Dad built a house for each of his two wives. Both marriages ended in divorce, but the houses themselves have lasted.
So I’m visiting Dad one weekend. The back of his house is a corn field. I’m In my bedroom (originally painted blue for my former stepbrother) and I’m at my desk doing some homework. I must have been about 7 or 8. I can feel something looking at me. It’s not a thought… It’s a feeling. I look around but no one – human or paranormal – is in the room. I carry on reading but cannot shake the feeling that something is watching me. Then I look down to the baseboard. There, the size of my fist, is a spider. It’s so large that I gasp but don’t scream. I’m almost 10 and I know it is irrational to be afraid of spiders. So I gather my wits about me and walk to Dad in the living room.
“Dad, would you come to kill a spider for me?” (Yes, I know in some countries it is bad luck to kill a spider but in the Midwest, spiders can be particularly venomous! Get me a newspaper!)
“Sure.” Dad climbs from his comfortable chair, walks into his bedroom and emerges with what we used to call a Flip-Flop. Imagine if you will, a bit of foam the size of Dad’s foot with a bit of tough fabric on the top that holds your foot to the sole of the sandal. The sandal makes a distinctive “Thowk” as you walk along. These were particularly popular in the 1970s.
I showed Dad the spider and he immediately turned around and left the room. Dad returned with another particularly popular shoe – a high heeled, platform cowboy boot. I left the room – to escape the carnage. This is what I heard:
WHAM
WHAM
WHAMWHAMWHAMWHAMWHAM
WHAM
“Jade, come bring me some paper towel!”
