- Feb 5, 2002
- 166,683
- 56,300
- Country
- United States
- Faith
- Catholic
- Marital Status
- Married
- Politics
- US-Others
Fr. Dwight Longenecker
There were plenty of frightening things when we were growing up in the countryside of Southeastern Pennsylvania. There was an abandoned tumbledown log cabin in the woods with the door swinging on its hinges. The interior was still furnished with rotting sideboards, beds and a rusty old pot bellied stove. We crept inside expecting to find dead people. Then there was the old man who lived alone in an ancient shack he’d inherited from his crazy mother. They found him dead in there like Huck Finn’s father. Two miles down the road was a rundown village where we’d cycle for popsicles on a summer day. The hag who ran the village store hated kids and yelled at us for taking so long to choose our treats.
On summer nights we’d sleep out under the stars and shiver at the creeping noises of nocturnal beasts. Most frightening was the report of our little sister Denise that she’d seen something strange outside her bedroom window. The best horror stories involve children and spooks, and this was a real corker.
Denise said she saw a boy in colonial style garb running along with a little dog dancing by his side. There he was in knee breeches, a puff sleeved shirt, buckle shoes and a three corner hat—just happily running through the woods.
Like Lucy in Narnia, our little sister was not a liar. We had no reason to disbelieve her. Mom had learned some local history and, in colonial times, our mountainside had been a vacation location for well off people from Philadelphia.
Continued below.
dwightlongenecker.com
There were plenty of frightening things when we were growing up in the countryside of Southeastern Pennsylvania. There was an abandoned tumbledown log cabin in the woods with the door swinging on its hinges. The interior was still furnished with rotting sideboards, beds and a rusty old pot bellied stove. We crept inside expecting to find dead people. Then there was the old man who lived alone in an ancient shack he’d inherited from his crazy mother. They found him dead in there like Huck Finn’s father. Two miles down the road was a rundown village where we’d cycle for popsicles on a summer day. The hag who ran the village store hated kids and yelled at us for taking so long to choose our treats.
On summer nights we’d sleep out under the stars and shiver at the creeping noises of nocturnal beasts. Most frightening was the report of our little sister Denise that she’d seen something strange outside her bedroom window. The best horror stories involve children and spooks, and this was a real corker.
Denise said she saw a boy in colonial style garb running along with a little dog dancing by his side. There he was in knee breeches, a puff sleeved shirt, buckle shoes and a three corner hat—just happily running through the woods.
Like Lucy in Narnia, our little sister was not a liar. We had no reason to disbelieve her. Mom had learned some local history and, in colonial times, our mountainside had been a vacation location for well off people from Philadelphia.
Continued below.
Things That Go Bump in the Night | Fr. Dwight Longenecker
There were plenty of frightening things when we were growing up in the countryside of Southeastern Pennsylvania. There was an abandoned tumbledown log cabin in the woods with the door swinging on its hinges. The interior was still furnished with rotting sideboards, beds and a rusty old pot...
dwightlongenecker.com
