Voices in the Wall

It’s been my experience that when the phone rings at three in the morning it will not be good. Someone died, someone is in the hospital, or someone dead is bugging someone alive. It is usual the later.

Such was the case on August 5th, 2010. Mr. Jenkins called claming he had voices in his walls. He had enough and wanted someone there immediately to remove them. I have never heard of him before that call. I inquired where he got my number. He said from my sister who belongs to the St. Nabens Paranormal Society. I figured this was her way of pay back, after that surprise birthday party I gave her…she hates surprises. Mr. Jenkins lives on the south side of St. Nabens, Ma. in the historical district. I live on the north side, in the burbs, a distance of about six miles. I really did not want to go out. I just wanted to snuggle up with my wife in the air conditioning. But he insisted.

Mr. Jenkins home is a one story, red brick, historical home built in the late 1700’s. French Style Colonial, with recessed entrance, and high gable roofs. A large granite stone, about two foot tall and two foot square, sits in his lawn holding a plague that tells of the houses history. Seems the home was originally an Inn back in the late 1700’s through the early 1800’s called, The Hamlet. Then it was residential. One family owned it all these years, the Andersons. Mr. Jenkins is leasing the home from the Andersons for the summer. He is about sixty-five years old.

He rushes out to greet me, hurrying me into the house. He tells me that he has lived here for the last three months and every now and then he hears the voices. Tonight, however, the voices are louder. I asked him if he had called the owners. Maybe they know what is causing the noise. He said yes, they assured him they did not know what he was talking about. When the Andersons finally came over after his constant harassment, the voices did not come fourth.

“Sort of like the singing frog,” I suggested, however he was not amused. He took me into living room and pointed to the wall with a fireplace. He then pointed to a spot right below an oil painting, informing me that is where the voices come from. I bend down to listen and hear nothing. The singing frog is working over time. I check the wall for visible wires going into it, and then with a flashlight check beneath the wall in the basement. I climb into the attic and check the wall from above, still no wires in the general area of the disturbance. The wall is adjoining to the dining room, and on the opposite side I check thoroughly. It is clean as well.

When I step back into the living room Mr. Jenkins stands by the oil painting with a five pound sledge in his hands. With one swing he takes out a large section of the two hundred year old wall reveling the jagged, hand made, two by threes. With another swing he finishes the job removing the remaining plaster, a vacant spot from floor to ceiling. He sits the sledge next to the fallen oil painting.

Nothing in the wall, then, as we were examining the area a deep muffled male voice came softly from the area. Chills ran up my spine. I listened carefully and noticed there was a slight echo in these audible ghost voices. Then I noticed a vent running from the fireplace to the ceiling. I once again listened to the voices in the vent, here they were louder. I asked him where the vent exited and he said the spare bedroom. I went into the bedroom and there the voices were distinct, very clear and definitely a lot louder. An alarm clock sitting on a night stand, next to the vent was talking away, suddenly it stopped. I checked the clock and it was set to go off every night at two o’clock. This particular clock has an automatic snooze feature and that explains why the voices came and went. Mr. Jenkins informed me that is when he usually hears the voices.

The talking frog does exist after all. I claimed the house as exercised and went home. I’m not sure how Mr. Jenkins explained the damaged wall to the Andersons. Perhaps he told them the voices did it?

Photo Compliments of Keyw.com