Years ago, a great, old house resided on a road called
Branch Street, in Lowell, Massachusetts. I am unsure if
it's still there or not . . . But it is indeed possible.
My mother lived in this aged house for a portion of her
childhood. The realtor had told my grandparents of the
tales surrounding the house- tales of its
previous "residents," and tales of ghostly visitations. My
grandfather, a practical man, naturally scoffed at these
stories.
And so, it began. My grandfather, grandmother, uncle, and
my mother moved into the old house on Branch Street in the
mid to late 1960s.
One of the stories they'd been told about the house was of
the previous owners. The house was believed to have lodged
the insane, back in the 1940s or 50s, I believe. In the
basement, there had been cells to house the mentally ill.
(Removed by the time my mother's family moved in.) One of
the only reasons they'd ever open these cells was to feed
the "patients." And this was only through small slides,
only big enough for a plate to fit through.
Well, one night my grandfather was working late (as he
usually did) and my grandmother was alone with my mother
and uncle. They were all in bed, and asleep. That is, until
they heard the shaking of metal bars. They heard it two
floors up; shake, shake, shake.
This woke everyone, but nobody would go to look
downstairs- after all, what good could it do? There were no
bars there, any longer. And certainly nobody in the
basement locked up . . . After that night, the shaking of
the nonexistent bars could be heard once in a while. And,
on different occasions, the grand piano in the parlor (left
behind by previous inhabitants) would play. There was no
piano roll- but late at night it would just play, and play.
My uncle once saw the keys being pressed down by invisible
hands.
Another incident occurred when my great aunt babysat my
mother and uncle. They were all in the living room,
listening to the radio, or watching television. (At present
time, I cannot remember which.) They heard the creak of the
door to the basement as it opened and closed. Three or four
times they heard it. As well as the creak of the old wooden
stairs, as if people were going up and down.
My great aunt, at the urging of my mother and uncle, went
to check what was going on. As she opened the basement
door, she felt hands on her back. And then she was pushed
down the stairs. She was unhurt, but furious all the same.
She went back upstairs and accused my uncle and mother of
pushing her- she demanded to know who did it.
When my grandparents came home, they were informed of what
had happened. My grandfather, who never did believe in the
ghosts of the old house on Branch Street, was upset. But my
grandmother kept my mother and uncle from punishment. She
believed in the spirits.
My uncle said that his "invisible friend," Charlie, did it.
My grandmother has speculated that "Charlie" was one of the
mentally ill who died in the house. That he was really a
ghost. My mother won't admit to this. And, today, my uncle
denies that he even had an "invisible friend."
Yet another event happened one night when my grandfather
was working late. My grandmother was in bed, sleeping
fitfully, when she felt him lie down beside her, and his
arm wrap around her. She turned to look, and all of the
sudden he was gone again. My grandfather really didn't get
home until about an hour later. The one who lie next to my
grandmother was yet another ghost of the damned house.
I'm not sure if this is related, but while living on Branch
Street, my grandmother's dog ran away. The dog would bark
and bark during the ghostly occurrences, and, though not
stated by anyone who lived in that house, I believe Bowser
was driven away by those ghosts- Or maybe he ran away so he
would be free of them.
Months later, my mother's family found out Bowser had died.
He'd been hit by a truck, and a farmer tried to save him.
He was unable. Of course, I don't know if this was
the "work" of the house- It is just, after all, my personal
speculation.
My mother's family moved out of the house on Branch Street,
roughly two to three years after moving in. My grandfather,
as I said, didn't believe in the ghosts, but moved out
nonetheless after request from my grandmother, uncle, and
mother.
I've always wanted to visit that old house on Branch
Street. My mother has told me that it is no longer there-
knocked down to build a newer house. But my grandmother
believes it still stands today. And I do plan to find out.
My family now lives in Florida, but I plan on moving back
to New England for college . . .
If the house still stands, I'll find it. I will go, and see
if there really was a ghostly presence. I don't know if I'd
still feel it, all these years later, or if it ever really
was there . . . But I'm counting on it.
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