Lying in bed last night with my book and hearing it in my head being read by Nathan Fillian, whose character, Richard Castle from the TV show Castle, is credited for writing it, I was interrupted by a distinct knock on the kitchen door.
I leaned forward and looked out through the en-suite window that is next to the kitchen door and saw no one was there. I decided to ignore it.
A few minutes later another knock disturbed Nathan’s narrative and I once again leaned forward, looked out the window and saw nothing. Once again, I decided to ignore it.
When a third knock threw Nathan off, I decided to get up and check it out.
My first thought was that Willow was outside the door on the deck tossing around his latest kill. But he was sitting at the top of the basement stairs washing his face. Hmmm…
I crossed the kitchen, flicked on the porch lights and looked outside. There was no one there.
Back to bed so Nathan could continue to regale me with Derrick Storm’s adventures.
At 11:30, Nathan was yawning more than he was reading, so I gave him the rest of the night off, closed the book, turned out the light and settled in to go to sleep.
Knock, knock, knock.
Clearly, though it sounded like it was coming from the kitchen door, it had to be coming from elsewhere. I laid very still and listened for the knock, concentrating so I could pin-point its origin.
Several minutes passed in silence. Oliver and Willow both snuggled in beside me and within a few minutes their purring lulled me to sleep.
I dreamed that my feet were really dirty, but I could only get the left one clean. The dirt would not come off my right foot. I vaguely recall that there was a sandwich involved somehow, but I have no idea what one had to do with the other. Nor do I care. I think dreams are fun and interesting to recall when I can, but otherwise do not put any stock in them having any special meaning. The knock, however, that woke me – and Oliver and Willow – from this dream was another matter altogether.
It was 2:23 a.m. when the fifth knock at the door drew me from my warm bed with the determination to determine its source once and for all.
“You better be opportunity knocking!” I said to the night as I stumbled through the darkness into the kitchen.
As I approached the kitchen door, I heard the knock again.
Knock, knock, knock.
I couldn’t see anyone outside, but I threw back the dead bolt, flung open the door and stepped outside.
Nothing. No one.
I stood there listening for the sound of retreating footsteps. There was none.
This is ridiculous I thought as I retreated back inside, re-locked the door and helped myself to a glass of water. I figured that, since I was up anyway, I would stop off at the little girl’s room for a minute where, mid-stream, a seventh knock reverberated through the walls from the kitchen door. I ignored it completely.
Back in master bedroom central, Oliver and Willow were both sitting on the bed staring in the direction of the en-suite window.
“There’s no one there,” I told them. “I think it’s just Harry being a bit of a pill.”
I crawled back into bed and fell almost instantly back to sleep. Oliver and Willow snuggled back up beside me purring softly.
At 6:46 a.m. – you guessed it! – knock, knock, knock. I woke up, sat up, leaned forward to look out the window and – no surprise – saw that no one was there. Might as well get up, I thought, and proceeded to get out of bed. Willow leaped down to the floor and raced ahead of me to the kitchen door, through which I let him outside. Oliver sauntered out to the kitchen and proceeded to help himself to breakfast. I did my thing in the bathroom, got the coffee started and sat down to check my e-mail and see what my Facebook pals were up to on this fine Sunday morning.
Just for fun, I Googled “knocking” to see what would come up. Bob Dylan’s Knocking on Heaven’s Door was the lead result. (I rolled my eyes.) Written and sung by Mr. Dylan in 1973 for the soundtrack to the movie Pat Garret and Billy the Kid, this classic rock tune reached #12 on the Billboard Hot 100 Singles chart. Since then it has been covered by: Vlado Kreslin, Arthur Louis, Eric Clapton, the Grateful Dead, Guns ‘n’ Roses, the Alarm, Warren Zevon, Avril Lavigne, Wyclef Jean, Babyface, Antony and the Johnsons, U2 and (Ms.) Randy Crawford to name but a few. It seems that this simple song about a dying deputy has stood the test of time and, at 40 years old, continues to make Old Bob what must be a fair bit in royalties. But I’m relatively sure there is no synchronistic connection to the phantom knocking on my kitchen door, which, while I think is a little slice of heaven, and near which several small rodents and birds have entered heaven, is just a kitchen door.
The second Google result for Knocking was for Knocking, the documentary about the Jehovah Witness’s legal victory to not have to accept blood transfusions. And finally there were references to engine knocking and what it could mean. Nothing popped with either of these, either.
Images for knocking scored pretty much the expected stuff: close-ups of door knockers, both the decorative and the human kind.
So was this just another example of the odd stuff that happens from time to time at Alegria? I’m loath to use the term paranormal, because I am convinced that there is a rational, reasonable, scientific explanation for it. Even being less than three feet away from my kitchen door when I heard a distinct knock and could clearly see that no one was there through it, is not enough to convince me that a ghost is to blame. It was weird. But it was only weird – in that there is no obvious explanation.
I am utterly fascinated by the things that happen in this house. I do wish they would not disturb my sleep. (Or Nathan Fillian’s oratorical recitations.) I also wish they would happen more when other people are around to witness them. I’m beginning to wonder if I’m not waxing schizophrenic or something and if the things like the knocking are symptomatic auditory hallucinations associated with that condition. At least no one is directing me to take inappropriate actions and I think that my paranoia levels are well within the normal range… Is there a normal range for paranoia? (Does that sound a little paranoid to you?)
Well, I’m going to knock back another cup of coffee and then head on out to the back yard to relocate some more gravel. Hopefully tonight Nathan Fillian will not be disturbed as he reads more from Storm Front… although if he decides to knock on my kitchen door, I’d be perfectly okay with that!