Knock Knock

One evening when I was around eight or nine years old, my mother and I sat on the couch watching “Jaws 3”. I know, not exactly child appropriate, but times were different in the late 70’s and early 80’s, plus my mother was not the conventional mother. So, there were a lot of movies that I got to watch when I was really young that a lot of my school mates did not and I’m sure that these early experiences played a part in my still present love of horror movies.

Anyway, she and I had made popcorn and were settled in watching the movie while waiting for my dad to get home from work. He was late and looking back I can see that my mom was upset about this, but back then I didn’t really connect the dots as to why she was a little edgy. As the movie continued, I found myself getting more and more jumpy. Every time that damned shark pulled someone under the water, I’d let out a shriek and wiggle closer to my mom.

About halfway through the movie, we began hearing knocking sounds on the outside wall of the living room. Mom had me get up to see if dad’s truck was out there. It wasn’t, so we dismissed it and continued watching the movie. The knocking started again. By this time it was dark and we hadn’t seen headlights through the windows, so we knew that it wasn’t my dad. My grandfather lived right next door, so we thought that maybe he was fooling around. Mom got up to look this time, and no one was out there.

She sat back down on the couch, feeling really annoyed. I remember her saying that she was sure that it was my grandfather and that if she caught him, she was going to give him a piece of her mind. Once more, the knocking came. It was louder than ever this time, sounding like it was coming from inside the wall. We both jumped up and ran out of the door to try to catch my grandfather in the act. He was nowhere to be seen. We sneaked over to his house and peeked in his window, only to find him sitting in his recliner watching TV.

Now, we were starting to get nervous. I remember mom saying that she wished that my dad would “get his ass home” and figure out what was going on. With nothing else to do, we sat back down on the couch and tried to get back into the movie. We were both on edge. The knocking happened again. This time it was three extra loud raps. Whipping our heads around, we noticed that a large oil painting which hung on that wall began to move. It swung back and forth, over and over, its heavy frame scraping against the wall with each movement.

You have to understand that this was a painting which measured probably four feet wide by three feet tall. This thing was heavy, so there was no way that it was doing this without assistance from “someone”. There’s no way that it was the wind either, as it was late Fall and too chilly to have the windows open. It’s highly unlikely that an average wind could have moved that painting anyway. We watched in fear for a while, then Mom and I both screamed. We had decided that enough was enough, so we put on our jackets and waited outside in the dark for my father to get home. When he finally did, we tried telling him what was going on. As with anything paranormal which happened in that house, dad didn’t even want to hear about it, let alone talk about it. So, we all went into the house, mom and I feeling a little defeated because if dad didn’t believe us, who would?


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