There was a period of time when my wife took on the responsibility of producing the weekly bulletins for the church we attended. This involved gathering any announcements during the week, plus any financial information and attendance records so she could produce and print the bulletin for handing out at the services on Sunday mornings.
She would usually get finished collecting all the information and be ready to print on Saturday. My job was to take the master copy out to the church and make over 100 copies and fold them, leaving them in the foyer, ready for the morning.
Frequently she would not get all the information until fairly late on Saturday, so I would head out to copy and fold late Saturday night, when the church was dark, empty and quiet. Our youngest daughter Brooklyn would join me a good portion of the time to make it a quicker trip.
One some of those occasions, we had some very strange incidents happen at the church.
The library, where we were copying, was the only place in the church with any light on. Often Brooklyn and I would hear footsteps walking through the sanctuary. They kept walking, but never seemed to get any closer, or farther away. Just the distinct sound of footsteps. Sometimes we would get up and sneak toward the sanctuary, reaching our hand around the corner to flip on the light, but nobody was ever seen. In fact, as we sneaked toward the sound of the footsteps, they would usually stop. Then a few minutes after we went back to the library, they would start again.
One night as we were folding the bulletins, we heard the sound of the front doors rattle. The doors were made of glass, and we could look out to see the front porch of the church, but nobody would be there. The little porch light above the door was on, so it would have been easy to see someone. Every time we would give up and look away, it would rattle again.
That same night, we suddenly heard the loud sound of what I would describe as someone crinkling cellophane right between Brooklyn and I. We just looked at each other with wide eyes.
There was also one time out there where the two of us swore we heard the voice of my wife calling out to us from somewhere just around the corner. But since Brooklyn and I had the car, we knew it could not be her.
Yet, perhaps the most unsettling night for me was one when I was all alone.
I had been hearing the usual footsteps and even heard a door open and close. For some reason I was feeling a little more creeped out than usual, so I finished as quickly as I could and locked up the church and went out the front doors. I took two steps on the porch and was suddenly tripped by what felt like a foot sticking out to trip me, and I tumbled down the concrete stairs onto the cement below, ripping open my knee.
To this day I cannot explain what was going on there at the church at night.