This is the continuation of my series of true stories which revolve around the haunted house I lived in on the east side of Indianapolis. None of these stories have been embellished in any way.

In part one of this series I mentioned the human visitors that seemed drawn to my house. I wouldn’t classify all of the visitors as bad; there were pleasant visitors as well.

One morning I awoke to find a puppy curled up on my front porch. Another morning I found a ferrel kitten which quickly ran away. Another evening it was an orange tabby that I named Karma. She became my faithful, loving companion while I lived there alone.

Then there were the strange visitors.

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At times, it feels like my life has resembled an episode of Scooby Doo, minus the big revelation that old man Marley was at work behind the scenes the whole time. In life it seems, there are not many answers, only more questions.

As I alluded to in “It Was A Dark and Stormy Night,” I lived for 14 years in a house on the eastside of Indianapolis which had “no good reason” to be haunted, at least in so far as no one had died there. And yet the number of unexplanable incidents in that house made me a believer in the paranormal.

There was a dark, sad mystery looming over the area.

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