Stories

Stories are just that. Stories and personal accounts that have been reported about the location. This section could also contain research notes as well.

On several occasions, when the sun was going down - always when the sun was setting - I would be peacefully finishing a quilted pot holder or reading the cookbooks in the drawer, and have heard the sound of feet thumping on the hall floors and the sounds of children's voices. This wasn't unusual. It was usually my cue that someone had entered the home and children often love running up and down the single available walk way in the house. So I would usually gather myself up, set aside my sewing and swing open the glass door to go and greet my guests. Most of the time, yes, there they were: the children; except on quite a few occasions when I have been very wrong...

There were times I had gotten up and gone to greet the guests, knowing that there are very few places someone can go in this house, only to find myself walking the entire length of the house, to the other staircase, into the sitting room and back around, only to find no one. No children. No giggling voices. So I would go and look out the front and back doors leading outside to see if the kids might have just peeked in and ran out. No one.

Not even seeing anyone on this side of Greenfield Village, for voices to carry and children to run. It was on those days that I would return to my seat and wait. A short time later, this whole scene would play out again. Running feet. Giggles. No one there but myself.

It didn't bother me. Those were happy sounds and if the little ghosts took pleasure in making me get up and try to find them, that's just fine. The exercise doesn't hurt anyone.

On the other hand, I have had the pleasure of hearing another sort of sound when I was alone, once more, at the end of the day when the roads are empty and no one ventures down to the house. These were the sounds of bootsteps. These boot-steps are not modern boots. I know the sounds of both; there is a very distinct difference, and working in that house, you learn them, because like the trampling of children's feet, hearing steps on the porch let me know that someone had come to visit. The bootsteps I heard was harder, with a very distinct heel, and it doesn't pace the front porch. I've only heard it on the back.

It's easy enough to slip out and check to ensure that no one is there, but these steps are brazen: they only wait for you to slip back inside before they start again. A steady pace up and down the back porch. And, if you are careful, you can almost hear the pause it takes for someone to turn and go back the opposite direction. I don't know about this one; I don't know that I would mess with this one and I would always leave it be, knowing that if I just checked to make sure it wasn't a living person and let it go, it would go away on its own.

My time at Susquehanna was an amazing experience. I hope that the kids there keep playing with those who work there.

Added by: sdonley on 07/31/2019 DB#: 1461
Source(s): http://passionforthepast.blogspot.com/2015/04/ghos...

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