My uncle died alone and was kind of an outsider/black sheep of the family. My dad and I went to his farmhouse in Oklahoma to inventory his stuff and begin clearing it out to sell the place. We go to the barn out back and open it up. About five paces in, a pitchfork flies out of nowhere and sticks into the wall next to my dad, barely missing him. I’m immediately looking for a place where the thing could have been resting, such that it fell when we opened the barn, or some sort of mechanism that could have flung it at us. I find nothing. Then I think maybe someone was in the barn, we startled them and they chucked it at us. Again I find no signs of anything.
Then I notice that my dad is eerily calm and quiet, seemingly not even interested in figuring out what just happened — but he’s as white as a sheet. I think he’s having a heart attack or something, and I ask him if he’s ok. Bear in mind he’s a scientist. He believes in nothing supernatural, but he proceeds to tell me that there is a family secret that I don’t know involving this barn, my uncle, and a pitchfork. And that I must never bring the matter up again. Ever.