Years ago, my husband and I experienced some strange phenomena in a house we rented in Anchorage, Alaska. It was a small house, only about 800 square feet, with one of the tiniest bathrooms I’ve ever seen. The bedrooms opened almost directly on the living room. The house did have an arctic entryway, however — a partly solid screen door, then a small vestibule, and then the front door. Arctic entryways are meant to keep extremely cold air out of the house and warm air inside.
One winter evening, we were sitting on our bed. The bedroom door was open and we could see right into the living room. Suddenly, the doorknob of our front door rattled, as if someone were trying to open the door. The weird thing about this was that our screen door had a pneumatic closing mechanism and made a loud whooshing sound whenever anyone opened and then closed the door. We never heard that whoosh.
There was no way to open our front door without also opening the screen door and standing in the little vestibule. Therefore, anyone who caused the doorknob to rattle would also have caused the screen door to make the whooshing sound. I remember my husband and I exchanging mystified glances before we got up to investigate.
There was no-one at the door. We’d recently had some new snow fall, yet my husband could find no tracks when he went outside to check. He even walked around the house, looking for signs that someone had been there, but there weren’t any.
Eventually we shrugged and went to bed. We had no good explanation for the event. A few days later, I was out of the house and my husband was sitting in the living room when he heard the doorknob rattle again. Once again, there was no whooshing noise, so whatever caused the rattling hadn’t also opened the screen door.
Was this a poltergeist? I don’t know. We never came up with a solid explanation for how the doorknob could move without someone opening the screen door.