The voices that cry silently

Early in our marriage, we consumed a lot of time, shifting from one location to another. Whether it was because we had an arduous time finding a place that we were comfortable living in or because of money matters. 

After getting out of a bad situation of many years spent as an alcoholic and an addiction to narcotics. I had also always listened to heavy metal and had anger issues. It seemed that my wife had come along at the right time because I was addicted to alcohol and had many emerging health issues at such a young age of just thirty-four. 

Happily in love at first. As usual in a new marriage, many nights were spent enjoying the comforts of each other and taking care of the little kids. But as time moved on and shifted house to house, we ended up moving into this old farmhouse that was always cold. Often this is the case with many of these old dwellings.

It can be difficult to evenly heat the house throughout, but it still seemed as though other things were going on in the house that could lead one to believe that may have been something more Supernatural. 

Often having bouts with anger and punching my fist through walls eventually caused much friction between us and the kids. 

One night when I was at home alone, my wife had gone to the store. After arriving home with the groceries, the curtains being open and the lights on in the house, she could easily see everything within the house. "What the hell?" Her eyes widened in disbelief. 

Any little bit of activity, such as when I walked through the kitchen, she saw an old man sporting an old hillbilly cowboy hat following just inches in back of me. 

She was frightened out of her mind. She hadn't told me about this right away, it is something that she was living with and hiding from me because she more than likely assumed that I would never have believed it in the first place.

In another episode when my anger flared up, I took a coffee cup, full of coffee and hurled it across the kitchen. It landed on the kitchen counter right side up, never spilling a drop. 

Bizarre occurrences were becoming a more natural thing, occurring more frequently every day, during the day, and every night. As time had gone by living in this old house, there was an old room that used to be a bedroom upstairs that the landlords had closed off and didn't want us to enter. "Let's go in and check it out." She said eagerly.

Putting my cigarette out, I looked at her. "Why the hell not?"

When we entered, it was extremely cold. It had a very strange presence when entering. The people that had rented this place out to us were up in their age, well into their 80s. At one time they had a son that had died from being burned to death in that room. 

A cry echoes. "Johnny." The stillness of the air shattered. I look quickly at my wife. She says. "What was that?" 

"Well, it wasn't our bloody cat," I replied with a foul tone.

It stands to reason that one could believe this had been the cause of strange goings-on in the old house. There had been at least one death in the house. With the house being approximately 200 years old and having a history attached to it. 

Another incident that had happened was when my wife had friends of hers over. "Are you sure you don't want to join us?" My wife asked. "No." I replied. "I'll just catch up on some reading." 

They were playing hide and seek out in the cornfield. She got entirely turned around and headed in the wrong direction. It was then that she started hearing voices calling out to her. "My God, Brittany, where are you?" She cries out. 

These voices were not her friends because her friends were up closer to the house. Figuring that she was in that general proximity, she found that she had headed in the wrong direction and the voices were coming from the opposite direction of the house. 

Completely freaked out, she had started to panic. "Oh, my God." She says, hysterically.

Everything with the nighttime `field` hide and seek, eventually got straightened out. To this day, she'll never set foot in a cornfield again. "You weren't there to help me out." She says. I look up at her. What could I say? I just shrugged my shoulders and went back to silently reading.

The door slams. I holler out. "What was that?" My wife looks around. She quickly lunges forward. "I think I have had about enough of this place," She says. "Let's get our things together and get the hell out of here as soon as possible." 

We gathered our belongings together and left that same night. The wind was howling through the windows and blowing the tree limbs violently. A storm came in from the west. Much of our belongings had been caught by the wind and blown away, but we were set on making our move, getting as far away as possible from that house and never setting sight of it again.

To this day, many years later, it seems as though something had followed us from that place. Neither one of us had ever experienced anything like it before moving into that house.

Ever since moving, things never really quite seemed the same. I had continued abstaining from alcohol and my anger boats had ceased. 

Every once in a while, we still hear voices and see images from our peripheral vision giving us reminders of things that have happened in that house.

The voices that cry silently in the night, might be reaching out to give you a fright. Don't allow the darkness to creep in sight, allow your days to be filled with light.

Those are the words that I ponder upon, and never let my sight wander. If today I rest, my hand grows weary. I might slip into the past and invite those still echoes that cry.