I must have walked through this laundry room a million times since we moved in here. Why now all of a sudden do I feel all alone and afraid when I come in here to start the laundry?
Our home is a standard ranch style building and was built-in the late 1960’s. Once owned by a police officer we had a few extra safety features that put our minds at ease. What we never thought of was what if the previous owner wasn’t such a great police officer.
“Oh that’s so silly.” My husband says when I mention my feelings surrounding the laundry room. “You read too many books and watch too many CSI shows on television,” that is his comment on my feelings.
But I know there is something wrong. Attempting to block out these growing feelings of fear I attempt to change the time of day I go into the laundry room.
First I started doing the laundry in the morning but the feeling slowly crept up on me again. Then it was afternoon and mid-afternoon and again that feeling crept up on me.
I finally ask my friend, Sherry, “What would you say if I told you I think my home has an entity?” Sherry kind of choked on her coffee at the diner booth we were having lunch that day in.
“Do you know much about the home?” Sherry asked me. “Nope nothing of any interest anyway, perhaps I should check at the local newspaper archive office.” With that being said I decided to spend my afternoon at the Library instead of shopping at the mall.
When I entered the library it appeared to be just as it always was, quiet, with the lights down low almost like a room ready for romance. I went directly to the Newspaper archive room and ask the young woman behind the huge pine varnished desk. “Excuse me, where may I find the archives for the Oregonian Newspaper from the mid 1950’s through the 1990’s, all sections of the paper?” The smiling blonde girl leaned towards me pointing across the room to the left, “right over there starts with the newest papers closer to the aisle so you will have to begin your search deep down the aisle.” Loaded with her advice I started down the aisle. Here in the mid-area of the bookshelves the light seemed to grow dimmer and dimmer as I descended down the row of newspapers hanging on the racks. I could feel the pressure in my body’s core building into a full-out fear while I descended to the interior. No one around me I thought, I could scream and the young woman up front would probably not hear the sound.
Just then I jumped as if poked in the back right shoulder. I turned thinking perhaps the library assistant had come to give me a helping hand. There standing behind me was a man, not an overly large man, but a man around 5′ 2″ approximately weight 190. That is what I told the police anyway. I must have blacked out because the next thing I remember is having the police and ambulance crew standing over me. I could hear the library assistant saying, “there wasn’t anyone else here I don’t care what that woman was mumbling, not a soul in here but she and I.”
When I looked down clutched in my hand was a newspaper, dated June 5, 1969. Front page right there on the front page I thought that is the man who spoke to me. I swear it. Full well knowing I was not speaking out loud. All I could think was just get home from this in one piece. After 30 minutes or so I convinced the ambulance crew to let me just go home, I promised to rest.
Once inside the doors of my house I brought the paper, which I had tucked under my coat. I had a feeling that this paper had something to say to me. Then right there on the front page was a photo of the man I encountered in the library. Smiling this horrible smile on his face, just like Charles Manson, if I had to describe it to someone. The story line read, “Police Officer kills family and friends at their yearly Halloween dinner party.”
The deeper I read into the story the more I knew inside my being that this was the reason I felt this way in the laundry room. The pages of the paper came to life in my mind, Sam, the police officer, had come home to his family, gotten ready for the party and after it was in full swing, he took a meat cleaver from the kitchen stand and hacked each person in the group to death. Cutting their bodies into small pieces and storing them in the freezer that he and his wife had in the laundry room. “Oh, my god”, I thought that is just where we have our freezer, I ran to the laundry room and pulled open the door and right there on each shelve of the freezer was a bag filled with the legs, arms and even the entrails of humans. Not just any humans but the human bodies of my friends, and family. As I turned to run to the phone I bumped right into him, my husband Sam. Blood dripping from his hands he said, “come on now Alexis it’s time you helped me bag the meat for storage.”