6: a new venture
1994
Even though Wes and I didn’t agree on the subject of ghosts, there was one thing we did agree on. Family came first—always. Wes was a talented trim carpenter and an accomplished furniture/cabinet builder. He had a good job, but it was a one-hundred-mile round trip and the company he worked for required massive amounts of overtime. Typically, he left before the children got up in the mornings and didn’t make it home until after they’d gone to bed at night. When our six-year-old son started to ask when his daddy was going to come and visit, we knew it was time for a change.
Knowing the company Wes worked for subbed some of their work out to other companies, we began to entertain the idea of starting our own business. At first, I thought this was just one of those things couples dreamed about doing one day. Without realizing what I was getting into, I played along with the idea and said if he really wanted to do this, I’d work with him to help get the business started. Before I knew what was happening, we were out searching for a building we could rent. With my head spinning, we put a deposit down on a shop that was only five miles from our home and we began the exciting venture of starting our own business. The building had been empty for awhile, so when Wes went to purchase the equipment we were going to need, I stayed behind to clean the shop and get the office set up.
The first day I worked alone, I kept feeling as though someone else was there. This feeling was different from what I’d experienced at home. This was creepy. I didn’t really sense I was in any danger, but I didn’t like the feeling either. I walked through the building and checked each room. There was no one there but me. For peace of mind, I locked the door before I started cleaning the back part of the shop.
As I swept the floors, I tried to convince myself that I simply got spooked by being in an unfamiliar place by myself. With my head down and my mind focused on what I was doing, the lights went off, then came back on. I jerked my head up and saw what I thought was Wes standing in the shadows of the doorway. I yelled out to him not to do that.
I made my way across the long shop and told him he’d made it back earlier than I thought he would. Still walking to the door, I asked if he’d already gotten everything he needed. He never answered. I made my way to the front of the shop, but couldn’t find him anywhere. I walked over to the window and looked outside for his truck. It wasn’t there. A cold chill ran down my spine as I looked back at the empty doorway where I’d seen someone standing seconds before.
I didn’t want to go back into the shop area, so I turned off the lights and shut the door. I decided to work up front and get the office ready. I started organizing the file cabinet. As I dropped the crisp, new folders into place, I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was standing behind me, looking over my shoulder. Trying to ignore it, I sat down at the desk and put a piece of paper into the typewriter. Whoever it was seemed to have backed away a little, but they were still there—watching.
After working a few days by myself and dealing with the feeling of always being watched, I started to complain to Wes about not wanting to be there alone. He hadn’t been impressed when I told him our house was haunted and he sure wasn’t impressed when I told him I thought the shop was, too.
Even though he didn’t put much stock in my complaints, he agreed to try to minimize the time I had tospend there alone. If Wes and I were both there, I could still feel the presence of what I now believe to be an older man, but as long as I wasn’t alone, the feeling was tolerable. Of course, to Wes, it was nothing more than my overactive imagination.
If it was my imagination, Wes soon got a healthy dose of “imagination,” too. With the business now in full operation, he’d go to work at the shop in the morning while I got the children off to school. After dropping them off, I’d walk into the shop and announce, “I’m here.”
Without fail, he’d jump, and then scream, “Why do you do that?”
At first, I thought it was kind of funny, but after awhile I got tired of being yelled at. Trying to have a calmer start to the workday, I walked in one morning and stood perfectly still until he noticed I was there. That was a bad idea. He actually threw a tool across the shop that morning.
Wes had never been an overly skittish person, but he was sure becoming one. I was constantly asking him why he was so jumpy and what I could do to prevent scaring him when I came into work.
He’d laugh it off and tell me that maybe I should wear bells or something. Keeping that in mind, I walked in one morning, picked up the office phone, dialed our own number, and hung up. Knowing our phone would ring, I sat at the desk and waited for him to come and answer it. When he came through the door, I said, “It’s just me.”
He jumped straight up and literally spun around in the air. Before his feet hit the ground, he was yelling.
Even though I hadn’t meant to scare him, I couldn’t help but laugh. Trying to control myself, I asked him again how he would like me to come into work, because nothing I tried seemed to be acceptable.
Now laughing himself, he admitted there was nothing different for me to try. We were just going to have to accept the fact that I would start my workday by being yelled at, while he started his with having the bejabbers scared out of him.
Even though Wes wouldn’t even entertain the idea that the shop could be haunted, he too started to complain that he always felt as though someone were watching him. When I questioned him about it, he’d say, “This is just a creepy old building.” He also talked about how my wild imagination must have been getting to him. I didn’t think my imagination had anything to do with it, nor did it have anything to do with what happened next.