One night, a friend of mine was sleeping over. My mom had gone out and wouldn't be back till late, so my friend and I had the house to ourselves.
We were up in my room watching a movie and we suddenly heard the attic door open (it's usually kept locked) and then slam shut. We heard footsteps go all the down to the basement and that's when the house got very cold. . . so cold you could see your breath. (And it was about 70 degrees outside.) The footsteps started up from the basement and stopped at the basement steps, which I could clearly see from my room. My friend and I clearly saw the outline of a man about 19 years old. My friend screamed and I was flipping out. We could see through the guy and he disappeared in a matter of seconds. That night we slept in the living room.
In the morning my friend and I got the key to the attic door and went to investigate. When we opened the door on the wall was written was the name Steve.
My friend and I also went down to the historical society and the city borough and looked up my house. Apparently, in 1949, some one named Steve shot himself in the attic. Shortly after my mom and I moved out of that house and city.