During my grade school years, I attended at least twenty different schools due to the fact that we kept moving from place to place as my dad pursued each new project or sales position. Pop always insisted that each house have at least one room large enough to hold his two most prized possessions: his billiard table and his custom bar and stools. At each new location, after completing the arduous task of moving the extremely heavy table, Pop would begin the painstaking process of assembling the “wall of mirrors” that always adorned the wall behind his bar. This consisted of about twenty one foot square mirror tiles surrounding a centerpiece emblazoned with the image of the historic sailing vessel, “Cutty Sark”. He would attach each piece of thin mirrored glass to the wall using a small square of two sided tape on each of the four corners. Shortly after moving into an apartment of my own, my parents and my younger brother moved into a house located on Santa Veronica Street in Fountain Valley California. This is the story that was told to me by my father, mother, brother and eventually my niece, who as a child, spent summer vacations with my parents.
From the beginning, strange sounds were heard coming from upstairs which sounded like loud footsteps, but upon investigation, nothing or no one was there. My father reported one time while walking down the hallway he suddenly felt as if he was engulfed in some sort of cold spot; as if the temperature dropped radically and then as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.
Soon, the unexplained events really started to ramp up. Although not a strict disciplinarian, Pop was extremely meticulous with regard to the use and maintenance of his pool table. He asked that after playing, we make sure that the pool cues were placed in the wall rack, the felt was brushed to remove any chalk or powder marks and the balls racked for the next player. One morning my mother awoke to find the table in complete disarray and jumped to the conclusion that my niece must have been playing the night before and forgotten to clean up after herself. When confronted, my niece explained that she believed she had put everything in order, but that she would try harder next time. Finally, my father awoke early one morning to the sound of breaking glass. Fearing that someone might be attempting to break into the house, he ran from room to room trying to determine the source of the commotion. When he finally arrived in the game room, he could not believe what he saw. All the pool cues were either on the table or on the floor. The balls were in various locations all over the room and with the exception of the nautical centerpiece, all of the mirror tiles were off the wall. Just then, my niece came upstairs to find out what all the ruckus was about and when she saw the condition of the room, she exclaimed, “Papa I did not do this!” to which he replied, “No sweetie, Papa’s not sure what on earth could have done this”. The really strange part was that although several of the tiles were shattered on the floor (maybe for dramatic effect), the majority were stacked unbroken in neat little piles.
A few days later my mother picked up some photos that she had dropped off at the drug store to be developed and noticed one cockeyed shot of my brother and his girlfriend sitting on his waterbed. What caught her eye is that there appeared to be the image of a man’s face in the mirror that was positioned in the middle of the headboard behind them.
My mother said that when she met with the landlord to give notice that they would be moving out and described some of the strange goings on, she appeared not to be surprised by the information as if this wasn’t the first time she had heard these sort of tales. However, when she was shown the picture of the mysterious man’s reflection in the mirror of the bed, her jaw dropped, her face turned white and all she said was, “That’s my dead husband”. My mother carried that picture in her purse until the day she died and I believe it gave her comfort that there was some sort of life after death.
As for myself I believe this story that was told to me by folks I trust and love, so now the only question is…
What do you believe Dude?
From the beginning, strange sounds were heard coming from upstairs which sounded like loud footsteps, but upon investigation, nothing or no one was there. My father reported one time while walking down the hallway he suddenly felt as if he was engulfed in some sort of cold spot; as if the temperature dropped radically and then as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.
Soon, the unexplained events really started to ramp up. Although not a strict disciplinarian, Pop was extremely meticulous with regard to the use and maintenance of his pool table. He asked that after playing, we make sure that the pool cues were placed in the wall rack, the felt was brushed to remove any chalk or powder marks and the balls racked for the next player. One morning my mother awoke to find the table in complete disarray and jumped to the conclusion that my niece must have been playing the night before and forgotten to clean up after herself. When confronted, my niece explained that she believed she had put everything in order, but that she would try harder next time. Finally, my father awoke early one morning to the sound of breaking glass. Fearing that someone might be attempting to break into the house, he ran from room to room trying to determine the source of the commotion. When he finally arrived in the game room, he could not believe what he saw. All the pool cues were either on the table or on the floor. The balls were in various locations all over the room and with the exception of the nautical centerpiece, all of the mirror tiles were off the wall. Just then, my niece came upstairs to find out what all the ruckus was about and when she saw the condition of the room, she exclaimed, “Papa I did not do this!” to which he replied, “No sweetie, Papa’s not sure what on earth could have done this”. The really strange part was that although several of the tiles were shattered on the floor (maybe for dramatic effect), the majority were stacked unbroken in neat little piles.
A few days later my mother picked up some photos that she had dropped off at the drug store to be developed and noticed one cockeyed shot of my brother and his girlfriend sitting on his waterbed. What caught her eye is that there appeared to be the image of a man’s face in the mirror that was positioned in the middle of the headboard behind them.
My mother said that when she met with the landlord to give notice that they would be moving out and described some of the strange goings on, she appeared not to be surprised by the information as if this wasn’t the first time she had heard these sort of tales. However, when she was shown the picture of the mysterious man’s reflection in the mirror of the bed, her jaw dropped, her face turned white and all she said was, “That’s my dead husband”. My mother carried that picture in her purse until the day she died and I believe it gave her comfort that there was some sort of life after death.
As for myself I believe this story that was told to me by folks I trust and love, so now the only question is…
What do you believe Dude?
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