Dude… if I had all night, I would make the hair on the back of your neck stand straight up, without touching your leg.
EDIT KYLE - You better fucking read the whole thing.
Lived in a haunted house for ~10yrs. Older lady, died in her sleep, didn’t want to leave the house and still thought it was hers, and not ours.
I was too young to remember most of the stuff, and my younger brothers were too young to remember any of it, but my parents and older brother know all the details.
- Moving in, my mom places some boxes on the kitchen table and then goes outside to get another load. The door closes behind her and locks, she turns to see a woman walking away from the door. Tells my dad, he climbs in through the window, unlocks, and searches the house for the lady. Nothing found.
- Same day… mom putting stuff away in kitchen (dishes, pots and pans) hears noises in the bathroom. Toilet flushing, water turning on and off… and then the handle turning. After a couple minutes of the handle turning she tells my dad to just open the door. Still turning. “OPEN THE DOOR”, she grabs the handle. It is locked… but it isn’t locked, it is being held from the other side. She screams it again, and then hears my dad yell from the basement “WHAT???” Then the handle is released. She opens the door, and it is like 30* in the bathroom, we moved in around June/July. Nobody in the bathroom.
- Sometime goes by before anything else funny happens, until my dad (biker dude) gets thrown down the stairs. Shortly after, my older brother was also pushed down the stairs.
- My mother had a waterbed when I was growing up… the cat couldn’t jump off the bed without it moving everything on it. One night my mom wakes up and can’t breathe. She can feel someone stradling her and choking her with the blankets. Seconds later she is released and the bed moves as if someone had just jumped off the bed. I was super scared of the house so I slept in bed with her, and when she caught her breath she grabbed me and we went into the downstairs bedroom. A couple nights later she saw a shadowy figure standing at the edge of her bed. She doesn’t know how long it was there… it just kinda disappeared. She would also wake up to her jewelry box playing in the middle of the night… for whatever reason, it would wind itself and then open itself. Sometimes multiple times during the night.
- Mom is at work, babysitter is watching us in the living room. I was listening to my “Waking up the neighbors” tape with the headphones on singing “Everyting I Do, I Do It For You” … lol, thats how long ago that came out. Sitter shuts off the stereo so we can go get something to eat from the kitchen, we walk into the kitchen and the rocking chair in the corner is going crazy… no biggie right? The cat just jumped out of it, happens all the time, but when we looked back in the living room the cat was sleeping next to my brother. That is the same kitchen that the board flew up and ripped in half.
- it is also the same kitchen I had the worst experience of my life. My dad sent me out to the kitchen to get him the salt and pepper from on the stove. My dad was a slave driver like that. The kitchen is dark, but there is some light coming in from the living room so I go for it. I usually do not move in that house unless all the lights are on. I quickly make my way to the stove, which is next to the stairs and as I reach up to grab the salt/pepper a pan flies off of the wall and almost hits me in the face. I freeze. Not because of the near pan experience, but because of the aparition now going up the stairs from the kitchen. All I saw, or remember seeing was a white’ish nightgown flowing up the stairs. I couldn’t breathe or move. Not like a pause, but more like stop. Mouth was open, but I couldn’t scream. Brain was telling legs “RUN FOR LIFE” but legs not working… my hand was still stretched towards the stove… after those few short seconds of agony I was finally released from the hold and immediately broke down and ran back into the living room. Now my dad had heard the pan fall, figured I hit it off the stove, no biggie, he knows I would have picked it up. But when he sees that I have returned without the salt/pepper he gets pissed. I try to explain what happened through the tears but I couldn’t speak, I could barely breathe. Nopw he is really pissed. He hates that sissy shit. If you are crying, he will give you something to cry about. He picked me up by my hair and forced me back in to the kitchen. The pan, still on the floor. he turns on the light and puts the pan back. To this day I think something clicked when he hung it back on the wall… like I wasn’t even tall enough to reach it… but he still told me to go up stairs. I refused. He then… assisted me up the stairs. As he chased me I became even more hysterical… immediately pissing my pijamas when we reached the top of the stairs. He turned around and I quickly followed him down them, on his heels. He grabbed the salt and pepper from the stove, and walked back into the living room, shutting off the kitchen light. I sit in the living room, eyes fixed on the doorway that leads to the kitchen. Complete darkness, completely quiet, and all I can think of is the scream that wouldn’t come out, and the 7 steps it would have taken me to get to the living room had my legs been working.
- We lived like 10 feet from the rez, and lets face it, a lot of shit gets stolen and brought back to the rez. I had recently had my bike stolen by an indian, my dad helped me get it back by stopping the van, letting me out to pound the fucker, and then opening up the back of the van to get my bike back home. He was sweet like that. One night he hears something outside the house, almost where the garage is. He has his harley parked in the garage so he immediately jumps to his feet to fend off the thieves with a thumb to the eye. As he nears the corner of the house, and rounds it to see the garage he realizes the noise was coming from behind the house, not the garage. And that the noise isn’t indians in the garage, it is not even human. What he thought was a creaky door of sorts is not even remotely close to the noise that is now rumbling through his ears… and through his body. The tremble of the ground, and the breathe and growl that is now engulfing his body is nothing he had ever heard before. The presence of 10 bears and 10 lions roaring feet from your face wouldn’t equal the power of the demonic growl that was being emmitted from behind the house. He took a couple more steps toward the back corner of the house. The noise unbelievable, the toughest man alive is now trembling in his boots, afraid of what is just beyond his line of sight, a few more steps and he would surely be able to identify the source… a few more feet and he will know what it is, a few more feet and he might not be able to make it back into the house. He turns cheek once reality sets back in and sprints to the house, as if his feet never touched the ground. As he whips into the house panic’d my mother rushes into the kitchen to find him loading the shotgun at the kitchen table. She runs to lock the door, but as she looks at the pale ghostly look on his face, and the ice cold sweat pouring from his forehead she slows down, eye contact with the fear strucken man assures her something very bad is about to happen. Before she makes it to the door, my father tells her “Don’t bother, whatever it is in the back yard, isn’t worried about coming through the door.” My dad sat in fear that night, fear for his life, and the life of his family. To this day he still regrets never rounding that corner, never taking those few short steps, never finding out what scared him to near death.
- This was the last straw. My mother went to a holy man, got the house blessed with holy water. Didn’t help. Went to Lillydale and got a medium/psychic. They saw her coming a mile away. Most wouldn’t even talk to her, and some had nothing good to say at all. She finally found a woman who would help. My mom drove her to the house. The psychic made it to the front door and stopped dead in her tracks. As my mom opened the door and invited her in, she could see by the look in her eyes that she wasn’t going to come in. They walked around the yard talking about what had happened, and what will happen, and what she could do to stop it. Basically my mom had to try to communicate to “Mary”. So, one night she sent us off with one of her friends and she was in the house alone. All the lights were off and she sat at the kitchen table. She had to candles burning, one at each end of the table. She sat at one end, and left the chair at the other end of the table, available. She just started talking in a calm voice. Kinda describing the situation. My family lives here now, you have to move on, you have died… stop hurting us… that kinda stuff, but in more words. Toward the end of her spcheal she could feel a presence… you know when you close your eyes and someone is staring you in the face you know that person is there? Well she had this, x100. The temp dropped in the room significantly. When she finished it felt as though a great weight had been lifted off her shoulders. The room wasn’t so crowded feeling, and the air was much lighter. She opened her eyes. The candle on the other side of the table was out. But there was no smell of smoke… and no reason for it to have gone out. She stayed at home that night, alone, in her bed. We came home the following day from our sleepover and we could just feel it as we entered the house. She left. Since that day nothing erie ever happened in that house.
I never knew why my dad was so regretful about not turning that corner until I started telling these stories to friends. Everytime I do I wish I could go back and maybe do something different. Maybe follow that lady up the stairs… where did she go? What did she do? What did she want? For years I thought about going back to 173 Bloomingdale Ave, and for years I never acted on it. Though the house is renovated now, and new people live there, I still think that maybe, just maybe I’ll go up those stairs and as I walk to the loft I will hear my Big Bird talking in the attic again. (One of those battery powered talking dollw that plays an audio tape and their mouth moves) And as that big bird was talking, that I may have the strength and courage to open the attic door… and maybe peek inside. Maybe I could have been the one at the kitchen table trying to communicate with this wicked spirit… and maybe I could have left my eyes open? Maybe I could have brought my own Ouija Board into the house and tried to get some questions answered without it ripping half. Maybe Maybe Maybe… the same maybes my dad thinks about anytime he thinks about the scariest day in his life. I used to think that people who have never lived in a haunted house were lucky to have never experienced being choked by an unknown presence, or to ever be locked out of your house by a woman who died 50 years ago. I used to think that. But now, older, and maybe wiser, I am grateful that I was able to experience those times. Made me who I am today. Fearless. If I ever get the opportunity to run down a ghost, or communicate with a spirit you better believe I’ll take advantage of it. Not many people have ever seen death, or been touched by it. I guess I’m one of the fortunate ones who was able to see it 2nd hand, and live a little bit of those horror flicks.
If you or anyone you know lives in a haunted house, I would love to visit. Really though.
BTW - for those of you who are wondering why we stayed in a haunted house for so long, well the answer is simple. rent was $150 when we moved in, and 10 years later, it only went up to $175. We had great friends, and country livin in that area, the only other place to get rent that cheap was the city. My dad used to work in the city, and would never put us through that. I grew up wearing clothes from Salvation Army, but we could only get clothes on Wednesday, cause thats when the yellow stickers were only $1.00 or that 1 day a month when you were able to fill up a garbage bag for $5.00. Thank your parents for me for donating all those sweet Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle clothes to Goodwill so that I could be in style, maybe it was 1 year behind the rest of everyone. And a special thanks to whoever donated that purple jacket Choda had to wear all winter, he still hasn’t lived it down. Thanks to the people at the DSS for giving my mom food stamps, and thank you WIC for 1/2 gallon peanut butters you have to mix the oil into everytime you want to eat it, and powder milk, that when mixed with real milk tastes almost as good as the real thing. And thank you Quaker Oats for filling that little boy’s empty stomach when there was nothing else to eat in the house… and that mouse who also ate the dry Quaker Oats for not eating a lot, and only shitting on 1/2 of it. And I almost forgot, Thank you HILLS for making huge slurpee cups, so my older brother and I could fill them with instant coffee so we wouldn’t fall asleep when we were too afraid to sleep.
Family guy is almost on. Next time one of you crazy cats catches me at a bonfire, feel free to bring up my childhood haunting, I would love to share more with you, and maybe even answer some questions.
Stories rock!