The Campbells believe the woman walked the wide, wooden plank floors of the home more than a century before they bought it. And she thinks the house is still hers.

In 1977, the first time the Campbells saw the brick, federal-style 19th century home, they loved it. When they heard it was for sale in 1984, they wasted no time in making an offer.

During their closing, the Campbells got a clue they were getting more than a house. Pam remarked to the sellers, a husband and wife: "So, when do we hear about the ghost?" It was a joke. She and Doug had no reason to believe a ghost resided there. "Oh, you'll find out," the woman said.

More than a year went by and nothing happened. The couple stripped wallpaper, painted and furnished their house with period antiques.

The Campbells and their young sons, Chad and Doug Jr., nearly forgot about the ghost, until one summer day when the boys' swimming trunks disappeared. They searched the house, only later to find the trunks laid out neatly in the boys' room. They had looked in the same spot earlier, but saw nothing.

Then, the boys' school permission slips for swimming vanished. "I remember one of the boys saying, 'What are we going to do, Mom?' " Pam says. "This is the last day to turn them in." Maybe someone heard him. That day, four days after they disappeared, the slips turned up on the kitchen floor.

A reluctant retriever

The curious happenings continued. Even tempted with a steak bone, the Campbells' Labrador retriever refused to enter the kitchen, sometimes whimpering in fear. Then, while spending the night in the upstairs guest bedroom, Pam's mother walked into the Campbells' bedroom after midnight, fully dressed. She woke them to announce she was "ready to go."

"What do you mean?"Pam asked.

"You've been in my room three times and told me to get dressed," her mother insisted.

Of course, Pam hadn't been in her mother's room. And while this might be dismissed as a bad dream, the Campbells believe someone - something - did wake her mother that night.

As she talks, sitting in the living room, with lacy curtains hanging at the windows and an old clock ticking on a buffet, a chubby black cat named Bandit II curls up in Pam's lap. Outside, a brisk October wind rustles trees in the night darkness.

"Are we normal?" Pam says, responding to the obvious question. "I'd like to think so."

Pam is a former marketing communications manager and Doug is chief of exhibits at the National Museum of the Air Force at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base near Dayton. He loves woodworking and she adores art. They are rational Episcopalians who say they had never encountered anything supernatural or paranormal before moving into their old house.

There have been other mysterious incidents in the guest bedroom - a small room with an original walnut armoire and cozy fireplace. After suffering from a fever and sleeping there one night, young Chad later told his parents he felt the back of a woman's hand - cold and wrinkled - caressing his forehead. He sensed someone sitting at the foot of the bed, then saw a silhouette looking out the bubbled glass window.

"I was scared to the point that I couldn't yell," says Chad, now 26 and living in Charlotte, N.C.

Another time, a friend, Bob Jensen, who had gone with the Campbells to a party in Waynesville one night, had too much to drink. They suggested he spend the night in the upstairs bedroom. The next morning, Jensen confessed something strange happened.

"I was lying in bed and wasn't quite asleep," says Jensen, who now works forthe U.S. Air Force News Agency in San Antonio, Texas. "It was like I felt someone sit at the bottom of the bed. Then I heard them say 'Hey!' and they yanked the covers off me."

He thought it was the Campbell boys playing a joke. So he jumped out of bed and yelled What do you want? But there was no one there.

"That really scared me," says Jensen.

The Campbells find this story convincing because they had not told Jensen about the hauntings before that night.

On another night, Doug was the first to see what he believed was their resident spirit. He was at the top of the stairs, when he caught a glimpse of a woman's long dress, whisking across the hall below.

Odd experiences explained

Founded in 1797, Waynesville is a town rich with tales of ghosts and haunted houses. With the help of local historian Denny Dalton, the Campbells learned their house was built in 1860 by Emmor and Mary Baily.

In 1864, Mary Baily's widowed mother, Elizabeth Satterthwaite, a devout Quaker, moved into the house with her daughter and son-in-law. She died in the upstairs bedroom on Christmas Day 1871, at age 86.

So the Campbells came to believe it was Elizabeth Satterthwaite's ghost that haunted their house. For them, this was confirmed in 1988, when they allowed a Cincinnati television station to bring a psychic in to communicate with the ghost. The psychic told them the Satterthwaite spirit meant no harm. She was just looking after "her house."

For the Campbells, this helped explain many of their odd experiences. As a strict housekeeper, Satterthwaite would detest clutter. The Campbells think this is why her ghost briefly swiped swim trunks and school papers - to remind them to keep the house neat. And she would've never allowed a dog in the kitchen - even the pet Lab.

They believe that as a religious woman, she would disapprove of excessive drinking - which may explain the scolding of Bob Jensen that night in the upstairs bedroom - Satterthwaite's bedroom.

'Never felt threatened'

More than 20 years after they moved in, the Campbells rarely notice the doors that seemingly open and close by themselves, or the clocks that strike off hour.

The Campbells are comfortable living with the benevolent being they respectfully call "Mrs. Satterthwaite." Even privileged. "You don't feel afraid in this house," Doug says.

"We've taken comfort in that we feel protected by her," says Pam. "I know that might sound loony, but we feel she is actually looking out for us."

Evidently, Mrs. Satterthwaite is also still looking after her favorite places. Killian, the Campbell's new yellow Lab, rarely sets paw into the kitchen.

E-mail cmartin@enquirer.com