The Long Road Home

While living in Colorado during the depression era, we lived in a town called Center. We only lived there one winter. The house was two-stories with a couple rooms upstairs, which we didn’t use. We were only planning to be there through the winter and would be taking off toward Oklahoma when our ship came in. There were two bedrooms, but the entire family slept in the same bedroom. Two beds, one for parents and one for kids. Every night in the middle of the night the bedroom door to the other bedroom would come creeping open. I slept through the door opening episodes, but I always heard plenty about it the next day. Our aunt was visiting and when she heard about it, she pulled and tugged on the dresser until she got it parked in front of the door that always came open in the night. She made a statement that if the door came open that night she would eat her hat. By golly, she didn’t have to eat her hat, but it angered the ghost. They began to make noise every night. It was a hair raising, ear splitting creepy noise that petrified everybody. Nobody would go upstairs and investigate to see what the noise could possible be coming from. Our ship never came in and we never found the source of the noisemaker, but it didn’t take us long to vacate the place. As soon as we could afford a tank of gas. We headed back to the hills of Oklahoma