While not all places are haunted and not all hauntings can be substantiated, all kinds of energies exist everywhere and some merit a closer look. The Western Massachusetts area is rich in history and the people, places, and events that made that history have, in some instances, left a part of themselves in the process.
One of the earliest experiences I had that firmly planted my belief in the existence of the afterlife happened over 20 years ago in an old house in Williamsburg that had been standing during the Revolutionary War. It’s an old house that has been lovingly maintained over these many years. The exact location will not be identified as the owners at the time have moved on and the present owners may not want the information or the interest in their property that could result.
In January many years ago my mother was asked by family friends to baby-sit their two children so they could take a week-long vacation. One wintry night I got a call from mom asking me if I could come to the house and stay with the baby while she kept eye on the son. The boy had gone skiing earlier in the day and fractured his leg. Having him sleep in the downstairs guest room on the first floor was the best solution to his limited mobility. This guest room was outfitted like an old fashioned sleeping room. It had tab-top curtains and two single, iron beds with enough room for half a person and would be suitable unless you moved around a lot in your sleep.
The baby and I were to sleep in the upstairs master bedroom and after checking on her one last time I turned the lights off and went to bed. Just as I was falling asleep I heard footfalls on the attic stairs. These were not light treads, the sounds were heavy and were coming down the staircase. I laid there with my eyes closed wondering what was going to happen. The footfalls stopped and about a minute later, (that seemed like an eternity), there were three loud raps on the headboard just above where my head was. The raps sounded as though they came from inside the wood. I yanked the covers over my head and three more knocks ensued. I yelled, “Go away. I don’t want to see you.” A few minutes later the heavy footfalls were making their way back up the attic stairs.
I flew out of the bedroom and downstairs into that skinny metal bed in the guest room and told my mother to move over. She sat up and asked me what was wrong. I recounted the story to her in detail. She looked at me, smiled, and said, “The same thing happened to me last night and I just wanted to know if it would happen to you, too.” Just what do you say to that?!
Whoever that was in the attic was not the only one in the house that lived on the other side. There was an apparition of a woman in a long grey dress with a high collar. She was about five foot five, medium build, and wore her hair pulled up into a bun. She would walk from a small room across the living room floor and exit through the far wall. And, she would stop and look at you on occasion.
We decided to do some automatic writing with a few of our friends who had an interest in these sorts of things. A tall pile of large sheets of paper and a planchette were brought to the house. People placed their hands on the planchette and it started to move. Through this ‘conversation’ the woman told us her name. She shared where she came from and her occupation. She said she enjoyed being in the house and was just going about her business throughout the first floor. Now, I’d like to mention the woman’s name and information, but don’t feel comfortable doing it for the reasons stated above. I will say she expressed that she worked in Pittsfield as a teacher. We researched and found a woman by the same name living in Pittsfield, Massachusetts and working as a teacher. Pittsfield is not the same place the house is in, but she came from the town where the house is located.