This Just Happened.
The rain was splattering against the windows and roof of the camper, sometimes hard enough to drown out internal thoughts. Mud was deepening and spreading like a cancer across the field outside. Inside was a gloomy shade of perpetual dusk that the overhead light seemed to barely pierce. Yet, the counterfeit flames from the electric fireplace, crackling fir-scented candle, and steam rising from a hot mug of coffee created a cozy feel. There was a sense of safety and comfort within the confines of the 5th wheel that was now home. The occasional shaking of the camper from the wind or the dogs realigning themselves was becoming more familiar each day.
The camper sat in the middle of one of the pastures that surrounded her father’s farm. One window offered a view across the acreage below where she could enjoy the coming and goings of their small goat herd. As the rain grew more dense, the ladies scampered their way up from the creek as they headed to their barn.
The rain-soaked peacefulness was interrupted by rapping against the camper. Soft at first. So soft, she ignored it, believing it may have come from the television she was watching. A moment of silence was followed by more urgent rapping that shook the camper. She quickly pushed the TV on mute as she flew out of her seat and rushed to the back window. Was the gate open? Was someone outside? But there was no one. The dogs remained curled up in their bedding, silent. She settled back into the comfort of her chair, convinced she was still adjusting to the unfamiliar creaking of the camper.
A loud bang and sound of something splattering near the kitchen window drew her quickly to her feet again. Heart racing. Why are the dogs still silent? Dogs that normally erupt into a cacophony of barking at any detected movement from outside remain sleeping and undisturbed. But there was no question that something hit the side of the camper. Yet, her investigations from the window followed by a tentative visit outside showed no signs of anything having been disturbed.
Back inside the camper, she leaned against the nearest counter to shake off her muddy boots. That was when she noticed one of her paintings had dislodged from its place on the wall, evidence that this was real and not her imagination.
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Yes. This just happened. I even called my sister, who lives in my father’s house about 150 feet from the camper. From dad’s balcony, she couldn’t see anything either. Yet, the rapping, the banging and splattering sound, and dropping of the painting, all happened. We’ve had numerous unexplained activities over the years at the farm and the camper isn’t far from dip in the road that my sister has been convinced is a spirit portal. “This is the work of YOUR spooks,” I accused my sister. My teasing hid a sincere concern that rumbles in the pit of my stomach. This isn’t the first incident since moving into the camper. I suspect it won’t be the last.
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