THERE’S SOMETHING IN THE HOUSE
Retirement Day #2703
Oct. 24, 2026
The following story is true
In 1998, a newly divorced single Mother [Mom] of two children [Daughter: 9, Son: 7] moved into a small “fixer-upper” cottage built in the early 1950s in an area named for the Native American Chief who led the tribe known to summer there.
Soon after they moved into the house, they inadvertently rescued a Good Dog, who consequently joined the household as companion, guardian and nursemaid. Good Dog was medium in size - around 40-45lbs, with satellite-dish perk ears that clearly said “shepherd.” She likely had a heavy dose of Belgian Malinois and Rhodesian Ridgeback in her DNA. Whenever Good Dog became excited, defensive, or riled in any way, the hair on her topline didn’t just hackle- it rose to epic mohawk proportions nose to tail. She was a loyal, courageous, fierce, wise Dog.
Mom, Daughter, Son and Good Dog settled into their new cottage home. Then, one night around midnight, just as Mom was about to drift off into an elusive sleep after a hard day’s work - the Mom Alarm went off: Son, an intuitive and sensitive lad, started into that repetitive “Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom!” that every parent knows will not cease until answered with a swift, physical, patient, compassionate and discerning response. Mom was waaaaaay too tired for this. She initially attempted to turn off the alarm with minimal physical exertion.
Mom: “What!? What is it!?”
Son: “There’s something in the house!”
Mom: “What!? There’s nothing in the house – go back to sleep”
–pause----
Son: “MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM!”
Mom: “WHAT!?!?!?!?!?”
Son: “There’s something in the house! Could you come here?!”
Mom, defeated, reluctantly rolled out from under her cozy comforter and shuffled to the room of frightened Son to assure him that there was nothing “in the house.”
Son: “Mom, there’s something in the house”
Mom: “Honey, if there were something in the house, the dog would be barking- honestly, she probably would have assassinated it by now -there’s nothing in the house - go back to sleep, please.”
Son: “Are you sure? Are you really sure? Can you be sure?”
Mom: “arrrrrggghhhhFINE!”
So, Mom marched from room to room, flinging on the lights, yelling, “There’s NOTHING in the bathroom! There’s NOTHING in the dining room! There’s NOTHING in the kitchen” etc. [you get the idea,] concluding with “THERE’S NOTHING IN THE HOUSE GO TO SLEEP!!!”
Son: “did you check the basement?”
Mom: “Goddammit”
All this time, faithful Good Dog stalked with Mom from room to room, invisibly tethered to Mom’s left hip. Good Dog’s sharp black toenails tapped tikka tikka tikka on the wooden floor.
Together, they headed for the basement.
The basement was a classic 1950s space, semi-finished, with cement floor, cinderblock walls, and an open ceiling revealing all that operated the house. A laundry room occupied the space at the bottom of the stairs. Just beyond the laundry machines was an open door leading to a large, dark back room that would have been the envy of fraternities or the CIA. Both rooms had, by their respective doors, respective light switches linked to respective, single, low-wattage light bulbs.
Good Dog and an irritated Mom arrived at the bottom of the stairs. Mom switched on the light.
“There’s NOTHING in the laundry room!!!”
Mom launched into a huffy march across the laundry room towards the door leading to the large, dark open space….
when….
…. half-way across the room,
something paused…. stopped….
”WTF?”….
her…...
Surprised out of her annoyance, Mom looked down.
The hair on her arms, on the nape of her neck, her whole body….
stood straight up.
no tikka tikka
Where was Good Dog?...
Looking back, she saw Good Dog behind her, crouched at the bottom of the stairs, every muscle tensed, with hair in an alert head-to-tail mohawk. Good Dog hunkered, glaring and snarling towards the big dark room.
There was something in the house.
Mom turned her [wide] eyes back to the door that led to that dark space….
…. took a LARGE step back towards Good Dog [protection].
And without taking her eyes off whatever that was on the other side of THAT door,
firmly, clearly declared [to it] “There is NOTHING in the BASEMENT! THERE IS NOTHING IN THE HOUSE!!” RUNAWAYRUNAWAYRUNAWAY
Mom pivoted and RAN up the stairs with Good Dog close behind, away from the dark room, away from the basement.
Returning to Son’s room, she [not so] calmly assured him, “honey, there’s nothing in the house.”
Son: “Can I stay with you?”
Mom: “absolutely”
[Daughter slept through it all.]
In the sober light of the following day, Mom and Good Dog returned to the basement. Perhaps an animal of some kind had gotten in? But there was no trace of anything having been there, the windows were sealed shut, and if it had been an animal of any kind, Good Dog would have confronted it. Whatever had been in the house was no longer there.
Mom shared this story with Neighbor. When Neighbor offered to smudge the house with sage, Mom gratefully accepted.
Mom later found out that when the house was built, bones and arrowheads were found. Local legend had it that a battle between several Native American tribes took place on that property:
“When the dance ended Waukemus, by this time recovered from his wound, rose and standing in the light of the fire with his back against the majestic beech stretched out his hands to pray the blessing of Manitou on their enterprise. As his last words were spoken, out in the forest a bow-string twanged. Swift and true the arrow Red Wing [it was he lurking in the forest] had sent reached its mark and Waukemus stood – dead, transfixed by an arrow thru his throat impaled to the tree behind him.”**
The “tree” referenced was said to be the massive old Beech tree in their front yard. That arrow started a battle. When the fighting was done, Red Eagle was found dead at the feet of Waukemus. They were buried next to each other, along with too many of their kinsmen, near where they fell.
For 17yrs. Mom, Daughter, Son and Good Dog lived in a cottage built on the bones and blood of warriors. Most of the time, all was well and wonderful….
But every now and then,
like a fog rolling in off the Big Lake,
bones and blood remembered
And there was something in the house.
!HAPPY HALLOWEEN!
**THE LEGEND BEHIND THE STORY
No date was provided for the following document. S.E. Paulus published the “War Whoop” regularly during his tenure as manager of the Waukazoo Inn, where he worked from 1926 until his death in 1960, the same year the Inn was demolished. While this document bears some racist language/tropes of mid-century white America, it also offers insight into an event that gave rise to a legend.
WAUKAZOO WAR WHOOP
issued periodically by Waukazoo Inn, Holland, MI
S.E. Paulus, Manager
Published by Percy Osborne & Associates, Holland, MI
WAUKAZOO..Chief of the Ottawa. A Legend.
The main encampment of the Ottawa tribe, three hundred tipis in all, stood at the ox-bow bend of the Kalamazoo river near the modern village of Douglas.
Thruout the camp one could have heard the gabbling squaws, shrieking children.. and above them all the howling of the ever present fighting curs. Noise and confusion were everywhere save only in the largest of the tipis.. the one with the black bear painted on it.. the lodge of the greatest of the Ottawas.. Chief Waukazoo. Here he was holding a war council with his friends and advisers.
All the great men of the western country were there.. Louis Pokagon of the Pottowatamis, Waukemus of the Grand River Ottawas, Seebewa of the Muskegons together with many lesser men. A problem on which the future of them all depended was under discussion this night.
At that time the Ottawas held all the fishing grounds from the Muskegon to the Saint Joe. Only the mouth of the Grand River, the spot which the band of Waukemus claimed as its own, was held by a band of interlopers. Three years previous, a mongrel band of Sacs and Menominees from the north had settled there and held it against all contenders. They dwelt secure and had added insult to injury by mistreating the envoys sent them by Waukemus. The problem facing Waukazoo and his friends was serious indeed.
AN ATTACK IS PLANNED
Waukemus had a plan. In the dark of the next moon a band of two hundred warriors were to take the old Grand River trail and march to Black Lake [Lake Macatawa]. Pokagon and the other tribes were to contribute 100 men each and Waukazoo was to add another 100. They were to proceed up the shore of Lake Michigan and attack from the lake side.. a surprise which the Sacs would certainly not be prepared for since they felt protected by old Gitchie Gumie.
DISSENSION
But who should lead them? Red Wing, first war chief under Waukazoo claimed the right to lead the attack; Waukemus who authored the plan said he must lead. Anger flared.. Indian blood grew warm.. then hot.. In vain their friends sought to placate them. At length a vote was taken and Waukemus was the choice.
As Red Wing saw the honor he craved given to another jealousy consume him; he cursed them to a man and snatching his knife from its sheath hurled it straight at the breast of his rival. He then turned and fled for the waters edge. Behind him was confusion.. confusion long enough to let him go free until Waukazoo shouted “After him you younger chiefs. His life is forfeit.”
RED WING ESCAPES
Forgotten was the council.. warriors grasped their weapons and followed the culprit to the river. The warrior had come into his own.. the man hunt was on. But Red Wing had moved fast and was on his way in his fast canoe.. headed for the open big lake. There was no hope for those who were following.. their prey had escaped their arrows and their tomahawks.
But not so easily was he to escape the wrath of the Great Spirit whom he had that day insulted. Black clouds began to cross the heavens; quick puffs of wind from the West overtook him. Soon a gale was blowing.. the waves began to rise. Every minute the storm increased in fury.. Red Wing was fighting for his life as the waves tossed him toward the ominous skies.. tossed him as high as the greatest pine trees he had known. His human pursuers had long ago given up the chase but the unhappy Red Wing fought on knowing that if he once turned broadside to the wind all was lost. Suddenly a wild jerk turned him toward the shore.. exhausted.. he dropt to the bottom of the canoe.. which went fleeting down the gale a cockleshell upon the waves ………
THE SACS WELCOME A TRAITOR
On one of the sand dunes at the mouth of the Grand River [Grand Haven] sat the sentinel of the Sacs and Menominees smoking his “knic-knac”. Suddenly far out on the waters he held a moving speck which his keen eyes told him was not driftwood. Seizing a blanket he sent smoke signals to the village back of the dunes and a few minutes later a large war canoe set out in the teeth of the wind to investigate. An hour later the large canoe returned carrying one more that it had carried on its way out. What the sentinel had seen was Red Wing’s canoe tossing on the waves…………
THE OTTAWAS MOVE
If one had stood on the sand dunes at the outlet of Black Lake [the dunes of Ottawa Beach] three weeks later he would have seen an unforgettable spectacle. In a double row, each row counting fifty canoes, came the war canoes of Waukazoo. Each canoe contained six men. They had come out of the Kalamazoo river, headed out into the big lake for half a mile, wheeled like cavalry on parade and now two hours later were opposite old Bald Head at Macatawa. Again they wheeled and silently entered the channel which led into Black Lake. There were no women in the canoes! These men were headed for War.. decked out in full regalia, painted on face and shoulders, with plumes in hair and tomahawks in girdle.
They paddled up the inlet across the Big Bayou and landed on the eastern shore. [Where Waukazoo Inn now stands]. Beyond the bay farther to the east Waukemus and his Ottawas from the Grand River had already encamped.
That night the waters of Black Lake reflected the gleam of twice fifty camp fires and in the camp of Waukazoo there was much ado. The gaily painted warriors.. they had all come together for the dance.. leaped about the war-pole shouting and gesticulating at every step. With many a whoop and flourish each drew his tomahawk and hurled it at the pole. Their aims were good.. soon the pole was shattered.. a good omen they thought.
RED WING LEADS INFAMOUS ATTACK
When the dance ended Waukemus, by this time recovered from his wound, rose and standing in the light of the fire with his back against the majestic beech stretched out his hands to pray the blessing of Manitou on their enterprise. As his last words were spoken, out in the forest a bow-string twanged. Swift and true the arrow Red Wing [it was he lurking in the forest] had sent reached its mark and Waukemus stood – dead, transfixed by an arrow thru his throat impaled to the tree behind him. With a blood curdling whoop out from the cover of the forest sprang the Sacs, with the traitor at the head. They had marched across country, over the Pigeon River [Port Sheldon] and thru the Black River forest [Waukazoo Woods] to surprise their enemy before their campaign could get started.
But the Ottawas, outnumbered and surprised as they were rallied desperately and answering whoop for whoop.. arrow for arrow.. blow for blow.. withstood the attack until Louis Pokagon with his 100 Pottawatomies arrived. This wily chief, having heard the uproar as he came into the lake had paddled fast.. had landed on Point Superior [where Marigold Lodge now stands] and had come into the fight from behind the Sacs.
SACS FLEE
Suddenly the Sacs saw their untenable position and one of the wiser chiefs shouted high above the din of battle “to the water.. to the water”.. And as though they had been waiting for the command they turned their backs on their enemies and sped to the waters edge. In they plunged, dropping their weapons and with long hard strokes swam from the shore in the saving darkness. The Ottawas, weary themselves, did little to prevent the treacherous enemy from escaping into the night. But not all of them escaped.. many had paid with their lives during the short but furious battle.
DEATH JOINS WAUKEMUS AND RED WING
When day broke.. almost at the feet of his dead rival Waukemus, they found the body of Red Wing who had fallen as bravely as any warrior before the knife edge tomahawk of a former tribesman. And so the Ottawas buried them together on the point* united in death who had been rivals in life.
Soon the trek home started.. warriors went back to their home tipis to tell their squaws and their children the deeds of glory performed during the bloody conflict. They had named the battle ground Waukazoo Point.. in honor of the living rather than the dead.. as the Redman is prone to do.
*Reputedly where the Waukazoo tennis courts now lie.
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