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been through, I totally believed him.

Dream Home
    In the fall of 1999, I moved into my dream home.   By then, our family had grown substantially.   We had three girls and a two year-old boy.   After living inside city limits for many years, it felt good to be back in the country.   The two story house had five bedrooms, an enormous living room, dining room, and kitchen.   The downstairs rooms had massive pocket doors that slid in and out of the walls.   Directly in the middle of farmland, the nearest neighbor was a small church down the road.   Every day at noon and 6pm the church chimes played.   It was small piece of heaven.
    One would think by then, I’d had enough experiences with ghosts to notice a house was haunted before we moved in.   Honestly, I had a ‘feeling’ something was up.   However, it wasn’t a bad feeling.   In fact, it reminded me tremendously of my protector.   So without any reservations whatsoever, we moved in.
    We noticed things right away.   Our ‘friends’ weren’t even remotely shy.   The very first night, around one in the morning, my husband and I were just drifting off to sleep.   A strange scraping noise, like wood rubbing together, floated up the stairs.   Both of us sat up in bed.   We traded glances and headed for the stairs.   Before we reached the stairs, we heard the door to the back porch open and shut.  
    My husband took off like a madman and I stayed close behind him.   Of course there was no one there when we arrived, and the back door that we’d distinctly heard shut stood wide open.   He went outside and wandered around the exterior of the house for a bit.   Finding nothing at all, he returned.   We locked the door, laughed a bit about the strangeness of it, and went back to bed.
    The next morning, I awoke and headed down to make coffee.   As soon as I entered the kitchen, I stopped short.   Once again, the back door stood wide open.   Confused, and a little rattled, I checked the downstairs rooms before going outside.   No one was anywhere to be found.  
    By the time my husband had made his way to the kitchen, the coffee was ready, and the door shut.   I stayed pretty quiet that morning.   And although he could tell something was wrong, he didn’t press me.   He’d learned several years before to leave me (and my meditative states) alone.
    After the kids were dressed and off to school, I did some investigating.   I locked the back door and went to the living room.   Other than the sounds of the wind chimes I’d hung across the front porch, it remained completely silent.   For nearly an hour I waited and listened.   Absolutely nothing happened.   Feeling foolish, but still certain something out of the ordinary had occurred; I went about unpacking and putting things away.
    Late that night, after the kids were in bed and asleep, we heard the scraping noise again.   My husband started to get out of bed, but I stopped him.   Shaking my head, I put a finger to my mouth before pointing to my ear.
    He cocked his head to the side and gave me a “you’ve-got-to-be-kidding look.”   I returned his expression with my best “shut-up-and-listen-to-me glare.”  
    The soft pad of footfalls headed up the stairs.   Slowly, as if taking one step at a time, the footsteps reached the top and moved towards our bedroom.   With the hall light on and the door open, we had a good view of the entire foyer.   What our eyes saw, didn’t process with what our ears heard.   There was absolutely nothing there.   The footsteps came right up to our door and just stopped.
    One eyebrow pulled up as he said, “Okay?”
    I smiled.   “I knew we weren’t alone here.   I just had this feeling…”
    His eyes rolled and he shook his head.   “Don’t start that crap again.   We are not moving.”
    Laughing, I answered, “Of course we’re not moving.   Don’t be ridiculous.   There’s nothing wrong with this house.

    As the days passed, the nightly