THE POUNDING

THE POUNDING

*

No, it wasn’t Halloween. In fact, it wasn’t even autumn yet. The nights were almost as warm as the days. Spring break was approaching and my boys looked forward to a week off school. Ah, school!! My mind momentarily wandered back to the past – to my high school days. Oh, what fun they were. Now, here I sat enjoying a nighttime cup of tea, while my boys, ages eight and ten were snuggled in their beds sound asleep. My husband? Well, he’d taken off years earlier. Oh well, good riddance, I always said.

Then, I heard it: a loud, house rattling pounding that permeated the air.

“What the …?”

My boys came running from their bedrooms, with their faces paling with fright. “Mom, what was that?” my older boy, Ken asked.

“Don’t know. Both of you go in my bedroom, close the door, and wait.” I didn’t say what I felt: if I don’t come back in five minutes, dial 9-1-1.

I waited until I heard the door rasp click shut.

Walking around the inside of the house, I saw nothing out of order. I looked at the cellar door. Chills ran through me at the thought of going down those steps but knew I had no choice. I called my dog into the kitchen, and she eagerly trotted to me expecting a treat.

There was no growling at the door; she didn’t bare her teeth. “Hmm,” I thought. She hated the cellar, and we both knew something lived down there that often spooked her. I took a deep breath and reached for the doorknob. It felt normal. “Hmm,” I thought again. “That is odd. If there had been something strange, as it was getting to be normal in my house, that knob would have felt ice cold. Yet, it was warm, well, normally warm.”

I opened the door, flipped on the light switch, and ever-so cautiously eased my way down the old creaky, wooden steps. Room by haphazardly built room, I turned on each light and found .. nothing out of the ordinary.

Turning off the lights, another thought occurred to me. “Where was the evil presence I always felt as I descended that old staircase?” I didn’t want to call out, “Hey, where are you?” However, I quickly, but still quietly walked upstairs, turned off the overhead light, and closed the door.

POUND! POUND! POUND!

Okay, not in the house. This time, I was sure it sounded like it came from outside. I walked to my bedroom so my sons would know I was okay. “Whatever is making that noise, it’s outside. Stay in here, and you know the drill.”

“Mom,” my younger son, Jim wondered aloud, “I’m wondering if maybe we should call the police.”

“Okay, how about if I do this? I’ll open the backdoor just enough to peek outside and if I see someone, I’ll quickly close and relock the door and call them. It might be some kids from the park just being rambunctious.”

Our house was situated on a corner lot directly across from the ever-popular park that was a hangout for young teens.

My kids were skeptical but agreed only if I took a kitchen knife with me. “Okay, but stay in this room until I knock.” Yeah, and I left the knife on the kitchen counter. Last thing I wanted was to open my door to what – I didn’t know with a large butcher knife in my hand. Yeah, that would be real smart!

Slowly, I pushed the door open enough to be able to see either end of the property. I saw nothing. I sincerely doubted that no one could run that fast and hop over my fence without being seen.

After I closed the door and secured the latch, I knocked on my bedroom door. “All clear. No one was outside. Tomorrow, when it’s light out, I’ll look around the yard and see, well, whatever I see. How about going back to bed?”

The rest of the night was silent, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

The following night, the pounding started again. Then stopped, then began again. Each morning, I checked my yard and found nothing out of order.

For almost one full week, the window-rattling vibrations continued. Each time I looked through my back door, there was nothing to see. While my nerves were rattled, my boys’ fear grew, and they now insisted on sleeping in the same bed. This was no way to live.

The pounding began, once again around eight at night but this time, as quickly as it started, I called the police, but asked for a “silent car,” which meant, no siren, no lights. Whoever was doing this, I wanted him, or her, or them caught.

Two police officers knocked on my front door within five minutes. I briefly explained what was happening and they quietly but quickly walked around the house to the backyard, shining their flashlights everywhere.

One of them then knocked on my back door. “Ma’am, you need to come out and look at this.”

My boys and I exited the house and followed Officer Jenkinson.

“Ma’am, you said you heard the pounding less than an hour ago?”

“Yes, I called 9-1-1 as soon as it started. Why?”

Both officers turned on their flashlights and pointed them to the back of my maroon-colored house.

There in the illuminated beams, on the back of my house, were three designs that were about four feet in height.

Each design seemed as though they were pounded using small round cylinders.

Each design was formed using white paint that had appeared to have dripped a bit but also had already dried.

Each design was pounded to resemble very large pentagrams.