In 2019 Halloween actually fell on a Thursday, the day on which these blogs normally post. Our family had just returned from a trip to Hot Springs and, given the “occurrences” of our last night there, this seemed like the perfect subject for the season. But the weekend before, our area was hit with violent storms resulting in the loss of a life and tremendous property damage, so instead the devastation became the focus.  Ah, but now, as we await the coming of All Hallows Eve, the moment has finally arrived when I may tell the tale. Ladies and gentlemen, I present for your consideration . . . “The Haunting of Cora Thomas”.

It was a magnificent old house, an ancient Victorian that, despite having been renovated for the purpose of renting to travelers in need of a resting place, still whispered of its former life.  The ceilings rose to 12 foot heights.  The front stairway was beautiful with its hand-carved newel post and balustrades, turning and climbing a full 22 steps to the second floor; there was even a back set of stairs the servants would have used decades earlier to move from the kitchen to the second floor . . . and beyond to places forbidden to the traveler.  With baseboards a full twelve inches high and massive trim work throughout the house, it spoke of a time long since past when such elegance was the standard of the day.

My son had been concerned about the quality of the mattresses upon which we would be sleeping; he had a less than desirable experience with the mattress quality of a previous rental and had suggested contacting the host regarding this issue.  I, on the other hand, had only one question.

Is it haunted?

Given the age of the house and what I presumed to be its history, it seemed to be a logical assumption.  As it turned out, it was a question we should have asked . . .

The first night was somewhat uneventful.  Everyone chose their bedroom (there were two on the first floor and four on the second) with the oldest kids occupying one of the largest rooms; said room contained a double bed and two twin beds, each positioned in opposing corners.  I admit, I was uneasy that first night.  I would find myself glancing toward the foot of the bed, fully expecting to find some sort of apparition watching me.  It did not help that this particular room was on the front of the house, with a door that once led to a second story porch but which now led to nowhere—and was secured in such a manner that it could not be opened.  No specters appeared but, just as I was drifting off to sleep, there was a loud bang that echoed from the parlor below.  It was followed by the usual sounds of an old house as the night cools down and the exterior boards begin to contract.  At least that’s what I told myself.

Having survived the first night, I found it easier to sleep the second and on the third night I was so tired I’m not sure I even moved.  But the fourth night . . . on the fourth night I was restless, constantly waking up each time the small air conditioner in the window would come on, trying to cool this room at the top of the stairs that seemed to have collected all the warmth from the gas heaters below.  And my granddaughter Cora was beginning to show signs of illness.  So there was whimpering and footsteps as she would go downstairs to her parents’ room, not once . . . not twice . . . not three times, but four.  Every hour, on the hour.

The next morning my son asked if she had disturbed me, for each time she went downstairs she passed the room where I was sleeping.  Yes, she woke me up, but it wasn’t a problem.  Then he told me on her first trip she claimed her brothers kept pulling her covers off.  She made the same statement on her second trip to their room.  They managed to convince her Wilson and Anderson were not the culprits, so she trudged back up the stairs and climbed back into her bed.  On her third trip down she told them “those people” were still pulling back her covers.  And when they questioned who “those people” might be, she said “those teenagers”.

On her last trip down the stairs she told her parents she was afraid she was going to fall out of her bed.  And when they asked her why, she said . . .

“because it won’t quit shaking . . .”

As Joseph recounted the story, his eyes grew slightly larger with each trip down the stairs.  As he finished, he touched his temples with his finger tips and proposed that, perhaps, these were the feverish dreams of a child who, unbeknownst to us at the time, was coming down with strep throat and the flu.  She did have a fever which could have made her hot and caused her to kick off her covers.  She could have been shivering in her sickness, making her think the bed was shaking.  She could have been . . .

Her mother had a different theory.  It was a ghost who had enjoyed our company and was sad to see us leave.  That was his or her way of bidding us farewell.

But I, with my Hitchcockian imagination spawned in the bowels of the theological nether regions, posited that perhaps it was indeed a ghost . . . a spirit that had never wanted us there to begin with.  Knowing that revenge is a dish best served cold, he chose to bide his time . . . lulling us into a sense of complacency and security . . .  And then, when we believed ourselves to be safe, he chose to terrorize the weakest among us who could still tell the tale of what had happened.  My son assured me if that was the case, the ghost had chosen poorly.  Had Cora known that one was responsible, she would have stood up in her bed and told him to stop.

So, there you have it my friends, a series of perfectly explainable events.  Were they the product of an ailing child’s fever-driven dreams?  Was it a friendly spirit bidding us farewell?  Or was it truly a ghoul whose method and timing were meant to create the maximum amount of terror in the souls of innocent travelers?  If you truly want my opinion . . .

It’s a good thing that was our last night.

About the author:  Lisa Shackelford Thomas is a fourth generation member of a family that’s been in funeral service since 1926.  She has been employed at Shackelford Funeral Directors in Savannah, Tennessee for over 40 years and currently serves as the manager there.  Any opinions expressed here are hers and hers alone, and may or may not reflect the opinions of other Shackelford family members or staff.

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