This story was told to me by my mother. It took place in the back hills of West Virginia back in the late 1930’s.
My great grandmother Judy and my grandmother Mary were canning vegetables. The house was set up that when you came into the side door you were in the kitchen, from the kitchen you could see into the dining room and then on into the living room. In the living room, there was a huge fireplace, around the fireplace were 7 rocking chairs were the family would sit and talk about the day’s events after dinner.
My great-grandfather, his brother and their cousins all worked for the railroad, so Mary and Judy were the only ones home. They were walking back and forth from the kitchen to the dining room placing the jars on the dining room table when my grandmother yelled for Judy to come and look.
My grandmother was standing in the dining room pointing into the living room at the rocking chairs all rocking at the same tempo, all at the same time. All the windows and doors were shut so there was no breeze in the house. Then all of a sudden they just stopped, they didn’t slow down, they just stopped.
Mary looked at the clock, it read 11:25. About 30 minutes later, my great uncle came running into the house yelling that my great-grandfather had just been hit by a train. The time of death was around 11:30.
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