In The Deep End

This post may convince you that my mind has gone on permanent vacation. Sometimes I think that too. But I swear, this story is true, at least in my mind I can't find another explanation for it. Let me give you a little background.
For starters, T1G and I had this ghost story thing going on last fall before Halloween, back when I was still posting on
Live Journal. In fact, we met in an old abandoned cemetery. Things macabre fascinate me, and I have no problem with the idea of ghosts among us.

Just not necessarily in my house.

Another thing is, someone who used to live in my house was
murdered. Not in the house, mind you, but this is where she called home. I knew this when we bought the house; hell, I even sleep in her bedroom in case she ever came calling. In four years, I've never even caught a hint of her. But for the last few months, SOMETHING is different. I don't think it's her, but I'm wondering if with all my graveyard exploration, I haven't picked up a visitor.

Still with me? Called for the straight jacket yet?

See, and you ladies might know what I'm talking about, NOTHING in my house moves unless I move it. Doors closed, lights off, empty pop cans picked up- it's all me. My husband has many good qualities, but being neat or picking stuff up is not in his repertoire. So if something is different, like a door constantly closing in a part of the house Old Sarge never goes to, or shadows where none should be, you notice stuff like that. Write it off to living in an old house. But a few things happened this weekend that defy explanation.

On Saturday, I was home alone while Old Sarge was out on a water main break. I'd been up putzing around the house as much as I could stand and decided it was time to get off my feet. I laid down on the couch, and as I was stretching out, knocked my crutches on the floor. Well, shit, no big deal, I wasn't going anywhere for awhile, so I just left them and kind of dozed listening to R. Lee on Mail Call. I got up about thirty minutes later and my crutches are standing back up at the end of the couch. I KNOW I knocked them over, I saw them. I call Old Sarge, my son, my mom, anyone who might have stopped by even though I would have heard the door. No one was here. I looked outside and the only footprints in the snow were the ones my husband left to go to work.

Then on Sunday, I was laying on the couch again, reading a book. All of a sudden my cast starts vibrating, and I sat up thinking Sarge is fucking with me, but he's over in the front room putting wood on the fire. Weird, just weird!!! My cast may be partly plastic, but there's no place for batteries, people.

Any thoughts on this? I've never hallucinated on ibuprofen before, so I don't know what to think.