GHOST OF TREBOR LODGE HOME IN BARRINGTON RHODE ISLAND IS SCENE OF MURDERED SPIRITS!
GHOST OF MURDERED KID AT RUMSTICK ROAD TREBOR LODGE HOME!
HERE IS HOW 343 RUMSTICK ROAD IN BARRINGTON RI LOOKS TODAY!
WHEN WE FIRST MOVED TO 343 RUMSTICK ROAD BARRINGTON RI IT WAS DREAM COME TRUE FOR MY SIBLINGS AND I! BUT WAS IT?
6 STRAWBERRY DRIVE HAS NOT CHANGED IN ALL THESE YEARS SINCE MY FAMILY MOVED IN!
Ghosts Haunt 343 Rumstick Road in Barringtion RI!
GHOST OF TREBOR LODGE, BARRINGTON RI, RUMSTICK ROAD - JENKS ESTATE 1975!
My family moved to a sprawling house in Barrington Rhode Island in the mid 1970's. The compound my parents chose turned out to have all sorts of odd additions we'd never seen before, except in the movies and on TV. Secret doors, odd shaped windows, secret rooms seemingly built for no reason and paths that lead underground and across the property to the end of the driveway where you'd pop out by pushing up a grate behind the mailbox.
We kids were cued in to the strangeness of the beautiful 3 acre property nestled in a small New England town on Narragansett Bay.
"Whose house is this, Daddy?" We all asked at once, as he drove his Grand Prix bright yellow Le Mans down County Road toward Rumstick Road in Barrington Rhode Island. But when he said to us outside the home after taking us on the grand touch, "...this is our house!"
As we all screamed and jumped up and down, and saw it as a blessing, trouble seemed to be coming around the corner when I found 7 dead bees by my toilet. The house was huge, like it was 4 different other homes, but all connected together by stairs and doors. Trouble was still brewing like a magnet. We were excited and just a little bit nervous over the change in our life when dad dragged us to his little apartment, pretending to be taking care of his lace factory, when in reality he was transplanting us right under our noses.
Our first indication of past creepiness in the estate was the wallpaper, which seemed to have been specially made. It depicts the former owner and his family having a rip-roarin' fiesta in the second kitchen at the far end of the roomy, large abode, in the playroom, as it was named. To get there, we'd have to walk to the far end and enter a glass breezeway. On the far end were two huge mahogany doors leading in.
Once inside, it was like a whole other house, even though it was connected to the main digs we lived at. The place would have been too perfect if not for what other kids told me at school when they asked where I, the new kid, lived. They explained with wide eyes and twitching cheeks that in the early Seventies a teenager was shot and killed at the foot of the breezeway doors when he was the housekeeper caught him sneaking in.
One of the owner's sons ended up having to get one of his dad's guns because the kid became unruly and combative due to drugs he'd taken. The high school senior was shot dead as he tried to lunge at the other boy. He died in his own blood puddle at the foot of the doors leading into the playroom of the home.
Another clue to the haunting of Trebor Lodge was the wallpaper in the playroom. It was specially made and depicted the owner and his family gathered around the bar boozing it. The comic looking images on the wallpaper showed clearly that alcohol was a mainstay in the household. My siblings and I stood there laughing at the little images with little bubbles swirling around their cartoonish heads, even children and pets!
We wondered if the place was haunted! It sure felt ghosted when we wandered to the far end of the property and found a grave of a dead. The huge over sized headstone was almost missed due to weeds that had overgrown it. But that is not all we saw and felt while living there for 2 years
My father took his own life after moving into the house he had fallen in love with. Not only that, but I did research and found out that there was a high rate of suicides right in that area, especially down on the beachfront that boasted a long dock and fishing coves.
To name a few others that had committed suicide within 20 feet of the house would blow our minds even more. The famous reclusive author Spalding Gray, whose own mother killed herself there as well. A well known doctor's son also shot his brains out near the dock area, so i was told.
We lived at the spook house from 1975 to 1978 before my father took his own life. Afterwards, in polite conversation, my mother was told that even the first owner committed suicide at the home eventually! It had been empty for years until my family moved in. My oldest brother's name matched 'TREBOR' LODGE', which was labeled on a gold plaque by the entrance.
My older brother began having lots of accidents at the home immediately! Weird things happened and our father sat us down 6 months after moving in and announced, "I am going to be leaving you all very soon. Don't cry. No circus, no trauma, no tears!" We sat there dumbfounded and began carrying on about it. True to his word, 6 months later, he did it.
After that drama, my mother moved us out of the house and down the street to a brand new, just built Colonial looking home. From my bedroom window I could see our old house that another family occupied. It should be noted that about 2 years after that family moved in, their own father ended up committing suicide too. My whole family saw that home as 'a bad luck stone!' VERY SCARY OR WHAT?
Could that land be cursed? Some kid in my math class was discussing it with other kids when they found out the 'weird girl' was living there.
"Who?" Asked one girl in the front.
"You know...," said the cute blond guy beside her. "...that strange girl with the curly hair and weird clothes," he whispered, as he looked up and saw me sitting there.
"I knew they were curious about our house, and I didn't want to talk about it, so i pretended to not hear them, and was about to get up.
"Hey Bird's Nest," someone yelled, a football player! "Why didn't you tell us you lived at the Jenks House? You dress like you are poor," he barbed loudly. It was true, I did dress like I was poor, and that had to do where we'd come from.
We were a rich Jewish family who lived at the UN Plaza, and had contact with celebrities, dignitaries, comedians, famous singers and more, but the real problem was that I wa ashamed to tell the kids at my school in New York City. They were all poor blacks and Latinos bused in from Harlem and the Spanish Barrio, so I would pretend I was poor like they were so they'd be my friend. It worked to some degree, but not quite.
But our new home was baring rich, rich, rich, and I was trumpeting 'poor, poor, poor' out of habit. The house we lived in was one of the biggest in town. But there was a stigma attached to it. The man that built it was Mr. Robert Jenks (thus the 'Trebor Lodge' sign - Robert backwards. Some said it was not right there. Things were buried around there, people were found dead there, people had sex in the tall bushes separating the property line from a party street for high school kids!
The place itself was eventually split up into other homes and tracts and a nice family still lives there touched. The great Hasbro toy maker couple moved in with big fanfare down the street and the night they moved in Mr. H. dropped dead right there in his mansion the night he moved in next door to us. Who ;lives there now?
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LanguageˈlaNGɡwij/ noun the method of human communication, either spoken or written, consisting of the use of words in a structured and conventional meaning.
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