Most folks are skeptical of ghost tales. They may be drawn to them for some reason a skilled observer of human nature would no doubt be happy to explain, but when it comes down to it, most think they are nothing but passed down fanciful legends of overactive imaginations. Young Tom McAlister isn't like most folks. He knows the truth first-hand.
In mid-December 1997, Tom was a handsome 17-year-old high school athlete living with his bank officer dad and his stay-at-home mother in Sweetwater, Texas. He made good grades, he was popular in school and with his outgoing personality and good looks, he usually had his pick of the teenage girls in town. His life was good. Since Thanksgiving though, he had been troubled with a growing concern, something he had kept to himself. He felt as if he was never alone. Whether in his room studying, driving in his car, in bed asleep or even while taking a shower, he felt there was somebody with him, somebody watching.
Tom, like his parents, was a devout Baptist and didn't believe in ghosts, but he just couldn't shake this feeling that an unseen being was always with him. On night while doing homework, he saw the edge of his bed depress as if someone was sitting on it. Feeling alarmed and foolish, he called out, "Hello whoever you are. What's your name?" Then he screamed.
Hearing her son cry out, Tom's mother rushed into his room and immediately saw the heavy dictionary he used laying open on the floor. When she asked him what happened, Tom told her something had picked it up from his desk, floated it across the room to where it now lay and began to turn the pages. When it stopped, one page was folded to point to a single word. Sue.
Nothing else happened that night, but Sue made her presence known over the next several weeks. Driving home from a friend's Christmas party, the car's ashtray flew open and several peppermint candies Tom had placed in there after eating at Sonic were tossed out onto the floor. When school resumed after the Christmas break, not once but twice his car's glove compartment flew open and the owner's manual and insurance papers flew out. Tom tried to dismiss these things as merely bumps in the road, bumps he had not noticed, but the next night, the ceiling fan in his room clicked off and the door slowly closed. Two nights later, the fan clicked off and the door closed again. The next night, suspecting an electrical short, he left the fan off - it clicked on and the door once again closed with the aid of unseen hands. Without thinking, he blurted out, "I'm tired of this nonsense! Go away and leave me alone!" In the next instant, the wooden birdhouse he had made by hand, his proudest handiwork, was thrown across the room to smash into pieces against the far wall.
The next night, as Tom was coming to bed, he saw an indention in his mattress, as if something lay there, full length - a clear body indentation. He couldn't force himself to touch it. He knew Sue was waiting for him to lay down with her. He went to the living room and slept on the couch.
The next morning, Tom took his usual hot shower, but when he emerged, written on the steam-covered mirror in antique script, were the words, "I love you." Over the next few days, messages kept appearing in Tom's bathroom mirror. He began taking colder showers so there would be no steam, but when he opened the shower curtain, the messages would be written in the same antique script with the bar of soap kept next to the sink. "I love you." "Do not fear me. I love you." "I will always be with you."
His parents had no answers and in desperation, hired a medium to come to their home. The medium said it was very simple actually - a young female spirit inhabited their house and she was in love with Tom. The family next sought counsel from their minister who insisted Tom be examined by a mental health professional. After examination by several psychiatrists who pronounced Tom sane, an exorcism was advised.
The minister and 2 assistants came to the McAlister home on a Thursday evening in late March. His exorcism, or blessing , as he called it, followed a direct plan. He told the family that he would be the psychic relay through which they could communicate with the spirit. While in a kind of semi-trance, the minister said Sue told him she was 20 years old and thinks the year is 1796. Tom told Sue that he couldn't handle this anymore; he was sorry, but he didn't love her and she had to go and leave him and his family in peace. Through the minister, still in a trance, Sue replied that she understood. She had meant no harm and would leave, but she hoped Tom would never forget her. And with that, Tom had a feeling from Sue of great sadness and then felt her leave.
That was almost 20 years ago and she has not returned. Tom is now married with two children and living in a suburb of Ft. Worth. He said at first he thought she was of the Devil, but now he doesn't think so. "I have no idea why she came to me. Maybe I just reminded her of someone she once knew, someone she once loved dearly."
Will she return some day? Nobody knows. Where did she go? Nobody alive knows.
There are horrifying stories of hauntings like The Devil's House and frightening possessions like the evil Raggedy Ann doll. But contrary to popular belief, not all hauntings are frightening. Take the case of the Rose of Sharon house in Waxahachie, Texas for instance.
Sharon was a realtor and was able to see beyond the weeds in the yard and the rundown condition of the long deserted house, at least enough to know that underneath all the neglect, the basic structure was sound. She realized that with a lot of work and effort, the sad house could once again be the beautiful home it once was.
The house was built in 1892 by F. P. Powell, an attorney, for his new bride and the children they hoped to have. Two daughters were born to the union and the Powell's happily lived in their Waxahachie home for 20 years. In 1912, F. P. was offered a job in Austin, one with enough of a raise and increased benefits that he couldn't turn it down and so the home they loved was sold.
Unfortunately, over the next 70 years, the house was sold a number of times and none of the owners did much in the way of taking care of it. With each successive owner, the home's condition deteriorated a little more until it was eventually abandoned.
When Sharon purchased the house, she found that it originally had wrap-around porches which provided shade and a place to sit on a porch swing to enjoy a pretty spring day, but one of the previous owners had sealed in the porches and turned the house into a number of small apartments which were rented out. The exterior walls were covered in dead vines and the walls inside were full of holes. The floors were covered with trash and creaked when they were walked on, the stairs seemed ready to fall to pieces. In short, the house was in a sad state indeed.
The day after the sale had been completed and before any restoration work had begun, Sharon took a walk around the inside. Entering a small room which at one time had been a large dining parlor, she sat her oversized handbag on the floor in the middle of the room. leaving the heavy bag, she proceeded through several more rooms until finally entering one that contained piles of old magazines and newspapers. Sitting down to thumb through the stacks, she lost track of time as she became fascinated with the news and fashions from years past.
When the shadows began to lengthen and the light to dim, she realized she had been there longer than she had intended. Hurrying back into the dining parlor to retrieve her bag, she found it right where she had left it, but sitting next to it was a pair of 14-karat gold earrings. The earrings were ones Sharon had loved and treasured, but had lost more than a year ago! She had looked everywhere for the missing jewelry, but no trace of them had turned up until now, a year after she lost them, sitting next to her handbag on the floor of a house she had not even known existed a year ago! Sharon believed then and still believes the return of her earrings had been a housewarming present from Mrs. Powell, long dead, but obviously happy Sharon had purchased her home and intended to restore it and once again fill it with love.
As the restoration work continued, Sharon would often enter a room and feel a presence of someone else. She could feel she wasn't alone, but it was never spooky and she was never frightened. Quite the contrary in fact as she said it was always a welcoming sensation.
After restoration, Sharon decided to open her now beautiful home to other people by turning it into a bed & breakfast. She doesn't advertise the ghostly presence, but some of her guests have reported hearing footsteps in the hallways at night when nobody is up and around. Sometimes footsteps are heard going up and down the stairs long after everyone has retired for the night. There are also reports of soft waltz music being heard which seems to emanate from everywhere and nowhere at the same time with no source able to be pinpointed. Most describe the sound as seeming to be stringed instruments, most likely violins. The haunting sounds are exactly what one would expect to hear coming from a cultured family home of the early 1900's.
Sharon often catches a glimpse of a family, but they are barely visible and completely disappear almost as soon as they are seen. The man wears a top hat and the woman is always wearing a long dress which appears to be from the late 1800's. There are also two children, little girls who always stand in front of their parents holding hands. They give the appearance of being very happy. Sharon thinks they are the Powell family and they seem pleased with what she has done and the way she takes care of "their" home.
The Rose of Sharon is a nice, homey bed & breakfast in the interesting town of Waxahachie, Texas. It is often full of paying guests, many of whom are repeats - folks who found the inn to be so inviting that they return multiple times. And nobody minds at all the friendly, happy ghosts that continue to watch over their home.
Henry Albright moved to rural Arkansas when he was just a baby. As the only child of a middle-age couple who farmed and raised a few cows, chickens and pigs, he was terribly lonely as there were no neighbors or relatives with small children nearby. He played by himself, mostly with sticks and stones which he used to build make-believe castles. What Henry most liked to do though was read.
His father had been a city man with a decent job at one time, that is until he lost his job and most everything else in the stock market crash of 1929. Unable to find work anywhere, he had moved his wife and baby son to the small frame house on a few acres of farm land which had been left to him by his grandparents upon their death. They could at least eek out a living and raise their own food there. He had brought with them a number of books from the library he had owned when times were better and it was these books which became Henry's friends. He taught himself to read by sounding out the letters, asking his mother for help when he was stumped. By the time he started school, he was far ahead of his classmates. As he learned to better comprehend what he was reading, he went back and re-read all his father's books again.
Henry proved to be a very bright, avid student and almost always made the highest grades in his class. Unfortunately, he remained mostly alone as the other kids never could figure out what to make of him. He rarely took part in the games the other kids liked to play at recess and mostly spent his time in school sitting alone away from the others, reading books his teacher would bring him. When school was not in session and he was not needed to tend the fields at home, Henry roamed the hills and forests and noted all the things that change with the changing of the seasons.
One Monday in the fall of Henry's senior year, due to a teacher's convention, school would not be in session. As the crops had been gathered, he was not needed at home so Friday afternoon Henry packed his pup tent, a lantern, beef jerky, and a small cooking pot and set out for a few days of camping in the woods. As he left home, the air was clear and crisp, the sun bright and warm.
It was late afternoon and a number of miles from his home when Henry came to a small clearing in the woods and decided to camp for the night. He was only a mile or so away from Jeb Gibson's shack where he could buy some eggs and milk for his breakfast in the morning. Everybody knew and loved "Old Jeb," a life-long bachelor who had lived in his little house "since God invented dirt." Darkness had set in by the time Henry had finished his meal of the ham sandwich he had packed from home. With only a small sliver of moon in the night sky, he lit his lantern and began to read a book on philosophy his teacher had recently loaned him.
As his eyes began to tire, Henry turned out his lantern and lay down to sleep. Just as he got comfortable though, from out of the woods behind him came the sounds of a violin, sad, haunting clear notes that seemed to tremble in the air. At first he thought he must be imagining it as there was no house for miles around except for Old Jeb and he didn't play the violin. Henry climbed out of his tent and looked around. There was no light anywhere, but the music seemed to get louder, more insistent, drawing him to seek out the source. Who in the world would be out here in the cold, dark woods wondering around playing the violin?
For some reason Henry could not explain, he was compelled to find the source of such haunting music. He had walked a short way into the woods when he found a deer path. He followed it on silent feet, around boulders, deeper and deeper into the forest. At times, the music seemed to be right in front of him, but then in the next instant, it seemed to be further down the trail. Finally, in the distance, Henry saw a dim, stationary light. It became larger as he slowly crept up on it, until he came to a slight rise in the trail. He could see clearly now that it was not a circle of light as he had thought, but a rectangle which seemed to be glowing through an open door. He strained to see the building itself, but he could not make out walls, windows or even a roof. Yet from somewhere near the light came the sounds of the violin. It seemed to surround him, coming coming down from the night sky, from the trees, from the very ground he now laid on.
All of a sudden, the music stopped. Henry could see two women step into the doorway, one older, stooped with gray hair, the other young and beautiful. They were oddly dressed even for these Ozark backwoods, in long, full calico skirts and tight bodices with lace inserts. The young one reached over and placed a protective arm around the older one's shoulders. Somewhere off to the side, Henry heard an unseen horse whiny loudly. Both women looked toward the woods with a look of confusion on their faces. It seemed they were looking straight at Henry.
As he was contemplating whether they could actually see him or not, a shot rang out! Then another and another! The night was filled with the wild shrieks of the horse and a single scream from one of the women. Suddenly, there came another loud report and a blinding flash of fire. As Henry looked on with wide open eyes, he heard another shot and the young woman fell to the ground. The old woman seemed to bend down to help the young one, but another shot rang out and the old woman was also felled. Both lay in stillness that only death can produce. And then, appearing as if from nowhere, a young man ran into the doorway, leaping over the bodies of the women only to come back out a few seconds later holding a rifle. He shot again and again into the woods and as Henry lay there in fear, he heard the sounds of snapping twigs and the rushing footsteps of someone trying to run away. After a few seconds, Henry raised his head just in time to see the male defender fall to the ground next to the bodies of the women.
Henry hurried back to his camp, his mind playing over and over what he had seen. He intended to find someone in the morning to report the awful crime. Tired from the hike and with the adrenaline slowly reduced, he finally drifted off into an uneasy sleep. As the sun rose over the horizon, Henry was startled when he opened his eyes to find Old Jeb standing over him. Old Jeb sat down a quart of milk and 6 eggs next to him, said, "I figured you could use these" and walked away back toward his cabin.
After breakfast, Henry began to doubt himself, to doubt what he had seen. Perhaps it was all just a dream and wouldn't he look the fool to report such a story to the authorities if it wasn't true. He decided to go back to ensure it wasn't just a trick of a tired mind. Although it wasn't easy, he managed to find the almost hidden deer trail again and then followed his tracks. By early afternoon he had found the cabin from the night before. At least he found what remained of the cabin. It had been a low, long structure with one room and a lean-to kitchen. The ridge pole was broken and the roof had caved in long ago. The remains of the door, its old buckskin hinges shredded with age, leaned open against the wall. Henry carefully stepped inside and found the floorboards rotten with weeds growing through the cracks. The fireplace mantle was covered with moss. Desolation and decay were everywhere. It was obvious nobody had lived there for many years.
Henry left and made his way back to his camp. He arrived just before the sun went behind the trees. In confusion, Henry ate several pieces of jerk and drank a cup of water from his canteen. After dark, he listened for the music, the sweet, haunting notes of the violin, but none came before exhaustion overtook him with sleep. The next morning, Henry awoke to find Old Jeb sitting on a log on the other side of the fire pit. He had once again brought milk and eggs for Henry's breakfast and this time he had brought enough for himself as well. After eating, Old Jeb brought out two corn cob pipes and a small sack of tobacco. He handed one of the pipes to Henry and after both men had gotten a good fire glow going, he sat back down on the log, looked Henry straight in the eye and said, "You heer'ed the music did'n ya?"
Henry didn't know what to say so he remained silent. "You been to tha cabin in tha woods too, ain't ya?" Henry nodded in reply. "Course you don't know tha story 'cause you ain't really hill folk. My kin've been here many a year. I'm the last of the old un's. I reckon since you see'd it, maybe you won't think I'm just a crazy ol coot so I'll tell ya the story."
"A hundred years ago a boy child was born in that cabin. His name was Daniel, but he was a strange one and never seemed to fit in anywheres. He hated farm chores and everythin' bout these hills. His kin worried bout him, but didn't rightly know what to do. Daniel always wandered 'round like he was dreamin or somethin, all fidgety-like ya know? Like he was always lookin' for something. And he hardly ever talked to nobody. He was a strange one, that's fer sure. Then one day he spied his dad's fiddle hanging over the fireplace mantel. He stood on a chair, got it down, and started playing that thing like he was born to it all natural like. He played such haunting melodies that the animals in the forest went quiet. The whippoorwill stopped callin', the wood dove stopped cooin', and the crickets stopped chirpin'. It was real strange how that boy could play like that and nobody could understan' it.
Then one day a outsider fella came to the woods. Said he'd heer'd 'bout Daniel's ability an he told him about colleges and places to study music and such. Places an' things folks in this holla didn't know nuthin 'bout. Daniel got all kinds of excited 'bout it and his pappy said he could go. But then the sickness came through and his pappy caught it and died. Daniel had to stay to tend to the farm and help his mama. Daniel did what he had to do, but his fiddlin' took a turn. It sounded all sad an mournful, like he was poring out all his sadness and disappointment into his music. It 'bout drove his mama crazy and she would go hide out in the woods when she couldn't take it no longer.
A while later, one mornin' Daniel went to the barn and found a newborn colt one of the horses had given birth to the night befor'. For some reason, Daniel took a shine to that colt. They formed a real bond those two did, like they was growing up together. That colt grew into a beautiful filly and Daniel loved it more than jus' about anything. And Daniel's music turned all happy again and it made his mama happy and the animals got quiet to listen to it again.
Daniel didn't give up his dream of freedom from the farm and being able to make a livin' playing his fiddle, but as time passed, he found another love, a girl named Hattie from the next holla over. It was like he knew from the start he was s'posed to marry her and I reckon she did too. He knew if they married he'd never leave this hill country, but he din't pay it no never mind. He figured after they married, he'd play love songs through the cold winter nights and when the babies come, he'd put them to sleep with lullaby songs. Folks said it was just like God had planned it all along.
"Cept another man already loved Hattie. A mean bear of a man who promised a day of reckonin' if'n Hattie turned him down. But Hattie was a real hill girl, Henry, and they have no fear of nuthin. She told him outright she wasn' goin to marry him and she thought no more of it, didn' even tell Daniel.
The weddin' day came in October and after they was hitched, they went to Daniel's mama's place to live until they got a place of their own. They spent the evenin' laughin' and singin'. While Daniel played the tunes, Hattie sang the words in her beautiful voice. Come dark and Daniel and his bride were gettin' anxious to head to bed and enjoy each other's private company when all of a sudden a terrific noise came and like to shook that cabin all ta pieces! And then Daniel heer'd a horrible sound. A loud cry from his beloved filly was what it was. He rushed outside and found her dying, lying on the ground in a pool of her own blood. She'd been so scared of all the noise that she tried to jump the fence and a wood stake had driven' right through her.
Noises came from the woods and Daniel figured out quick what was happening. It was a mob of men like them gangs of Baldknobbers or bushwackers that used to ride through the countryside killin' and burnin'. Nobody knew who they were or where they'd strike next. Praise ta God there ain't no more of that nowadays!"
Henry knew the rest of the story as he had seen it all himself with his own eyes, but he sat there still and quiet as Old Jeb knocked the spent tobacco from his pipe, carefully loaded it up again and got it fired before continuing.
"Daniel was real skeered, a course, for his loved ones and he ran back toward the cabin. Jus' as he rounded the corner though, he heer'd a shot and a flash of fire. Then he saw Hattie drop to the ground. Before he reached the doorway, there was another shot and his mama dropped beside Hattie. Daniel kept running until he reached the door of the cabin. He jumped inside, grabbed a rifle and came out shootin'. They say he musta opened fire in all directions, just firin' again and again in all directions.
The next day, my pappy who had heer'd all the shootin' and commotion, and two other men crept in to tha woods to investigate. They got to tha cabin and found Daniel laying dead by the door next to his women folk with his rifle by his side. Evidently, the loss of everythin' he loved was more than he could stomach and he used his last bullet on himself. Five more dead men were found in the woods 'round the cabin with Daniel's bullets in 'em. One of 'em was the fella that'd made the threats, the one Hattie had turned down.
That cabin's full of haints now. It don't happen ever night, but when there ain't much moon and the wind is jes right, I can heer'd that fiddle music all the way down ta my cabin and then I can heer the shootin' an I know them haints is a livin' it all over agin. I reckon they's doomed to it till they ain't no more of these hills."
Without another word, Old Jeb knocked the ashes from his pipe, gathered up his milk bottle and began slowly walking back to his cabin. Henry packed up his belongings and headed back home. He wanted to be far away from these woods before the sun went down and sad, sad music from a haunting violin could be heard again.
In the upper-class University Park section of Dallas, Texas on quiet, tree-shaded Amherst Lane, is a nice, well-kept, but otherwise unremarkable 14-room home. Most of the home is impossible to see from the street due to the lush landscape and healthy trees on the property. Until she died in 1972, it was owned by Bert DeWinter, one of Dallas' highest of High Society and, apparently, she refuses to leave the home she loved even today.
For over 30 years, Bert was the head of the millinery department at the original Neiman Marcus store in downtown Dallas. At a time when women's hats could be as expensive as furs and were considered to be an absolute must for the well-dressed woman, anybody who was anybody came to Mrs. DeWinter for her to pick a hat for them. Bert was always immaculately groomed and exquisitely attired. Everything she did was with flare and perfect taste. When she bought something, she only purchased the finest. She had her dry cleaning packaged and sent to be done at The Ritz in Paris. Financially, she was very well off and often appeared in the high society pages of the papers and magazines as having entertained the rich and famous at her beautifully decorated home. Powerful politicians, foreign heads of state, actors and actresses, writers, poets and power brokers were the usual guests of honor. She was well-known for being a lavish hostess and having perfectly orchestrated dinner parties. An invitation to a Bert DeWinter dinner party was coveted by all.
At one such party, a certain up and coming Dallas politician and his wife were invited. The wife, being several weeks overdue in her pregnancy, tried to decline, but she was told it was just a small dinner and besides, one did not refuse a Bert DeWinter dinner invitation if one wanted to keep or enhance one's position on the society ladder. Knowing the importance of the invitation to her husband's career, she accepted in spite of her physical distress and hideous maternity wardrobe. Arriving precisely at the appointed time of 5:30, the couple was escorted in and the husband was given his first drink of the evening while a fruit drink was given the wife. By 6:30, sixteen more guests had arrived for the "small dinner" and the husband was on his 3rd drink. By 8:30, dinner had still not been served and it was obvious the husband should have stopped at least 1 drink ago. When the guests were escorted to the formal dining room at 10:30, the husband had to be helped by the staff and was in danger of nodding off into the soup.
Just as the main course was being served, the soon to be mother began having labor pains. An older lady seated next to her whispered that she needed to see her in the powder room. They made it to a bedroom where the lady told her, "I can see you need to go have a baby and you need to go now!" After suffering through another pain, the wife agreed. The older lady went back to the dining room and announced, "This girl needs to get to the hospital to have her baby now. Somebody needs to drive her." Sitting at the head of the table, Mrs. DeWinter was heard to mutter, "Can't she wait?"
The husband came out of his near stupor and said he could do it. None of the other guests dared leave Bert's party so one of the staff was assigned to facilitate getting the girl to the hospital. Once in the car though, the husband demanded the staff person leave as he was the husband and he would be the one to drive his wife to the hospital. Just 2 blocks into the drive however, it was painfully obvious the husband was in no condition to drive so the wife persuaded him to pull over and she drove herself. They made it safely, but by the time the wife parked the car, the husband was passed out in the seat and his wife couldn't wake him. She walked into the hospital and had her baby alone. The husband didn't see the baby until he woke up and stumbled into the hospital the next morning. The couple was never invited to another Bert DeWinter dinner and the husband's political career died. The wife blames it all on Bert, saying, "She never forgave me for interrupting her dinner."
In the 1960's as Bert got older, some of the upkeep to the house began to slide. After a short illness, she passed away in 1972 and her once beautiful home which still contained many of the antique furniture pieces sat empty for over a year before a prominent tax attorney named Don purchased it for him and his family. The house was in a pretty run down condition and needed extensive work before it could be occupied again. The wife, Diane, a professional photographer and writer, took charge of the restoration work. Walls were stripped of their elegant, but faded wallpaper; the black slate floor in one room was ripped up and replaced with wood. In general, spirits do not like change and Bert must have been particularly upset over the way her home was being changed. During the modification, the worker's tools would often come up missing one day only to appear again the next morning right where they had been left. Power saws would quit working for no reason that could be found and then work perfectly several minutes or hours later. Without giving a reason, several Hispanic workers refused to work in the house after dark. Eventually though, the renovation was completed and the new owners and their four children moved in.
Not long afterwards, the family began to hear footsteps downstairs in the dining room at night when they were all in their beds upstairs. It sounded like someone who was wearing flip flops or open-heeled house-slippers was slowly walking back and forth, back and forth. Don, with a protective baseball bat in hand, investigated the first few times the pacing was heard, but the sound would stop as soon as he turned on the lights or entered the dining room. He never found anyone and the family, for the most part, learned to accept it and sleep through it. The house began to creak and occasionally pop very loudly. It was thought to be just the usual settling of a house with the usual creaking and popping of boards, but the only time it happened would be at 3:00 AM. Paranormal investigations have shown that for some reason, 3:00 AM is the time ghosts are normally most active. One day, the youngest child screamed in fright. Diane ran to her room and burst in to find her child sitting on the bed staring at the curtains which were standing straight out! The weather was calm and besides, the window the curtains covered were closed and locked. A few seconds after Diane ran into the room, the curtains dropped back to their hanging position. The young child told her mom it was "the lady who comes to watch her." Another child told her a woman comes into her room at night and stands at the foot of her bed watching her. The child would cover her head with the sheet until morning. All four children said they hated the night because that's when "that woman" would come into their rooms. Pieces of jewelry which did not belong to Diane would often simply show up on the fireplace mantel or the dining room table or on the kitchen counter or a side table in the living room. Several times Diane, upon finding the jewelry, took it upstairs and placed it in her jewelry box and closed the lid. The next time she had occasion to be in the box, nothing would be disturbed, but the piece in question would be gone.
The family endured this for almost a full year. While the disturbances frightened them, they all said they felt like the spirit wouldn't actually harm them, it just wanted to be in charge. Whenever the owners threw a party, the wife said she always felt like she wasn't alone; that there was a presence with her. She didn't feel threatened, but had the distinct feeling that whatever she did in preparation for the party just wasn't good enough. "I just felt like she was telling me that no matter how nice we had fixed up the house, we could never compete with her excellent taste in decorating and entertaining."
On a trip to New York City, Diane was introduced to a lady who had lived in Dallas and had been a close friend to Bert. As they talked, Diane told her she thought their home was haunted by Mrs. DeWinter. When she described the footsteps as being the sound of flip-flops, the lady exclaimed, "That has to be Bert! She always wore "mules" (a heelless shoe in fashion back then) when she was home. Diane went on to describe several pieces of the jewelry which showed up out of the blue and the lady confirmed they were owned by none other than her friend Bert DeWinter.
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Not long afterward, the family reached their breaking point and even though they were no longer particular upset about the spirit which lived in their house with them, they were annoyed enough by all the strange happenings that they consulted a priest about cleansing the house. Told it would take an exorcism, they were concerned such a rite would somehow harm or anger Bert so they didn't take the advice. Then a friend told them about an old folk remedy for curing a haunting. That same night, they went home with a 12-candle candelabra that was made with wrought iron and had angels in the design and walked through the house, the candles flickering, while they sprinkled salt in every corner. As they performed this ritual, s thunderstorm began to rage outside.
The family didn't hear the house creaking or popping that night and over time, the curtains stopped standing straight out, the children were no longer visited in the night and even the footsteps came less and less. Even so, the family decided to sell and move to a newly constructed home which, hopefully, would have only them living in it, a house they could call their own home. The current owners of the beautiful home on Amherst Lane say they have not heard footsteps or seen curtains sticking straight out. They have not experienced anything of a haunting nature at all actually. They are confused, however, with occasionally finding a piece of beautiful jewelry in the house which they do not own. They say the jewelry is probably just pieces left behind by different guests after they attended a party in the house. They are not sure why none of their guests claims ownership though and they have no explanation as to how the found jewelry somehow always gets misplaced and simply disappears, seemingly into thin air.
