Something in the garage was scaring the kids. “Mom, there is a voice in the garage. I’ve actually heard it before, but last time it only giggled, this time it said “peek-a-boo, I see you.”
Well that’s not creepy AT ALL, and beings this bit of news came from the kid who is not prone to an over active imagination (which is obvious by the fact that he chose not to tell me when he heard ‘just’ giggling), I decided to do the obvious thing, and just wait until Mike got home.
Mike got home and we poured a glass of wine (as all fearless investigators would) and once again the kids came running in the house, “Mom, we heard it again!”
“It has to be neighbor kids messing around”
“No, it sounds like one of Sister’s toys”
After a glass of Pinot Gris I was feeling a bit more brave, “Ok, let’s go see”.
As a side note: Never investigate anything, possibly demon possessed or not, with two bickering kids. It goes like this:
“See did you hear it?”
“THERE, RIGHT THERE! DID YOU HEAR IT????”
“SEE!!!!! MOM!!!! There it was again”
“I can’t hear anything except you two, talking.”
“No you, SHHHHH”
Honestly, anything that meant harm would be so annoyed it would have just given up and left.
But then they were finally quiet and I DID hear it. And it DID giggle. And it DID say “Peek-a-boo I see you”. And it did sound like a toy, but not one that we had ever purposely brought into our home, and neither kid had had a talking toy in years. But it WAS really flippin’ creepy.
My 1988 inner child, (the one that forced herself to sit through “Chucky”), wanted to run and never look back, but I’m a grown up now, so I stood frozen and said, “Yeah, we gotta find that, ’cause it’s freaking me out.”
And there has never been a forty year old woman tear through “going to Goodwill” boxes with such intensity.
“Shhhhh, everybody stop!”, said my husband, who had just walked in and was clearly under the impression that I had jumped aboard the prepubescent-imagination-crazy-train, but after another “peek-a-boo” and giggle, “WHOA , that’s weird.”.
“Yeah, thanks, we’ve already determined that, what the H-E-double hockey sticks is it???”
I continued to rip into boxes and look under cabinets while being watched by a wide eyed eleven year old and an eight year old who, while still presumably freaked out, had lapsed into frantic giggles.
“It’s coming from the rafters.”
I looked up, and one more creepy giggle came from right above my head, only a thin layer of insulation between me and whatever it was, and I had boxed myself into a corner, blocked off from the rest of my family by upturned boxes of give away dishes and “gently used” clothes.
“But there’s nothing in the rafters except…oh…Halloween decorations.”
“Mom! Remember that little ghost guy that we used to put by the front door, he talked, but we lost the feet so we didn’t use him last year…”.
“Oh for crying out loud! Well you guys deal with it, I’m going back in the house and finishing my wine.”
And that my friends, is why you always remove the batteries from anything you expect to stay quiet when you store it away.
“We found it Mom, and fixed it.”
“Oh good. Ummmm…it did have batteries in it right?”
“Just making sure.”