The Blood Came Back!!! a true story by woodshed.

My father was a Preacher, meaning we moved around a lot when I was young. In the spring of 1966 we moved to a large farmhouse donated by the church. The house was a donation to the church because the owner was unable to sell the place. Our first look at the old house it became obvious that it had been empty a long time. It needed repairs galore and in the middle of the living room was a huge stain on the floor. Someone in high-heels had walked through the puddle, through the house and out the back door. It looked like black paint until we started cleaning the spot. We quickly realized it was dried blood. We moved into our house after a thourough cleaning. Our first night was interrupted by noises outside. Looking around we found nothing. Sleep that night was filled with nightmares. The next night we were disturbed by someone stomping on the wooden porch. Each time we would find there was no one around. We gradually were getting used to our nocturnal visitors. But the noises kept getting worse. A month into our new home came an incident that would cause us to move from our country home. The stomping came as usual that night. Only this time it was preceded by a loud banging on the front door. We answered but nobody was there. The pounding came one more time only this time the door knob was rattling violently. Grabbing the handle while it still shook ,My father pulled open the door.There was nobody there.



The church found us a new home to live in the following day. The owner came as we were moving and sheepishly informed us that a murder had taken place in the house, some 40 years before. We left for a quieter house with some relief. Months later my father remembered a small garden he had started in the back yard. With me , we went back to see if there were any veggies. I couldn't resist a look inside the old place,so I went in. The blood was back exactly where we had so carefully it up before.



We never told this to a living soul until I found someone like you who would listen and comprehend it with out thinking me insane. Six brothers and sisters remain now. And our talk always return to that house.



woodshed

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