My Experiences as a Child in the Home of Alexander Means
By Sara Means Kitchens
I was born in a haunted house. Perhaps you don’t believe this, but wait until I tell you about the strange things that happened to me in this house.
This haunted place was none other than the beautiful colonial home of my great-grandfather, Dr. Alexander Means and it is located in the small college town of Oxford, Georgia.
The house is a typical antebellum home and was there when [General] Sherman marched through Georgia. It sits quite a distance from the street. Four very tall columns support the large [front] porch. In the front yard is a grove of large trees, and on dark nights, the owls, hidden in the bowers, would screech their mournful lament. I always turned my left shoe over when I heard them, for my black mammy had told me to do this -- that it would make them leave, and it always seemed to work.
As one enters the house, there is a narrow hall which leads to a large back porch. This back porch runs into a long, narrow side porch on which the dining room, butler’s pantry, and kitchen are located. Near the front entrance hall is a [staircase] that goes up to the second floor and another [staircase] on the back porch comes down from the second floor. I mention these stairs and these porches because here is where my ghost walks; but let me tell you about him later.
To me, the most interesting room in the house [is] the one called the parlor. This was where the oil paintings of my ancestors hung. One was of a beautiful lady with a rose in her bonnet known to me as “Aunt Sally.” I was named [after] her. She was said to have spent many hours a day playing sad, lovely music on the beautiful old grand piano. She died young, but it seems that her music lingered on. This parlor always held me in awe, as I was required to practice from one to two hours per day in this room with many eyes looking down at me from their gilded frames.
I remember hearing strains of soft music one night coming from somewhere in the house, but at first I couldn’t locate it. Finally, after walking around, I knew that it was coming from the parlor. Cautiously, I entered the room. The music stopped. I saw no one, so I closed the door thinking that it was Aunt Sally playing her sad refrain. I never heard the strange music again, but many others have – yet no one has been able to explain it.
My great-grandfather’s study was directly over the room I occupied. He would sit in a rocking chair and rock, thinking, and smoking black cigars. [Long after he died, his] chair still rocked sometimes at night, and I remember covering my head in fear and wondering how a chair could rock by itself – with all the windows closed [so] no wind [was blowing through] the room.
As a child, these things, and many others unexplained things, happened to me. Once I saw a small child standing on the stairs. As I approached her, she simply disappeared. I asked about it and my old nurse said, “Now don’t you worry none, honey, that’s just little Mary.” That was the first time I had been told about my grandfather’s little girl who had died at the age of three and, believe it or not, her name was Mary.
I remember the cellar with the dug-out dirt floor under the back porch. Here was where Dr. Means did his experiments. After he died, the room was used to store canned fruit and to keep watermelons cool. Sometimes I would be sent down to pick out a can and I thought it was the very darkest place in the world. I always carried a candle to light my way down the steps. But other times, I would go down to the room and there would be no need for a candle because it would be brightly illuminated. Can you explain this?
Now I come to our most prominent family ghost. I have heard talk that all fine old families have their ghosts, but mine was rather extraordinary. He is said to be my Uncle Tobe who constantly paced back and forth on the long back porches, fretting and pouting because he was unable to persuade my grandfather to give him his inheritance in advance. When my grandfather finally consented to do this, Uncle Tobe began to spend his money quite recklessly on wild horses, and I suppose all the rest that went with his rash, irresponsible nature, particularly wine and women. He would ride like mad through the town late at night to the discomfort of the citizens, who often complained about it. But one night, he rode away and was never heard from again. Even now, every night at exactly 2:00 a.m., Uncle Tobe’s ghost walks from the top of the stairs, across the large back porch, onto the narrow porch out as far as the kitchen and then disappears completely. Visitors in the house would inquire about hearing the walking, and all we could say was, “Oh, that Uncle Tobe, our family ghost.”
This story, as far as I am concerned, is absolutely true. You may draw your own conclusions, but you must remember this: it is a psychological truth that if two people see or hear the same thing, it becomes an established fact.
So, what do you think?
This haunted place was none other than the beautiful colonial home of my great-grandfather, Dr. Alexander Means and it is located in the small college town of Oxford, Georgia.
The house is a typical antebellum home and was there when [General] Sherman marched through Georgia. It sits quite a distance from the street. Four very tall columns support the large [front] porch. In the front yard is a grove of large trees, and on dark nights, the owls, hidden in the bowers, would screech their mournful lament. I always turned my left shoe over when I heard them, for my black mammy had told me to do this -- that it would make them leave, and it always seemed to work.
As one enters the house, there is a narrow hall which leads to a large back porch. This back porch runs into a long, narrow side porch on which the dining room, butler’s pantry, and kitchen are located. Near the front entrance hall is a [staircase] that goes up to the second floor and another [staircase] on the back porch comes down from the second floor. I mention these stairs and these porches because here is where my ghost walks; but let me tell you about him later.
To me, the most interesting room in the house [is] the one called the parlor. This was where the oil paintings of my ancestors hung. One was of a beautiful lady with a rose in her bonnet known to me as “Aunt Sally.” I was named [after] her. She was said to have spent many hours a day playing sad, lovely music on the beautiful old grand piano. She died young, but it seems that her music lingered on. This parlor always held me in awe, as I was required to practice from one to two hours per day in this room with many eyes looking down at me from their gilded frames.
I remember hearing strains of soft music one night coming from somewhere in the house, but at first I couldn’t locate it. Finally, after walking around, I knew that it was coming from the parlor. Cautiously, I entered the room. The music stopped. I saw no one, so I closed the door thinking that it was Aunt Sally playing her sad refrain. I never heard the strange music again, but many others have – yet no one has been able to explain it.
My great-grandfather’s study was directly over the room I occupied. He would sit in a rocking chair and rock, thinking, and smoking black cigars. [Long after he died, his] chair still rocked sometimes at night, and I remember covering my head in fear and wondering how a chair could rock by itself – with all the windows closed [so] no wind [was blowing through] the room.
As a child, these things, and many others unexplained things, happened to me. Once I saw a small child standing on the stairs. As I approached her, she simply disappeared. I asked about it and my old nurse said, “Now don’t you worry none, honey, that’s just little Mary.” That was the first time I had been told about my grandfather’s little girl who had died at the age of three and, believe it or not, her name was Mary.
I remember the cellar with the dug-out dirt floor under the back porch. Here was where Dr. Means did his experiments. After he died, the room was used to store canned fruit and to keep watermelons cool. Sometimes I would be sent down to pick out a can and I thought it was the very darkest place in the world. I always carried a candle to light my way down the steps. But other times, I would go down to the room and there would be no need for a candle because it would be brightly illuminated. Can you explain this?
Now I come to our most prominent family ghost. I have heard talk that all fine old families have their ghosts, but mine was rather extraordinary. He is said to be my Uncle Tobe who constantly paced back and forth on the long back porches, fretting and pouting because he was unable to persuade my grandfather to give him his inheritance in advance. When my grandfather finally consented to do this, Uncle Tobe began to spend his money quite recklessly on wild horses, and I suppose all the rest that went with his rash, irresponsible nature, particularly wine and women. He would ride like mad through the town late at night to the discomfort of the citizens, who often complained about it. But one night, he rode away and was never heard from again. Even now, every night at exactly 2:00 a.m., Uncle Tobe’s ghost walks from the top of the stairs, across the large back porch, onto the narrow porch out as far as the kitchen and then disappears completely. Visitors in the house would inquire about hearing the walking, and all we could say was, “Oh, that Uncle Tobe, our family ghost.”
This story, as far as I am concerned, is absolutely true. You may draw your own conclusions, but you must remember this: it is a psychological truth that if two people see or hear the same thing, it becomes an established fact.
So, what do you think?