experience. Then, with all of the patience his non-believing mind could handle, we both listened for the footsteps. Nothing. Seeing the level of hysteria in my eyes, he dragged himself out of bed, grabbed his robe and searched for something to use as protection should there actually be an intruder. His belt was all he could find and so armed with that he went out into the hall with me clinging to his side like a burr.

Mark flicked the switch, lighting up the huge Italian milk glass fixture that illuminated the stairwell and the foyer below. We listened at the top of the stairs for a moment. Nothing. We advanced slowly with the hope that the silence would remain so for the rest of our inspection. He checked the front door. It was locked and secure.

More light switches, more cautious wandering through the rooms, more silence.

The back door was also locked and secure. Eventually, the entire house was lit up and silent. Even the basement was checked. If someone had been inside they were very kind, stole nothing, and were careful to lock the doors behind them. Although, one would need a key to do this for the front door.

As we made our way up the stairs again, turning off every light in our path, I decided that it must have been Mary. With that thought, a sense of calm came over me. Mark didn't believe me, of course. I don't think he will ever believe in ghosts until he can shake hands with one. He's heard chairs move, seen the odd shadow pass, witnessed pennies blatantly put in my path, but he always has an explanation of some kind. I'm still not sure what his explanation was for what I heard that night.