The year was about 1971.
When I was about 7 years old my mother remarried and moved into an old house that was divided into several apartments. The house was in New Orleans, LA. I don't remember the physical address but the name of the street was Rampart Street. In the 1960's and 1970's the was a neighbourhood for blacks. There was about 9 different apartments altogether in the building. It was a big 3 story house. Three apartment on the third floor, 3 on the second and three on the first. And some tenants had to use the alley to get to their apartment. We were one of the ones that needed to use the alley. To this day I do not like alleys.
Well anyway, when we first moved there I had a little room in the back of the apartment. The apartment consisted of two bedrooms (one very small bedroom and one average size room), kitchen/living room and a small bathroom. It was a very small apartment. When we first moved there I told my mother that I did not like the place and I would like to go back and live with my great aunt whom I had been living with since my mother and father divorced. She explained that I did not like it because I didn't want to be there. Me being a quiet child didn't say anything to my mother but when I first walked through the alley I began to feel scared. The feeling intensified when I walked through the door. But Me being such a quiet child said nothing.
About two or three weeks later my mom was outside talking to a neighbour and I was playing jacks on the floor of the living room when something just swiped the jacks across the floor, I froze and didn't move. At the same moment my mom walked in the door and stepped on one of the jacks. She started yelling at me about the jacks all over the floor. When I explained what had happened she said for me to stop playing and pick up those jacks.
Nothing happen for a long time after that. Then one night while I was sleeping something grabbed the covers off of me and threw them on the floor. As I sat up I noticed there was a tall man standing at the end of my bed. When I sat up to look at him he was in the process of touching me when he looked up and noticed me looking at him. We both just froze, at this time I was so scared and thought that he was going to kill me.
The man is tall and tall for a 7 yr old is pretty big. Anyway we both stopped and just stared at each other. This happened for maybe 8 or 9 seconds. His face was blurry and his body was broad. The man then looked at me and hissed "Get Out!" with the most awful look on his face. At this point I screamed very loud. My step-father ran into the room and switched the light, a few seconds later my mom ran in. When I told them what happened they both looked at each other and told me I was just dreaming. My step-father looked around the room, I had no windows in my room so where did he go?.
I slept in my parents room for about 2 weeks, then moved back to my room. Nothing happened for months.
Then one very hot night (remember my room has no windows) I was sleeping only in my underwear. I don't know what woke me up but as I open my eyes I saw something run across the floor, when I started to turn over to see who or what it was something grabbed me from behind and held me to the bed. I tried to cry out but it was pushing me down, I could feel it holding my arm. I got so scared that I stopped struggling and just lay there.
About 6 or so seconds later it hisses something but at this point I am too terrified to listen. I don't know how long "it" held me down because the next thing I know light is coming from the living room window, I could see it through my open door. Seconds after I noticed this I felt a pain in my back as if someone has stabbed me with a large fork. Then I was released. I started to scream and scream, my mom must have tried to calm me down for about an hour before she got the story out of me.
After I told her and my step father the story they looked at me and my step-father said "let me see your back". I don't know what they saw on my back but my moms eyes got as big as saucer and she started to cry.
An hour later I was on my way to my Great-Aunts house.
I moved back with my mother 2 months later into another house. Nothing never happened there. I don't think this is an overactive imagination, I am 34 years old and I still know this happened. My mother to this day will not talk about what happened but my step-father told me that the building were we use to live was owned by an old man. He does not know if the man was dead at the time. My step-father is now believes anything somebody tells him about ghosts.