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This is a story I do not often tell. I promise, sincerely, that this has scarred me for life and although I have looked into psychological explanations for what I heard and natural explanations for what occurred, they remain unsatisfactory.
When I was a child, I was scared of the dark. I swore to my mother I heard voices in it. They were not evil, but they were not familiar and so they scared me. It was not uncommon in the middle of the night for me to wake up and hear “whispers” as I would call them when asking my mom. She figured they were just “bumps in the night” and typical kids nightmare material. I tried often to explain to her that it was more than that, that they sounded different from one another the way people’s voices do.
On some nights I would get so scared from these “whispers” that I would sleep in my mom’s bed with her. It was an added bonus that the bathroom was directly outside of her bedroom door for my late-night tinkles.
I should add at this point that when walking out into the hall to go to the bathroom, you looked directly down the stairs that would lead you into my living room on the first floor (as my mom’s bedroom was on the second floor).
On one such night, around Christmas, I awoke and felt the need to relieve myself. I walked out from the door and distinctly heard the phrase “Look!” and to my astonishment, a red light, almost like a spotlight, was cast upon the wall at the very bottom of the stairs. The light had no other source, it was by itself, and I was transfixed by it.
Being a little kid, and it only being a few days from Christmas, I KNEW what this light was. IT WAS SANTA!!! How else could he get into my house to know I was being a good boy. I was so excited I began walking down the stairs to greet him, picking up my pace after the second step as it began to creep off the wall and fade into the darkness in my living room.
That’s when I heard him. A very strong, masculine voice. Different from the first. Not at all like my father’s (not to say he isn’t masculine, it was just distinctly different). It said “Stop! Right now. Go back up those stairs.”
I listened, turned around, and what happened next I am not sure I would believe if someone had told me this same story. After reaching the top of the stairs, I heard a very loud CRASH that sent me running back to my mother’s bed where I jumped straight under the covers and stayed there the whole night.
When we awoke the next morning, the poinsettia lights (little Christmas flower lights that glowed red) my mother had put on the railing down the stairs were pulled straight down to the bottom of the stairs, some broken from what seemed like a forceful tear, laying in a single pile. The dry sink in my living room had fallen from the wall. My mother could not explain it! My father was worried we had been the victims of a home invasion. My sister was crying.
There was nothing missing, nobody had broken in, there did not seem to be any reason this had happened. And then I saw it, and I kept quiet about it because I was so afraid that I could not force words out of my mouth.
There, on the edge of the wooden dry sink which had been facing up, were three indentations where the finish on the wood had been worn, almost as if in a forceful grip. Something down there had GRABBED IT AND THREW IT DOWN. That was what the bang was.
I was mortified. After that day I never heard a single voice again. I do not like to imagine what was waiting downstairs for me that night, if it was anything at all, but I can tell you that the reality was that something had physically acted upon two things in my house near the bottom of that stairwell.
After this, I had never heard another whisper again. Which is sad, because in some ways I would have liked to thank the man (masculine energy?) that had stopped me from going down those stairs. This happened when I was 7 (or 7 and a half! as I liked to say at the time).
I am 20 years old now, and because of this incident I am still afraid of the dark. ESPECIALLY shadowy stairwells.
So, not sure if scary, but really weird. 2 days after my grandfather died, the neighborhood security guard knocks on our door on a Sunday morning. He told us: ” An old man came to your house earlier, knocked on your door for half an hour, and finally left. When I asked him what he wanted, he told me he needed to say goodbye to someone he had never had the chance to meet”. We were all stunned, had no idea who this old man was, or who was he looking for.
When the guard came in, he shouted: “That’s the old man!!” pointing at a picture of my grandfather. My entire family froze for a minute. I’m not 100% sure if the guard was telling the truth, but I almost like believing that my grandad wanted to say goodbye to my newborn sister, before resting in peace.
My house was built in 1904. It is a single family home, wood frame setting on a concrete block foundation. I have been living here for about 12 years. Of all the weird things that my siblings and me have seen or heard in this house this one event is my favorite. This happened to my brother. About ten years ago my brother and his best friends had started a garage band playing mostly “spanish rock”, alternative music but in spanish. His friends could only get together on Sunday afternoons. They would practice into the early evening, they would usually call it quits by 8 pm, this was the time I usually showed up and went to bed, cause I worked the graveyard shift. This happened in late fall, so the days were getting shorter, they had just finished a long session when the decision to head to someone else house came about. My brother handed his car keys to his buddy so they could load up the equipment, every one had filed out of the basement, the tricky part was that they needed to walk all the way to the back of the basement, up the back stairs, through the kitchen doorway down the hall into the living room and out into the front porch. Everyone was outside sitting in my brothers truck waiting for him. My brother was walking up the back stairs when he remembered that he had left his pancakes in a to go container sitting on a speaker in the basement. He made the decision to go back. Now the basement is not clean, with full sight lines, there had been partitions made, and the boiler and main heating unit are right smack in the middle. So after my brother walks back, he is about to retrieve his food container, when out of the corner of his eye he sees it.
It is a shadowy figure, right at his peripheral vision, this feeling of dread and uneasiness washed over my brother. We had been taught that if you are in the presence of a spirit or ghost and you felt a bad vibe, to say quick prayer or to cuss at it. My brother chose the latter, he basically just told it “hey fuck you, I don’t have time for this shit”.
My brother started to walk to the back of the basement and briskly up the stairs, closing doors and turning off lights as he was walking out, the last light switch is on the opposite side of the front door…luckily the door was open and the light from the street lamp was flooding the living room with its amber light. My brother said he felt something at his back, but at no point did he turn around, as he flicked the last switch the living room went dark, as the rest of the house. As he stepped out he pulled on the door closing it behind him, still holding his food container in one hand he jogged down the few porch steps, he walked towards the front gate…our house resides far from the main street, essentially having a large front yard but no rear garage. As he closed the gap between himself and his friend laden truck he kinda smiled and thought things over in his head, mad at himself for spooking out when there was no reason.
He climbed into the drivers side of the truck, putting on his seat belt and getting ready to pull out of the parking spot directly in front of the house, when one of his friends asked ” Hey wait what about your brother, isn’t he coming with us ?” My brother answered “what do you mean ? He went to work early tonight he is already gone, do you see his car anywhere ?”
The next question they asked “So then who was walking behind you when you were leaving the house ? ”
This is a story my dad told me a few years back. When he was in his 30s, he was housesitting a bed and breakfast for a few friends who were out of town. My dad and his girlfriend at the time weren’t staying at the bed and breakfast, but would spend a few hours every evening to make sure it at least looked occupied. A few nights in as they’re about to leave they hear a massive banging sound and a blood-curdling scream. They look at each other and without any words ran out of the house, locked it, and drove home.
The next morning they went to check out the house. The hallway upstairs had 3 bedrooms on either side, and one larger bedroom at the end of the hall. When they went upstairs, all the doors were closed. They tried each handle on the doors on the side of the hallway, and every single one was locked from the inside. When they got to the final door, it was unlocked. They go inside to see the room completely trashed and furniture scattered everywhere.
The worst part, however, was the walls. The walls had claw marks running down them as if someone was trying to scratch the wallpaper off. Needless to say, they locked up the house and didn’t return until the owners came back. Later on, they did some investigating and discovered that there had been a murder there a very long time ago. A doctor had come home to find his wife cheating on him with another man, and he had stabbed the doctor, shoved the wife against the wall, and stabbed her too. Apparently the claw marks had come from her nails scratching down the walls.
It was my dad telling the story, so I don’t know how much of it is actually true, but he seemed almost frightened when he told this to me, as if even just the memory chilled him to the bone…
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