Life on Soldier Creek

By Melissa Kraft

The past is behind us, love is in front and all around us.
~Terri Guillemets

Babies raising babies described us best. As newlywed teenagers, Jason and I had struggled for two years to raise our son, Aaron, when we got an offer we really couldn't refuse. Jason's father's boss was looking for a family to move into his mother's farmhouse. He asked for a small rent payment in exchange for taking care of Mrs. Lineberry's property while she resided in the long-term care unit of our local hospital.

"She had her roses and he had his hummingbirds," Jody's boss had said, remembering his now deceased father and ailing mother. To us, taking care of the things they loved seemed like a small price to pay.

On moving day, I saw the beautiful white house on the inside for the first time. I had been forewarned that it would remain slightly furnished and I was pleased to see a few antique pieces left behind. What I hadn't known was that there was one room inaccessible to us, packed with furniture and locked from the inside. Even from the outside, a thick curtain hung down over the window.

For the first few months, Jason worked nights. I felt like a frightened little girl, having never spent the night alone. "I'm a mother now," I told myself. When I turned off the television and lights at bedtime, I told myself that anybody would be a little suspicious in a house with a secret room.

It wasn't long before I felt at home and safe. The longer we were there, the more I imagined the couple who had lived there their whole life and had raised their children in the old house. Many times, while snipping the rose stems, I wondered about them, him sitting on the front porch watching his hummingbirds while she tended her roses. I wondered what it was like on the other side and if he was waiting for her. Would we be happy growing roses and feeding hummingbirds? Even though I had yet to see a single one, I would buy a hummingbird feeder.

That fall, I started going to Murray State and working two nights a week. Driving home from work at one o'clock in the morning, winding down our narrow curvy road was definitely out of my comfort zone. Fog often blanketed the road, sinking into the many dips and crevices. One night, the fog looked like dead bodies lying in the road. "I've got to get more rest," I said. I mentioned this to my mother, expecting she would just laugh and think I was crazy. Her reaction was something I never expected. "Do you know the story of Soldier Creek? It's only a few minutes from your house."

I did some searching. In 1945, a warplane carrying four officers and five soldiers had flown into a terrible storm. The plane crashed after it was struck by lightning, killing nine of the passengers. Only one man managed to activate his parachute and fall 8,000 feet to safety. He spent the night out in the fierce storm until neighbors took him in. Hundreds of onlookers came to the site, some out of curiosity, some to take a piece of the wreckage as a souvenir, and some to fan the flies away from the bodies.

Afterwards, I no longer felt quite so silly. Were Mr. and Mrs. Lineberry living in our old house at the time? Could they have been the couple who helped the survivor?

Little did I know there would be more strange occurrences taking place near Soldier Creek. One night, Aaron and I were home alone, sleeping soundly, while Jason was at work. A lightning storm woke me up. I lay there for a few minutes trying to fall back to sleep when I heard somebody walking through the kitchen. At first, I was scared. But as I heard the footsteps pace the kitchen, open cabinets, rattle pots and pans, and pull out the kitchen chairs, I was convinced it was Jason, although he wasn't due home for hours.

My husband had had trouble keeping jobs, having hit the responsibility of the world a little too quickly once I had accidentally become pregnant with the baby. But so far, he had proven successful in keeping his job as a security guard, working nights from ten till six. Now, I was suspicious. Maybe he had been fired again. I waited for him to come and tell me. After several minutes, I called out for him. "Jason!" But there was no reply. I got up and walked into the kitchen. The light was on, but no one was there. I picked up the phone and started to dial 911 when something told me to call Jason's work number instead. When he picked up the phone, I whispered desperately, "Somebody's in the house!" As soon as I said that a sucking sensation went through the room and the screen door behind the back door slammed hard. Aaron woke up and came running down the hallway screaming and crying.

"What was that?" Jason asked.

"I think somebody left out the back door."

"Take a quick look around and see. If you don't come back in two minutes, I'll call 911 on my red phone."

That sounded like a great idea, but when I tried to lay down the phone, I realized I was frozen. No matter how hard I tried, my right hand would not let go of the phone and my right arm would not pull away from my ear.

"Jason, I can't move," I replied.

"This couldn't be about Mrs. Lineberry, could it?"

"What do you mean?"

"She died this evening. I was waiting for the right time to tell you."

All fear vanished. "That's it!" I said with joy flooding my heart. "Let me go check the house real quick!"

"Okay, I'll be right here," Jason assured me.

With the house all clear, I came back to the phone. "There's no reason to call the police."

"Well, okay. But, if you hear one more thing, call 911."

I promised him that I would. I put Aaron in my bed with me and he immediately fell asleep. I longed for daylight, so I walked into the living room, raised the shades and sat by the window waiting for sunrise. Had I really experienced Mrs. Lineberry's ghost?

Then, a single hummingbird came and hovered in front of me at eye level. I watched as it dipped down and hovered over a rose as if it were kissing it. I knew beyond a doubt that it was a sign!

I couldn't wait to call my stepmother who worked at the hospital where Mrs. Lineberry had been.

"Gail, tell Mrs. Lineberry's nurses that she's okay."

"Really?" she asked. I could tell from her tone that she knew she had passed away.

"Yes, she came home last night," I said, without any fear of embarrassment.

She promised to pass the word along.

I went and cuddled up to my sleeping little boy and slept more soundly than ever since moving in the house. Peace had come to Soldier Creek.

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