When I lived in Basking Ridge NJ, I had a huge bi-level that was built in the early 60's. Even though it was like the house from the movie "The Money Pit", because everything was always broken and in need of repair; it did have its good points, like a pond, a babbling brook, and an 8 person hot tub.
But, it also had a ghost
. Only a short time after we moved there in 1992, I noticed that every night at exactly 2:00am, footsteps could be heard slowly walking up the stairs from the lower level, and the stairs would creak...creak....creak. Then the foot steps would proceed down the hallway toward out bedroom, softly, as if it were someone wearing bedroom slippers. Capt. Marvel (Mrs. Kephra) did not hear the sounds at first, and when I told her about them, she told me it was my imagination. So I woke her up, and she promptly became a believer.
Every night then, I would lie there, holding my breath, and clutching my trusty 12 guage bird gun; but there was never anyone there. Then the sounds would be gone, and there would be peace in the house until next night. Gradually, we became accustomed to the sounds since whatever it was did not seem to be malevolent. There was one other manifestation though that bothered me. I had an office on the lower level which was always 10 degrees colder than the rest of the house --- no matter what I did. I really didn't like to be in that room, but since I did a lot of work at home, I didn't have much choice.
This phenomena continued until July 16, 1994. I remember that day well because that was the day that comet Shoemaker-Levy fell into Jupiter. My wife and I were sitting on our sofa in the lower level watching the news about the comet, when a wave of intense cold passed over first the Capt., and then me. Our cat, a 22 pound blue torbie, jumped straight up into the air, and all its fur stood on end. The cat made a quick exit up the stairs.
Capt. M. said: "There's someone in the room with us!".
Well, I knew that something wasn't right, and I also knew that Capt. Marvel has mediumistic abilities, but is unable to act independantly in such circumstance. I had to take an active part by telling her what to do. I simply told her to ask whatever it was to identify itself, and that started a 'conversation' with the spirit.
After about 45 minutes, we had not only learned that the name of our ghost was "Tumac", we also learned why he was haunting our house. Tumac told us he was a member of a Lenape indian tribe who had lived in the area long ago. He was with a hunting party, and had an accident breaking his leg, preventing him from continuing on. The hunting partly left him with the intent of picking him up on their return and taking him back to their camp. Unfortuneatly two things happened.... a heavy snowfall, and Tumac died. His party was unable to locate him.
We asked Tumac why he was still here, and what he wanted. His response was that he couldn't leave until he had a proper burial ceremony, which would be difficult since his tribe was long gone. So we asked if we could perform the ceremony, and he agreed that that would satisfy his need. His explanation of what he needed was a funeral pyre, and for us to sit around it while beating on drums. Interestingly, this request related to some compulsions that we had been experiencing. One of which was to purchase an outside fireplace (which would have been illegal in our community), and the other was drumming on our Tupperware bowls.
The next day, we purchased the fireplace, and loaded it up with wood. We waited until 11:00pm, started the fire, and pulled up our lawn chairs and Tupperware. The fire burned smoky, and I was afraid someone would report us and bring down the Jersey police on us, but no one did. Instead, we sat there watching the smoke, and as quietly as we could, beat on our makeshift tom-toms. After a half hour, I could swear I started to see faces in the smoke, and when I looked around, it looked like there was twenty or so others around the fire with us. (No, I wasn't drinking). We sat there until the fire burned out.
My wife had one more communication from Tumac. He told us he was pleased, and he could now move on, but he said that if we ever needed his help, we only had to call his name. After that night, the footsteps in the house ceased, and my office warmed up. Tumac was gone to the happy hunting ground. Unfortuneately, it turned out that Tumac wasn't the only spirit haunting the house, but that's another story for another time.