This story was told to me by my mother. Now mind you, I come from the most average family imaginable; in fact, my mother would not even tell me the story until I was 23 because she did not want to freak me out. Anyway, here is the story.
My family (on my mother's side) has always been "sensitive," especially my one particular aunt. When she was younger, and just had my twin cousins, she lived in an average house in a small town (or so she tried to tell herself). From time to time, she thought she heard crying in the attic. Now because the twins were pretty young, rowdy, and their bedrooms located on the second floor, she would just tell herself that one of the girls was crying and check on them (though often they were asleep). One night, she heard footsteps upstairs that stopped at the top of the stairs that led to the second floor. Thinking it was one of the twins, she looked to the landing at the top of stairs; there standing looking down at her was a little boy (now mind you, the twins were the only children at that time and they were girls). Needless to say, my aunt was a little frightened. Not knowing what else to do, she told the boy in firm voice to go back to bed and stop crying. The boy turned around and disappeared. My aunt never heard the mysterious crying after that.