Under the Floor Boards…..
by Belinda Nash
Many visitors come and go from the Ferry Plantation House each year, but when some leave they have lasting memories they take with them. It could be at any time of the day when visiting the historic Ferry Plantation House. You enter any room and get the feeling that you are not alone. Shortness of breath, heaviness on your chest, signs that some one from the past is trying to contact you. I call those visitors “soul prints of the past”. They just want their story to be told.
It was fall, the smell of cooler weather is in the air. Entering the old kitchen you could smell fresh dirt as if you had been turning the garden. The doors are locked and the air conditioner is off with the cool night air. Paranormal groups regularly come to the house to do research and to test equipment. A Paranormal investigation was conducted in the Plantation House the night before. Something was was awakened and survived long after the investigation was over.
I am now all alone in the house and from under the floor boards, faint cries could be heard, as if someone or something were being hurt. Could this be an animal trapped below? The sounds became clearer. I went outside to see if anyone were calling, or if maybe a rusted hinge had made the noise. No one could be found and the hinges got some attention with oil. The sounds came again more muffled but this time it was a man’s voice that could be heard. Could it be voices bouncing off the surrounding houses? The chills cause the hair on the back of your neck and arms to raise. Is it my imagination playing tricks on me? Maybe just the wind catching the tree branches just right made the sounds. At this point I felt I should leave but debated putting off my work at the house. At different times as the neighborhood was being built up, strange sounds were reported from under the old house left boarded up and abandoned for twelve years. The sound of chains dragging and heavy doors banging were heard along with cries from the Sycamore tree. The iron bars remain on the windows with the shackles and keys, reminders of the old court house.
That same afternoon a phone call came in. “We want to book the house for another investigation. We have voices on our recorders, you just aren’t going to believe it. So much has showed up on our equipment. You have to see and hear this!” The next booking that I could give them was May, not so long to wait. I was relieved to know that I was not the only one hearing the voices. The souls of the past have a story to tell and only time can reveal their message.
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