Freaky Friday I
The basement was the worst part of our old house. It was old; the stone sweated. The floors were cold and bare and the only time we used this part of the house was to do laundry.
Personally, if I needed to get clothes, I would run down, race to the dryer, and get back upstairs as quickly as I could.
My sister -- six years younger than I -- had a different attitude. While she found it a creepy place, her friends wanted to play there and she ended up spending a lot more time in the basement than I ever would.
(When we first moved in, as I've explained, there were many paranormal events. I remember, especially in the early years, that my stepfather and mother would wake us up with their conversations. They heard loud, heavy footsteps starting at the bottom of the stairs and going all the way to the top, just outside the master bedroom. I heard them, too, but, more often than this, I heard my parents talking about the sound.)
One night, I woke up because -- two floors beneath! -- I heard sounds coming from the basement. It sounded like heavy wood hitting concrete or stone. As my parents and I sat and listened, we heard chop, chop, chopping sounds followed immediately by a hollow-sounding thud (wood on stone). This happened over and over and over.
My mother and I ventured -- on tiptoes, for some reason -- down to the kitchen and approached the basement entrance. The sounds stopped. This happened several times.
When I look back, I shake my head and I think how fortunate I am that other people experienced these events at the same time as I did . . .