A Locked Door Opens and Closes
In 1977, my wife Celene and I were living in a small three-bedroom house in Tuluca Lake, CA. The house was over 20 years old, and was one of the first homes built on Rose Street. We had bought the house from the original owner.
We loved this house. It was unique in many ways. A cozy den with a fireplace, a curved nook kitchen table which promoted great conversations, a formal dining room, and 30 x 15 swimming pool in a private back yard. Our friends came to visit us often and almost always on Sunday.
It was late fall and our friends Bill and Lori were over for a late Sunday brunch and swim. We had finished eating, the women were in the kitchen, while Bill and I went to the living room to discuss the events of the day. We had just sat down on the couch when I distinctly heard the back bedroom door close with a soft "thud". I wondered how that could be as I could hear Celene and Lori chatting in the kitchen and Bill was right in front of me.
Just then, I heard footsteps coming down the hallway towards the living room. The footsteps were fairly heavy, they sounded like two men walking at a quick pace. A second or two later, two figures emerged from the hall, through the doorway, and were heading for the front door.
I could make out that these two ethereal figures one of them was a tall lanky guy wearing khaki pants and a wool, plaid shirt. The other guy was shorter, had curly blonde hair, and looked like he was saying something to his friend. The both appeared to be in their late teens or early twenties. They were wearing heavy boots, the kind that the military might issue.
They were engrossed in conversation as they walked towards the front door, which opened unaided, and closed behind them as they left the house. A door resembling the real front door slammed with a pop, and as the figures exited, they passed by the front window, then faded away.
I quickly looked over at Bill, and asked "What was that?" He remained totally silent. After a few moments, I went to the kitchen to chat with Celene and Lori.
Just hours before, Lori had misidentified our black cat, calling it "Blackie". Our conversation drifted from what happened with the two ghostly figures and more to the point that maybe there was some sort of correlation between the two events. Celene asked if I could call the previous owner of the house and find out if they ever had a cat.
I found the man's phone number in our house closing documents, and reached him on the first try. He was happy to hear from us and was glad we were living in the house. I shared our good feeling about the landscaping , then told him about our two cats, "Salt" and "Pepper". He chimed in and told me about their long-haired black cat which had had it's life cut short when it was run over in front of the house. I inquired about the cat's name - his reply was "Blackie". My response was a prolonged "riiight". Then I inquired about his son, and he told me the Vietnam War had taken him. When I asked if he had a tall friend, he commented that that would be "Slim" who had
enlisted in the service with his son. Slim had also died in 'Nam. I thanked him for the information and spent the rest of the day contemplating what had happened, and how reality may not be truly solid and that there could be an assortment of visible and invisible worlds.
