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The House In The Swamp
by Bruce James
Although it has been many years since I lived there, some of the strongest memories I have are of a certain house in rural Minnesota. My high school friend G (I won’t use his real name) lived there, and it had to be one of the creepiest places I have ever visited.
G lived in an old farmhouse with his dad a few miles out of a small little town next to a low-lying swampy area. Often in the spring and fall we could see wraithlike mists clinging to the old county road as we drove to his house. It was a quiet enough place, a two-story house with a porch, attic, and a “basement’, a crawlspace, really. Nearby was an old shed, a large polebarn where G’s dad kept his classic cars, and a ring of thick, old oaks ringing the edge of the swamp. G had already told me many stories of the things that went on there when he was a kid. A spectral woman walking across his bed. Shadows of hands from the floodlight outside his bedroom window, that didn’t belong to him. His hair being tousled by something invisible. Some kind of glowing humanoid figure in the trees outside, observing the house and trying not to be seen. There was no shortage of weirdness at G’s place.
I wanted to see something paranormal for myself, and I got to see some things in the years I new and visited G. One of them was the spinning bomber. G had a model of a B-29 aircraft suspended by a thread in his living room. This would have a propensity to rotate by itself. On still, quiet days, we would sit and watch as this model airplane would go from a complete standstill and begin to slowly rotate in a counterclockwise direction (there was no fan or furnace running, and the windows would be closed). Then the rotation would stop, but not from inertial forces, but suddenly stop as though blocked by an invisible hand. Then it would stay in its new position for a few minutes, and rotate clockwise for a time. Nothing seemed to precipitate this, it would merely happen of its own accord.
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