Sharon Christensen email@example.com
Wed, Aug 12, 2009 at 9:54 PM
When I was a young boy around the age of 10, I lived in Europe with my family. My father was in the American Army. My brother who was one and a half year older then I along with our buddies would often hike up to an old abandoned farm that must have been quite large at one time. It was destroyed during the WWII. It had a three story main house that all doors & windows now gone along with the stairs (we never did get to the 2nd & 3rd floor). There where 2 large barns a building that looked like a place where cows were feed and one small building that my have been used as a tact house.
Outside the main house was an old well that was covered with a piece of sheet metal. Back then the public was not as concern about the possibility of a kid falling into the hole as they are now. They would just say how sad it was that he fell in the well and died. I am however grateful that someone had the presents of mind to cover it just the same.
We had visited the old farm (we called it the ghost town) many times but never stayed over night. So one summer day we decided to stay the night. We gathered our make shift camping gear and headed out on the 5 mile hike to the ghost town. We set up our sleeping bags in the main house in a large room I think it may have been the dinning room. All was well as the day wore on into the evening. We sang songs told ghost stories eat our pork n beans from the can. I had forgotten the mess kits.
Iím not sure what time it was when the strange noises started but it was dark and the only light there was-was from our falling camp fire that was now just sending small crackling ambers into the air. The noise started off with some shuffling in a room behind us, but it was so feint we (the ones who were still awake) chalked it off as the wind. About 20 minuets later the noise was louder. It sounded like someone stomping there feet. By this time we where all awake with our eyes opened wide and looking around the room. The only real protection we had was a Boy Scout ax. We yelled out for who was ever there to leave us alone. Then the noise stopped. After about an hour or so it started up again. This time the hair on the back of my neck must have been straight up and the goose bumps on my arms would have made a goose proud. All of a sudden there was a large bang outside our windowless window. Needless to say we ran out of the building past the barns and into the hay field where we stayed the rest of the night. When morning broke we all went back to the farm to collect our gear. As we approach the main house I notice on the sheet metal that was covering the old well was a roofing tile from the top of the house. Roofing tiles make a clattering noise when they come loose and fall. There was no clattering noise. Someone or something had to thrown the tile from the top floor, but there was no way anybody could have gotten up there. We never revisited the ghost town after that night. I can still feel how it felt that night some 47 years later in the old Ghost Town.