A collection of stories about growing up on an old haunted dairy farm.
|It was late and one of those nights when the cats were fighting, knocking things over, and being a nuisance. I just wanted to clean up the cottage and get ready for bed, so I tossed the troublemakers on the porch, and let the older cats stay inside.
Before long, I heard the sound of the cats ringy ball rolling along the wall behind the futon. I was so excited that they were finally paying attention to it, that I ran in the living room to have a look. The cats were asleep on the bookcase.
I shook my head, decided I was hearing things, and turned to head for the kitchen. Just as I was about to take a step, the ball rolled to the opposite end of the futon from where I was standing. I got on my knees and glanced underneath. Obviously, there was a sneaky cat who'd managed to hide while I was kicking most of them out. No one was there.
I stood up. The ball rolled to the opposite end of the futon. I got back down and looked again. Still no cat.
Standing up, the ball rolled again!
To this day, I have no idea why I got so mad, but I yelled at the entity to knock it off, and go back to the closet. I felt bad about it afterward. It was just having fun! And I was being a jerk. It was my fault anyway that it was active. I knew better than to watch (or listen, in this case) to Ghost Hunters or Destination Truth at night. It always got the entity going, and that's what I'd been watching.
It was a good lesson learned, and I still feel ashamed that I ruined its play.