When I was younger, in the third grade, I moved into a house with my mother, my sister and my mother's boyfriend. He had owned the house for years. I had been told many scary stories about the house, but never believed them, mainly because I had never experienced anything scary there. Soon after we moved in there was a fire in the basement of the house. Everything in the basement was ruined, except an old painting on a velvet background. The picture was of a woman.
The picture was not damaged in any way, shape, or form. That was only the beginning. Needless to say, I never went into the basement again.
One day shortly after the fire, my sister and I were leaving for school and turned around to look at something and the fan in the sunroom was on. We walked back up to the house to turn it off and when we got close to the house the fan was off. Okay, so we were really scared.
About one year later, we were moving out. The doors to the bedrooms were opening and closing, I know you are thinking maybe the wind was doing it. That is what we thought. Well, it was the middle of winter and the windows were all closed and we heated the place with electric heaters which at this point were already moved out. I also was told after we had moved out, that my mother's boyfriend's ex-wife was unable to open the bedroom door. Impossible, I thought so. The door could only be locked from the inside, it was a latch lock. She called her husband and had him and his brother come home to open the door. Ready to bust open the door, he decided to turn the door knob anyway and it opened right up. I have to say one thing, although I am glad we moved.