The Christmas Quilt

In 1957, the day before her daughter Florence came to visit, Mrs. Monroe pulled out the old box containing the patchwork quilt. She had found it in the top of a closet when she and her husband had bought the Poy Sippi, Wisconsin, farmhouse two years ago. It was a charming old-fashioned quilt, red and yellow and beautifully handmade, but she had never put it out on a bed before. What was she waiting for?

When Florence arrived, she admired the quilt, and went to bed that night expecting to get a good night's sleep. But that's not what happened.

At about midnight, she woke up with a start as the quilt was jerked away from her. She grabbed onto it with both hands, but the quilt kept pulling away as if someone was at the other end of it, and a woman's voice said, "Give me back my Christmas quilt."

Florence was petrified. There was no one there, but the tugging didn't stop and neither did the voice. Florence held on to the quilt all night. It wasn't until dawn that the tugging stopped.

That was the beginning. Soon everyone wanted to test out the quilt.

The first one was Mrs. Monroe's other daughter, Margaret, who brought her own daughter with her. They gave up on the quilt shortly after midnight when it got painfully hot.

Margaret's 18-year-old son was next. He was sleeping on a couch and got his cousin Richard to watch from a roll-away bed they had set up across the room. Right after midnight, Richard saw the quilt pull itself off Tom. He said that it raised up about 12 inches and floated toward the foot of the couch, landing on the floor.

Margaret's daughter had a boyfriend who gave it a try. When, at about midnight, the quilt started to move, he jumped out of bed. Then the cover straightened itself out until it was as smooth as if the bed had just been made.

A cousin from California had the quilt sent out there so that her family could try it. The quilt got very hot, she reported in a letter that she sent back with the quilt, whenever anyone tried to sleep under it. They also heard footsteps, as if someone was "running around the house in his bare feet."

Finally, Mr. Monroe put the quilt on his own bed. At first, when he felt the tugging, he hung on to it. Then, he thought, why not let go and see what happens?

"The crazy thing dragged itself across the floor," he said, "and curled up under the dresser."

The Christmas quilt, after being sent here and there and "tried" by person after person, finally got the last laugh.

On Halloween, in 1963, the Oshkosh Northwestern sponsored a ghosthunting event, in which two women would sleep under the quilt while three other women stood guard.

The Christmas quilt did absolutely nothing.

In the end, the ghost or the poltergeist or the entity that so loved the Christmas quilt got its way. None of the family members wanted it on the bed. So the Christmas quilt was put out strictly for show—and given a wide berth.