Last year, when we moved into our house, I became convinced that it was haunted.
Either that, or the furnace was going to explode at any second. But mostly haunted.
Obviously, I make no secret of the fact that I’m a serious wuss. If you’ve read me for any length of time, I avoid “scary” movies like the plague and have our little casa full of nightlights. The only time I made the mistake of attempting to watch a “horror” film, it kept me up until 6am the next morning. Never happening again.
(Side note: However, I still somehow find myself getting sucked into Ghost Hunters and other such nonsense. WHY DO I DO THAT.)
One of the very early nights alone in our house, Army Boy and I were curled up on our ghetto couch* watching a movie when…
BANG. BANG. BANG.
We both jumped a mile.
“What was that?!”
“I don’t know!!”
“Was that in our house!? It sounded like the basement!!!”
Cue an exploration into the basement where we saw exactly…. Nothing.
We chalked it up to our ancient furnace attempting to kick on, and thought nothing of it. Until the next night, at about the same time, when….
BANG! BANG! BANG!
“This is getting weird.”
“It was about the same time… maybe it really is the furnace??”
“I think you might be right.”
We continued in this manner for a couple of weeks, but never failed to jump out of our skin when the banging inevitably occurred at night. We knew a little bit of history about our house, but mostly the minimum. It had been owned by one couple who raised their children there, and eventually ended up moving out due to old age. No creepy unexplained deaths or Indian burial grounds that we were aware of.
One evening in the summer, we were out for a walk and noticed that our next door neighbor had lights on in his basement. It was about 8:30 at night, shortly before the nightly banging** usually occurred.
“Hey Babe,” Army Boy pointed. “Do you think that could be where the noise is coming from?”
At that point, it seemed ridiculous that we hadn’t previously considered that the source of the noise wasn’t actually coming from our own house, but we decided to investigate when we returned home.
Sure enough, later that night we heard the noise again, and our neighbor was still in the basement.
Mystery solved! We are all Scooby Doo up in this place, minus the bell bottoms and the pot smoking in the mystery machine.
(This is where the “Brooke is an ASS” moment comes in. Get ready.)
Last night, Army Boy were lounging on the couch and unwinding after a long day of work. He was idly flipping channels, not really seeing anything promising to watch, when he stumbled upon SyFy channel running an apparent marathon of the “Saw” movies. I stopped reading my weekly smut, he perked up, and we started WATCHING “Saw II.”
Say it with me now: “Brooke, you’re an ASS!”
I’m not going to lie, I can’t help but be curious sometimes about these movies that everyone else found so addictive. And there’s something about watching a highly edited version on tv that I can flip away from at anytime that seems… safer?… somehow?
We are so awesome that we didn’t even stay awake for the whole thing, and dragged ourselves off the couch to get the pup out for the last time and get ready for bed. At that exact moment, the nightly banging started.
My eyes grew wide, and I looked to Army Boy as a thought that had never presented itself crossed my mind.
“Do you think?—“
“You didn’t let me finish.”
“No. Our neighbor is not the guy from Saw, and he is not torturing people in his basement***.”
“But, he’s down there every night and…”
“I should have changed the channel. Good Lord.”
“I’m glad we got a puppy.”
“He’ll protect me just in case.”
“What’s he going to do… whine at him?”
“Shut up, you’re no help.”
*A “couch” shape fashioned from a few sleeping bags and pillows, as our furniture hadn’t yet been delivered. Yay.
**Because I am a perv, this made me laugh when I wrote it. Banging. Hehe.
***- Our neighbor is a lovely man and not remotely a psychopath. I’m just THAT bizarre.