The Voice with No Face

Image Courtesy of Pixabay.com by Amber_Avalona

After touching a lock of hair belonging to the widower's wife next door, it didn't take long before my dad noticed unsettling instances pop up in and around the duplex on West Street.   

    One evening, my father was called to work the yard at Mingo Junction, the local railroad near Follansbee, WV. My maternal grandfather had worked there for decades but my dad was a fairly new hire. 

    He packed up and headed to work, climbing behind the wheel of our family car. He rounded the corner and heard his name called. While still driving, he opened the driver's side door and listened thinking maybe something beneath the car was dragging. But he heard nothing but tires on pavement.  

    Satisfied that the car was okay he drove off to work. 

    This was one of many more experiences our family and friends had in the House on West Street.

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