In the same house I mentioned in this morning’s post, another incident happened that gave my wife chills.
One Sunday morning, she wasn’t feeling well, so I got the kids ready to head off to church. When we were ready to leave, I made sure she was comfortable with a blanket and I left her on the couch as we went out the door.
When services were over a few hours later, we arrived home and the kids immediately went into the kitchen to forage for food. I stepped around the corner into the bedroom to change into sweatpants, and as I was in my room, I could hear footsteps above me, slowly walking across the floor, down the hallway, from room to room. I stood listening, looking toward the ceiling as the footsteps kept their slow, methodic pace, and whoever it was didn’t sound like they had any destination in mind. They just kept walking.
I came back around the corner and peeked into the kitchen where all 5 kids were still rummaging through the cupboards. Then I poked my head around the corner and whispered to my wife, “Psst.” She looked at me as I pointed toward the ceiling and the sound of the footsteps. I whispered, “Our visitor is at it again. I can hear him walking around upstairs.”
My wife looked at me with a shocked expression. She finally said, “Didn’t one of the kids stay home from church today?”
I looked back, a bit puzzled. “No, they were all with me at church. Why?”
“Because,” she said. “I have been hearing those footsteps all morning since you left. I assumed one of the kids had stayed home.”