Product Description

Once upon a time, my house was haunted. It still is. I began recording my experiences, hoping to one day share them. I kept waiting for the incidents to stop, so I'd have a logical conclusion to my book. So far, that hasn't happened. It may never happen. I'd like to get my story told before I become a ghost myself.

The True Story of a Haunting Beginning in 1968 and spanning four decades, this true story chronicles the hair-raising experiences that nearly drove an ordinary housewife and mother to the breaking point.

Not every haunted house is an old Victorian mansion, as the author and her family discovered when they bought a modest house in the suburbs. Even a post-war starter home can be a dwelling place for earthbound spirits—especially if it holds a tragic secret from the past. Eerie feelings of being watched, disembodied sobs, mysterious scratches appearing on her throat, and a child's voice crying, "Mommy!" convinced M. L. Woelm that she was sharing her home with ghosts. This is her story.

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #55422 in Books
• Published on: 2007-09-01
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Binding: Paperback
• 288 pages

About the Author
M. L. Woelm (Minnesota) has experienced paranormal phenomena since she was a little girl. A retired grandmother, she enjoys exploring popular haunts around the world. She lives with her husband and her dog, Max, who loyally alerts her to every ghostly visitor.

Excerpted from Ghosts on 87th Lane: A True Story by M.L. Woelm. Copyright © 2007. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
A Memoir of the Early Years

1: My First Look Around

March 1968: House Hunting Is a Drag

My story began the first day Paul walked into our apartment and announced that he had found a house for us. We had been house hunting for several weeks. Each trip began with eager anticipation and ended with the words, "We just can't afford this one." The houses I loved were always out of our price range.

We were a one-income family, period. Although many wives and mothers were carving out a nice spot for themselves in the workplace, Paul didn't want me to join them. He had a troubled childhood and seriously believed that children raised by a stay-at-home mom would fare better than those with a mother who worked outside the home. This meant less money, fewer material things, and the frustration connected with both. I stayed home with our two small children just to keep peace in the family, even though it meant living without a lot of things we needed and many things we wanted-including my dream house.

At first, we dragged the kids with us on the numerous househunting trips. The weather was still cold and snowy, so this meant boots, scarves, and lots of whining-and that was just me! Finally, to simplify matters, Paul began going out by himself. I didn't like that arrangement at all, but back in 1968 the assertiveness movement was still in its infancy. Come to think of it, I hadn't even heard the A-word yet. The afternoon Paul came home saying he'd found a house, I was overjoyed, in a suspicious sort of way. "Where is it? How much is it? When can I see it?" It was in Blaine, Minnesota, and the asking price was $16,500. We could just barely swing it. Paul called Jack, the Realtor, to set up a date for me to see the house. I arranged for a babysitter. I was so excited.

By the time Jack and Paul took me to see the house, the FHA people had already looked at it, given the owners a list of repairs that needed to be made, and assessed the value of the home at $12,500. When I called to share this good fortune with my best friend, Carrie, she asked, "What do you think is wrong with it?" I laughed and blurted out, "Maybe it's haunted!" Why I said that, I'll never know. Those prophetic words just popped out of my mouth. We cackled over my silly joke like our cartoon role models, Wilma Flintstone and Betty Rubble, and then got down to the business of discussing my long-overdue move. By this time, all my friends had abandoned apartment living and settled in new or nearly new homes in the 'burbs.

En route to my first tour of the place, the Realtor explained that the house was an older, two-bedroom expansion model. This style made its debut around the end of the Korean War, when these homes sprang up all over the country to accommodate returning war veterans. These structures were designed to be starter homes-built quickly and cheaply.

Is This Really My Home Sweet Home?

I'll never forget pulling up in front of the small clapboard house. I couldn't understand why anyone would paint this style of house in two colors, since it only accentuated how small it is. It looked like a sad little orphan in tattered clothes. Yet there it stood, proudly holding its head high, adorned with peeling white paint on its top portion and cracked aqua blue on its bottom half. I actually felt sorry for it. This was the awkward child in the orphanage whom no one wanted, the child always left behind after his pretty playmates were placed in good homes. I've always been a sucker for a hard-luck story, and now the orphan belonged to me. Although it's difficult to admit, I was embarrassed to end up with the worst-looking house in my circle of friends. Apparently, history really is destined to repeat itself-especially my history-because I grew up in a house that always looked shabby and rundown. My family never had any money, and even though my darling dad did his best to provide for the family, ours was the worst-looking of all my friends' houses back in those days too. I'd hoped for something better when I grew up.

Everything in Minnesota looks its scruffiest in March. I sighed as I gazed at my future home sitting on its bleak piece of property. There was no garage, but apartment living during the past six years had rarely afforded us a garage, so that was no big deal. There were a couple of massive oak trees in the front yard that looked pretty friendly despite their dormant state. I pictured the gnarled giants covered with leaves and flanked all around by green grass, flower gardens, shrubs, and maybe a white picket fence. I'd had my heart set on a house with a picket fence for as long as I could remember. Here was my chance to make that dream come true. If only I'd had a fairy godmother who could turn this melancholy property into a sweet little cottage with one grand sweep of her magic wand.

Two huge elms stood guard in the backyard, surrounded on three sides by an odd assortment of neighbors'...(Continues)

Customer Reviews

Had a hard time with authors story/viewpoints
I am in complete agreement with a few others here on the fact that the book is very long winded about things that did not need to be included. I actually skipped many pages toward the end and missed nothing of importance. My own personal opinion is that the author started out in the book with an actual true story of the child that died and that he was possibly still lingering in his old home. She took this story as far truthfully as she could then just started to take things that probably had a perfectly rational explanation to them and just blew them way out of proportion. I also had a hard time with the authors personality while reading this book. I mean this is supposedly a mother, a good mother, and yet she has a very crass and uncaring way of speaking about what is supposedly the spirit of a little boy. My heart was breaking for this little boy and his family. This part of the story just drops off about midway through the book and she never talks anymore about it. Then there are just day after day of items being moved, feelings of being watched etc. This in between her constant talk about her husband and how he is not supportive of her and doesn't believe her. Other than that there are some good points to this book and I did enjoy the story told whether true or not. Decide for yourself.

Wonderful!
How seldom does one find a book like this! This is my favorite of all the personal hauntings that have hit the bookshelves in the past two years.

What makes this book intriguing is:
1) The haunting went on for decades.
2) The author chronicles her personal struggle in learning to live with the haunting when no one else would believe her.
3) The ordinary life she describes interspersed with her nights of terror are very thought provoking--what would you do if faced with the same events?

The author struggles with fear of the unknown, personal rejection and nights filled with terror. These events move her from being a shy wife and mother of the 1960's into a woman of the 1990's that accepts the ghosts in her home and is finally vindicated when other family members finally confess thier own encounters.

This intimate sharing really touched my heart since that is much of my own experience with a haunting.

Definitely a great read! Almost 300 pages.

Very enjoyable true-life haunting account
If you have a passion for true-life ghost stories (as I do), I highly recommend this book. The author has a tale of a 30+ years haunting to tell that is truly creepy. And she tells it in most readable style. She has an engaging, self-aware, humorous writing style that really draws the reader into her both head and into her emotions, which makes the events she recounts seem very immediate even though some of them happened a long time ago.

In recent years, I've read many books like this one (many self-published; this one is not, and it shows), and the vast majority of them are frustrating reads, not only because they are often poorly written and loaded with grammatical and typographical errors, but because they provide minimal details/history about the victims of the hauntings under discussion. But I'm always curious (okay, nosy) about the back stories of the people involved in these hauntings, so I really appreciated the depth with which the author treated her family interactions regarding the hauntings, especially her husband's stubborn silence.

I also appreciated that this was a real BOOK -- not just a sliver of a book with wide margins and huge type, as so many of these types of books are -- and that it didn't stint on describing even repetitive events, because the author's response to these wasn't always the same as the years progressed.

After finishing the book, I did still have some questions (for instance, did her husband stop working nights in 1980 or 1982? She cited both years for that -- and what happened to her cat, Murray?), So I do think this book would have benefited from more careful editing. But that is just a minor complaint. Overall, this book is well worth reading.