tigerbeetle
Full Member
- Jan 2, 2009
- 166
- 275
- Detector(s) used
- Many -- Fisher, White's, Minelab, Cobra, others
- Primary Interest:
- Metal Detecting
I've long wanted to share this weird TH'ing tale. I can easily pass a polygraph.
In the late 1970s, I was hunting near one of the many long-abandoned houses in historic southern NJ. I had found a beauty tucked in the woods, down a dirt road.
While I had never once been uneasy while hunting near old homesteads, the instant I approached this one the proverbial hairs on the back of my neck stood up. In fact, I had an entire body shutter. My TH’ing attention also stood up when I quickly hit a sweet little “spot” bottle dump.
Even within the throes of a bottle-digging frenzy, I was absolutely bombarded with odd feelings from the nearby house. I tried turning my back to it. That really intensified the creeps I was feeling. In fact, I felt better when I was fully facing it … until something caught my eye in a top floor, broken-out window.
I literally dropped my digging tool when, as clear as frickin’ day, I saw a young girl in a white gown standing inside a third floor window -- plain as day! We even made intense eye contact.
It was such a purely human-on-human eye-lock, I figured there were squatters/homeless living in the building. That somewhat relieving theory melted away as the girl seemingly backed from view and I looked at the house closer, seeing signs of a fire on the ancient cedar shake siding. I then went with the standby possibility of kids playing around inside. That didn't jibe. This girl was maybe 10 years old, hardly the age group you'd expect to be in an abandoned building, hootin’ it up for fun. What's more, she wore a truly somber look.
I soon began to fret that an abandoned child might be in there. Hey, the mind commences to bouncing wildly around when spooked to hell and back.
I began the typical series of “Hello?” shouts, while walking toward the house’s back porch.
The porch area added to the growing freakiness. It was burnt and partially collapsed. However, there was access inside via concrete steps, once part of the porch. I made a mental note that the naked ground at the base of the steps had no signs of foot or shoe prints.
I climbed the four steps, to the gaping doorless backdoor opening. I continued calling out, adding, “Is everybody OK in there?”
Nobody could be OK in there. The place was burnt out. What’s more, the clearly visible stairway to the second floor was burnt away from the bottom, a few charred stairs hung down from above. There was no getting to the second, much less the third, floor. Spooky weird.
I backed out and quickly plowed through waist-high weeds to the front porch, which offered absolutely no access, having fully collapsed. I also checked a downward-facing side-cellar entrance. Much of the first-floor fire debris had collapsed into the cellar.
I backed away to where I had been digging, looking up at the third-floor window. No little girl.
I was outta there.
Just to show how seriously I took this absolutely weird experience, I drove to the next closest house (horse farm) to have them call the police. I soon kinda wished I hadn't. The gal and daughter that greeted me at the door looked sincerely bothered when I explained why I wanted the police called. It was the daughter who told me the house had burnt down in the 1930s and that a small girl, sleeping upstairs, had perished. I went from feeling freaked-out to nauseous.
Yes, the cops came and went over to the house with me. They pretty much went through the exact same procedure as I had, even the shouting up part.
I was a tad put off when they fairly quickly decided to quit the investigation. I got downright pissed off when I felt they were dissing me, questioning my accountability. Not so. The senior officer walked over and showing a lot more emotion than your average cop told me “Believe me, this is not the first report like this we've gotten from here. Same young girl, in white clothes, in that same window.” Wow. I felt both scared and validated. Me and the cop stood there for a solid minute looking up at the window. Nothing.The law left. I climbed into my truck.
I had dug a couple real decent bottles before my, uh, sighting but chose to leave them where they lay. I literally wanted no part of this place --- and I especially distrusted bringing anything home from there.
The remnants of the house burnt all the way to the ground about a year later. I was told, way behind the scenes, the neighbors had done it. Actually, that made sense to me.
In the late 1970s, I was hunting near one of the many long-abandoned houses in historic southern NJ. I had found a beauty tucked in the woods, down a dirt road.
While I had never once been uneasy while hunting near old homesteads, the instant I approached this one the proverbial hairs on the back of my neck stood up. In fact, I had an entire body shutter. My TH’ing attention also stood up when I quickly hit a sweet little “spot” bottle dump.
Even within the throes of a bottle-digging frenzy, I was absolutely bombarded with odd feelings from the nearby house. I tried turning my back to it. That really intensified the creeps I was feeling. In fact, I felt better when I was fully facing it … until something caught my eye in a top floor, broken-out window.
I literally dropped my digging tool when, as clear as frickin’ day, I saw a young girl in a white gown standing inside a third floor window -- plain as day! We even made intense eye contact.
It was such a purely human-on-human eye-lock, I figured there were squatters/homeless living in the building. That somewhat relieving theory melted away as the girl seemingly backed from view and I looked at the house closer, seeing signs of a fire on the ancient cedar shake siding. I then went with the standby possibility of kids playing around inside. That didn't jibe. This girl was maybe 10 years old, hardly the age group you'd expect to be in an abandoned building, hootin’ it up for fun. What's more, she wore a truly somber look.
I soon began to fret that an abandoned child might be in there. Hey, the mind commences to bouncing wildly around when spooked to hell and back.
I began the typical series of “Hello?” shouts, while walking toward the house’s back porch.
The porch area added to the growing freakiness. It was burnt and partially collapsed. However, there was access inside via concrete steps, once part of the porch. I made a mental note that the naked ground at the base of the steps had no signs of foot or shoe prints.
I climbed the four steps, to the gaping doorless backdoor opening. I continued calling out, adding, “Is everybody OK in there?”
Nobody could be OK in there. The place was burnt out. What’s more, the clearly visible stairway to the second floor was burnt away from the bottom, a few charred stairs hung down from above. There was no getting to the second, much less the third, floor. Spooky weird.
I backed out and quickly plowed through waist-high weeds to the front porch, which offered absolutely no access, having fully collapsed. I also checked a downward-facing side-cellar entrance. Much of the first-floor fire debris had collapsed into the cellar.
I backed away to where I had been digging, looking up at the third-floor window. No little girl.
I was outta there.
Just to show how seriously I took this absolutely weird experience, I drove to the next closest house (horse farm) to have them call the police. I soon kinda wished I hadn't. The gal and daughter that greeted me at the door looked sincerely bothered when I explained why I wanted the police called. It was the daughter who told me the house had burnt down in the 1930s and that a small girl, sleeping upstairs, had perished. I went from feeling freaked-out to nauseous.
Yes, the cops came and went over to the house with me. They pretty much went through the exact same procedure as I had, even the shouting up part.
I was a tad put off when they fairly quickly decided to quit the investigation. I got downright pissed off when I felt they were dissing me, questioning my accountability. Not so. The senior officer walked over and showing a lot more emotion than your average cop told me “Believe me, this is not the first report like this we've gotten from here. Same young girl, in white clothes, in that same window.” Wow. I felt both scared and validated. Me and the cop stood there for a solid minute looking up at the window. Nothing.The law left. I climbed into my truck.
I had dug a couple real decent bottles before my, uh, sighting but chose to leave them where they lay. I literally wanted no part of this place --- and I especially distrusted bringing anything home from there.
The remnants of the house burnt all the way to the ground about a year later. I was told, way behind the scenes, the neighbors had done it. Actually, that made sense to me.
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