I first saw the old house in the last part of 1937. The depression was still rampant in the land and so many were out
of work, but if you could get out of town and back to the land, there were always nuts, fruit, and berries to work in
and put up for the winter at a minimal cost. There was always empty houses or woodcutters shacks, empty because people
had left to go elsewhere, or some farmer had bought or leased land, and didn't need the house that went with it. Most
were not in to bad a shape, usually a stove had been left along with a rough hewn table, some benches, and orange
crates for cupboards, nailed to the walls, one made out pretty well.

No one seemed to be on window breaking binges, so the windows were usually intact. With flour sack curtains, a good
floor scrubbing, fire in the stove, and a pot of beans cooking, they were a haven to crawl into, and it felt like
"home". Most everyone took care of the property and left it as neat, or more so than when they moved in. Sure beat
a hole-in-the-wall apartment, or a tar paper, or corrugated shack near the dumps. This district, I believe, was
called the Iowa Hill District, strictly a German Lutheran Community. We sure needed a place to stay, we had a baby
girl and my husband could cut wood if we could find a place to stay. We moved into the old Storm place, after getting
permission from Alex Eischen, who owned another farm about a mile and a half away and farmed this place. We asked
about the amount of rent he wanted, but to our amazement he could hardly keep a grin off his face or the twinkle
from his eyes, like he had some secret, and he said he didn't want any rent, as we wouldn't be there very long
anyway. He said sure we could live there, if we could stand it. Up the road the other way lived a bachelor, a
thickset German, who only laughed when we told him we were moving in, and he wanted to know how long we were
staying!!! We couldn't figure out what the joke was, but shrugged it all off and moved in. Everyone we saw
would say incredulously, "You're moving into the old Storm House?", and look at us as if we were either to
young, or to foolish to catch on. We met many with just open stares, embarrassed grins, or just a shake of
the head. Evidently the house was well known!!

There was my husband and I, our little girl and a cousin, or brother who stayed with us, often by turns, who would
come to help cut wood awhile. They used one of the old dragsaws, you now see in museums, and were paid $2.50 a cord
cut, delivered and stacked. This was divided two and sometimes three ways, but you could keep a few chickens, and
the neighbors gave us milk for milking his cow when he had to be gone. The place looked like a castle as we sure
needed a place to stay with a baby and down to our last "nickel", you might say. My husband's cousin had an old car
put together sometimes with baling wire, so we had transportation. Our water came from an old pump by the side of
the house, which we had to carry in for drinking, washing, scrubbing floors, cooking, canning, and baths. And of
course had to be heated on the cook stove. The well was a deep one and echoed many sounds, like footsteps walking
that never appeared. We dismissed many sounds as just being the well what it was. We did begin to hear no one who
ever lived there stayed very long. A cousin of my husband and her family stayed a short time before moving to the
North Plains area. Their names were John and Leta Epler.

They never would talk about the place, but did say no one member of the family stayed alone, and one time Leta was
bitten by a rat as she laid in the bed with a small baby. They used the bedroom off the front room. While we were
there, we hardly ever used the front door, or even the front part of the house, as the back door seemed more
convenient to the kitchen, woodshed and all. We begin to hear stories, mostly from our bachelor German neighbor
that the Strums had been bootleggers, a man was killed on the stairway leading upstairs, and that there were trap
doors in some of the rooms. The bloodstains were still visible on the steps, four or five steps up and also where
the blood spilled on the floor. We did find three trap doors that led to nice dug-out spaces below the floors.
We kept being told after we moved, no one would live there ever, but we were young and brave, and who believed
in ghosts anyway???.

Then who worries when you're young. We moved in with little or no furniture, using what we could find, and besides
we decided after being around, the other part of the house wasn't needed, and it wasn't a very "friendly" part
anyway. For awhile everything went along all right, being early summer, we were out of doors a lot, but as it got
on towards fall, we begin to notice odd noises. The first seemed to be these resounding footsteps that could be
heard on the northside of the house where the pump sat. I would run out to meet whoever was there, glad for any
company as the farms were a long way apart in those days, and no one would be there. Since the farms were two to
three miles apart, we couldn't see how the footsteps could echo so. No one seemed to be walking much anyway. The
next incident was the sound of someone chopping wood in the woodshed, usually in the afternoons. It would be the
sound of measured chopping and I would dash out, thinking my husband had come home early. If the dragsaw was
broken down, often his cousin would go to town for parts and my husband would come home and cut wood for the wood
range and heater stove in the dining room. When I'd get to the woodshed, the chopping would stop, and start up
again when I got back to the house. So I'd think he'd just stepped out side for a minute, and go running out
again when the chopping started up again. This would go on and on until it seemed I would wear my legs out. This
would go on for days, lasting an hour or so every afternoon, and then maybe go weeks before it would start up
again, always in the afternoons only. This went on as long as we lived there. We never did figure out an
explanation for this.

There were the sound of men's footsteps that went to the stairs where the bloodspots were, stopped, and walked on
into the living room, we used as our front room. This would go on for some time, and then quite awhile would pass
before he would be back again. He seemed to end his walk at the trap door in the room. That trap door was very
"active" all the time we lived there. I often wondered if someone was buried there. Every afternoon, without fail
about three o'clock in the afternoon, no matter what you were doing, your head would automatically jerk towards
the corner of that trap door. It was a forced reaction and you couldn't keep from doing it. It became so routine
we just accepted it. We never told anyone about this, as we like to see if it affected everyone the same way. It
would and they would get a funny look on their face and say they had to be going. No one ever didn't jerk and
stare at the trap door. The trap door was cut in such a way, that if you didn't know about it, you didn't see it
and we didn't bother to tell anyone about it. We were having a good time with it and thought it was fun. After
we moved a few people asked us about it and being young and full of mischief, sometimes we told them, "No, we
didn't notice anything".

About once a month when there was a full moon shinning over the fields and trees, different footsteps walked
from the back door through the kitchen, living room and on into the south bedroom, where they seemed to
stand and look out the window. These were the steps of a young girl who seemed to be barefoot. Like the
sound of bare feet sticking to the floor and then moving on across the room. Was she waiting for a lover
who never returned or was killed?. The men used to follow the steps, one by one and they didn't stop until
they got to the window. She's the only one we ever saw, like apparition, barefoot and dressed in a long
black cape. we saw her twice. One night one of my husband's cousins was coming to spend the night. Ruby
was to stop at a sisters place down below the hill from us, have supper and visit and then come up to
spend the night. It got later and later and she hadn't arrived so we went to bed, having told her to just
come in and go to bed when she got back. Sometime after midnight, the back door opened softly, thinking it
was Ruby, I didn't get up. The bedroom was long with a cot at the far end. As she seemed to stop, or
pause at the doorway, I whispered, "Come in, Ruby, and crawl in!"

There wasn't any electricity and the moonlight was shining in the window so I didn't light the lamp. She
stood in the doorway in her long black coat or cape, so I whispered again louder, two or three times. Still
there was no movement and I was getting chills up my back. I woke my husband saying, "There's someone standing
there and they won't answer." He saw "her" standing there and swung at her with his fist, she disappeared. Ruby
never did come, she had played cards and talked until so late, she just made a bed on the floor and slept
there. We never told the rest about the barefoot girl. Many footsteps walked to the one trap door, but the other
main one never seemed to have any disturbances. We dried walnuts upstairs in the unfinished part and the rats
did roll walnuts across the floor to the edge and they rolled down between the wall. We know this accounted for
some noises we heard, at least the ones upstairs. Some evenings when we lit the kerosene lamp, a strange wind
would come in the house and blow the lamp out. We'd go outside to see if it were windy and the air would be
strangely still. Go back in light the lamp, and the wind would blow it out time and time again. This would
happen for up to an hour at a time, and then back to normal.

My little girl who was a little over two by this time would be playing with her toys or dolls and would stop her
play and jerk around and look intently at "something". I'd watch her so she didn't know it and she would just
look for awhile and then go back to playing. At the time we'd laugh and say "Oscar's" back, with absolutely no
fear. We liked it there with our ghosts. Now I wouldn't stay in that place. One afternoon Mr Eischen said he'd
be up to pick up some of the old prune dryers in the prune drying shed on the place. We told him we'd help load
them. We were late getting back from milking and it was one of the evenings when the "wind" kept blowing out the
lamps. Hearing pounding in the shed, my brother-in-law said he'd go help Mr. Eischen with the dryers, as it was
getting pretty dark. When he got there, there wasn't anyone there. When he got back to the house, you could hear
the trays being lifted, pounding and footsteps. Each time they went down, the noise stopped and no one there.
Come back to the house and it all started again. This and the lamps blowing out went on for about an hour. All at
once, the wind and noises were gone and everything was normal. The next day we asked Mr. Eischen if he'd come to
get the dryer trays and he said no, he had found enough at his place and didn't need them. Again we didn't tell
anyone of this. It was one time I was uneasy there. One time we had party with food and drinks and company. It
wasn't long until the guests all came and told us they were leaving, if we wanted to stay in such a weird place,
go ahead, but they were leaving. We asked them what was the matter, no one would say anything. We were surprised
as we had told our "occupants" to behave themselves as we were having company, but the party broke up early and
their parting shot was "If we ever moved, invite them again, but not to that place ever. " We were surprised as
we never told anything to anyone, partly because we were afraid they'd think we were ready for the funny farm and
partly because we enjoyed our secrets. Being young and dumb, we thought it was hilarious and drank to "Oscar" and
all the other shady men who lived there with us.

I never heard of a Mrs. Strum, but there were signs of a garden plot, a grape patch and clothesline. The barn was
the only place I was afraid of. It was a beautiful big barn and I loved barns. Since I had read and heard about
Hobo's or other homeless people scaring intruders away from the place they wanted to occupy, I went to look and
see if this was the case with the barn. On a calm sunny day if I entered the barn, gates and partitions would
slam shut with such force they would almost hit me. It was such force it would scare the living daylights out of
me. There were no spring hinges, or anything like that that would make them do this. No matter when I went down
there, this would happen. The pines were so sad sounding, they signed and sobbed in the breeze. Since the men
were away a lot, I put up with the ghosts more than they did. I did stay alone a few times at night, but wasn't
afraid, except at the barn.

The summer of 1939 I had a baby boy and there seemed to be less ghostly goings-on. Maybe we were just happy with
the baby and I was so busy with both children and lots of washing, to do on the wash board, and did it mainly
outside during the summer. Toward fall my husband went to work for Arnold Gnos and since he had a woodcutters
cabin on the place he came up the hill and insisted we get out of the Storm place. He seemed really concerned.
Again no explanation and we gave none. As we drove away I looked back and thought I saw a movement at the window.
One day a neighbor came by on horseback and said he was going to go look around the old Storm place and asked
if we'd lived there. He came back in a couple of hours, hair unruly and visibly shaken. He asked if we'd
"really lived in that place"? He had spent some time looking at some of the old magazines in the upstairs, but
wouldn't say anything else except "he'd never live there, in fact, he'd never so much as set foot in there
again!" Playing dumb I asked why as I wanted to hear someone else's version of the place, but all he'd do is
shake his head as he rode on.

And what happened to the Old Storm Place? A great blaze appeared one day on top of the lonely hill and the old
house, and perhaps all the ghosts, went up in smoke, or did they all go live in the barn? The house didn't burn
accidentally, the men of the neighborhood community got together and burned it down. They seemed to know a good
deal about the strange going-on that went on in that old house, but none would really speak of it, maybe feeling
a little foolish it were voiced aloud, and would tolerate no more of that place. I never went back after the
house burnt just couldn't. We "all" got along fine in the house together and lived together quite well. They
tolerated us, but no one else could manage them. Perhaps they liked us, who knows? Being older and looking back
I couldn't or wouldn't have stayed there now as I'd have been scared to death. I've never talked about it much
and now have written it down. My daughter remembers it very faintly, she was three when we left and remembers
the good things, a puppy, a pet pig, going for walks and picking the wildflowers, and who knows what friends
she had with "Oscar and troop?".

A TALE OF A OLD HAUNTED HOUSE

My daughter recently moved into a 1928 home which I believe to be haunted. They recently found out that it was
at one time a biker's women's house and someone was killed there. At my daughter's wedding a relative was very
uncomfortable and kept saying she wanted to leave. She said there is a presence in everyroom of the house except
a room additon. The couple that lived there before sold the house cheap and exited very quickly to her mothers.
Nothing has been seen but only felt. One visitor felt something poke her in the back but none was there. Another
felt blowing in his ear. A basement light put out a strobe light like effect then would not work again. Wind
would blow where there should be no wind. My daughter said she felt uncomfortable there after first moving in
but did not know why. Others have told them it was haunted. What should they do? Will these spirits hurt them?
Should they put up crucifixes to protect them? How can they get rid of this presence?.

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