The Haunted Trailer

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
A woman moves into a mobile home that's haunted by a Native American lady and her killer.

Submitted: December 22, 2007

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Submitted: December 22, 2007



When I met the man who eventually became my husband, I eventually moved into his trailer in Del Paso Heights, California.  Althouth Tom did his best to make the move out of my parents' home a smooth transition, he failed to mention that the trailer was haunted.  It was only AFTER I moved in that he broke the news.  I guess it had just slipped his mind until then.

"Great," I responded.

He couldn't tell me this BEFORE I decided to move in?

I asked Tom what he knew about the history of the trailer.

He had acquired the little mobile home on top of a mountain, directly above the site of an old Native American burial ground.  Of all the ghosts he could have offended, he HAD to choose Native American ones!  They are extraordinarily protective of the sanctity of their cemeteries.  They can be DANGEROUS when they get on the warpath!

A Native American couple renting the trailer had argued inside the bathroom; the husband, in a red-hot fit of rage, had stabbed his young wife to death.  Then he had committed suicide.

This didn't seem to bother Tom, though, as he desperately needed a place to live so that he could move out of his cousin's house. 

The little trailer was still on its wheels.  To get it down the hill, Tom's cousin Jesse attached his truck to the back of the trailer and locked his brakes.  Another truck was attached to the back of Jesse's truck.  The second vehicle had its brakes locked, too.  The tow truck was in FRONT of the trailer.  The theory was that the brakes would keep the trailer from rolling down the hill too fast.

As the descent began, the convoy of attached vehicles barrelled down the mountain, with the trailer rocking precariously back and forth, ready to tip over at any moment.  The brakes on the vehicles in back held, though, and the heartpounding ride to the bottom of the mountain found the trailer still in one piece.  The owner, who was waiting at the bottom, was so astounded that the little trailer was still intact that he signed it over to Tom without his having to pay any money.  Tom had acquired himself a FREE haunted trailer!  What a bargain!

Having no choice, he eventually learned to adapt to the other two disembodied occupants.

I laughed off the haunting and did my best to ignore the two ghosts, but at times they were annoying and even destructive to property.

Tom and I owned a rotary television, for example.  (I'm probaby dating myself by saying this, but facts are facts.)  The little television had a button that had to be pulled out to turn the tv on.  With regard to the television, the ghosts left us alone during the day.  In the wee hours of the morning, however, they would get bored and help themselves to our cable access.  The knob would be pulled out, and the volume would be turned up.  Tom and I gave them the courtesy of letting them watch for a half hour or so, but since our ghosts weren't paying for the cable access, one of us would have to get up and stumble down the dark, narrow hallway half asleep to turn the television off.  They did this often, as apparently they had never had cable access on the mountain.  (Perhaps the clarity of the picture held a certain allure.)

At other times, during the day when I washed dishes, our disembodied roommates announced their presence in other, more destructive ways.  Our glasses were not plastic, but real glass.  I would soap a glass and bring it up out of the bubbles to rinse it.  Right before my eyes, a hairline crack would form at the bottom of the glass.  I'd watch the crack go all the way around the glass, and then the bottom would fall out, as smooth as though it had been excised with a glass cutter.  I put a stop to these particular ghostly antics; I switched to plastic cups.

Tom and I learned way not to put heavy objects on top of the green dresser in the hallway.  More than once when he had company, we'd be sitting with our guests in the front room when the ghosts would push a mug or other heavy object off the back of the dresser.  The object would float in mid-air for several seconds, in full view of our astonished guests, and then would fall to the floor with a loud "thud".  We had to then explain to our guests, as casually as possible, that the trailer was haunted and that our ghosts were simply announcing their presence.  Although most of our guests were shocked at first, they eventually grew accustomed to the paranormal occurrences  in the trailer and simply accepted the haunting as a fact of life.

The voices in the bathroom at night were a little disturbing at times, especially when we were trying to sleep.  Our Native American squatters would relive their last moments on earth, with the wife yelling, "Why are you doing this to me?", and then screaming as the knife released the lifeblood from her veins.

Tom and I learned to adapt to the otherworldly activity that surrounded us, but our Siamese cat Puppy didn't take such a tolerant attitude toward our Native American friends.  Puppy would sit at the end of the hallway, he ears flat against the sides of her head.  Her emerald eyes wide with fear, she would gaze down the hallway toward the bedroom and growl.  Then she would literally bounce off the walls of the trailer, seeming to defy gravity as her claws found their way into the furniture, the carpets, and even the walls.  Cats are extra sensetive to wavelengths of sound that humans can't hear, and Puppy was apparently gifted in this area.  She evidently didn't adapt very well to her supernatural environment.

Tom and I eventually had the opportunity to move to a house in Rio Linda, California, not far from Del Paso Heights.  We sold the haunted trailer to the man who lived next door to us.  We told him about the haunting, and he laughed it off.  For his sake, I hope he uses plastic cups . . .







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