The haunted house on Mercer Lane.

The house we lived in was haunted. Not long after moving in, I started hearing strange noises late at night. The noises woke me up out of a sound sleep on many occasions. The dogs never barked. I figured I was imagining the sounds and let the matter go.

After retiring from the Air Force, I got a job working the graveyard shift. On days off, I stayed up all night playing games, talking to people in AOL chat rooms, or watching TV. I set my computer up in a small room off of the kitchen. I sat facing the wall, the kitchen behind me.

One night, as I sat playing solitaire, I heard the refrigerator door open and close. Turning quickly, I saw no one in the kitchen. I knew it was not my wife or one of my sons because the stairs were beside the computer desk. Over the next year, I heard the door to the garage open and close, the refrigerator open and close, footsteps, and the feeling I was being watched. It was eerie, but I never felt afraid.

When my oldest turned 18, he decided to move into an apartment with his girlfriend. She lived with us for a couple of months while they saved some money. My son also worked nights; sometimes, his girlfriend would stay up and talk to me a bit before bed. She knew nothing about the noises. One night, as we sat talking, I told her the story. I don’t think she believed me. And then, right on cue, the door to the garage opened and closed. I looked at her and smiled. Her face was ashen.

They moved out soon after. I finally told my wife years later. She was happy I waited.