My mother-in-law used to live in a house at the junction of Rt. 7 and Rt. 20. Her youngest son was only a few months old and she would push his crib against the wall by the fireplace, so he wouldn’t get cold in the wintertime.
She would walk into another room and hear a loud noise. When she went back to see what it was, the crib would be pushed away from the wall. She even tried rearranging her furniture, but nothing she would put against that wall would stay there.
A few months later, it was a hot summer day and she had her doors and windows open. She was washing dishes in the kitchen when, all at once, the doors and windows slammed shut. She went outside to check on her kids because she thought they were playing a joke on her, but they were all playing like nothing had happened and there was no breeze. They moved shortly after that. A few years later, the house was torn down and they found the bones of a baby in the fireplace. I am told that the house was a funeral home in the late 1800’s.
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