Even as I write, eight years after marrying and moving to Western New York, I still find it incredulous that I lived in such a strange and haunted house, and that my parents live there to this day.
I first started noticing the oddities in my family's 125-year-old home in Niagara Falls when I was a young girl of around 6 or 7. I would be punished for various misdemeanors by being sent to stand in the corner to think about what I had done (usually something involving tormenting my younger brother). I would sort of "zone-out", for lack of a better term, in order to pass the time quickly, but would usually get yanked out of this meditative state by a pinch to the buttocks, or a tug on the back of my hair. There was never anyone there, though.
Through the years I have experienced the sounds of children laughing and running the upstairs hallway, and doors slamming without breezes or people causing them to. My mother and father, although very matter-of-fact about things of this nature, have been quite startled on numerous occasions by the sounds of the invisible children. Pictures and mirrors have fallen off of the walls many times, only, upon further inspection, to have their hardware intact, as well as the nail on the wall still okay. The cupboards have been heard by all of us, at one time or another, banging open and shut in the night, and don't even bother putting anything of importance down for even a second!
On at least 10 different occasions that I can count, keys, pens, wallets, and other debris, will turn up in the back of someone's closet months afterwards, perhaps under a pile of books or some boxes. The house has many cold spots; the upstairs landing is, by far, the worst.
There have been two apparitions; one was a little boy hovering at the foot of my bed at night as I turned down the sheets and prepared to go to sleep (he disappeared after about 7 seconds), and the other was one of a wounded soldier (Battle of Lundy's Lane?) staggering across the front parlor, only to disappear into the wall.
The events described aren't particularly scary, seeing as they all happened sporadically, and my entire family seemed to take somewhat of a morbid delight in living in a harmlessly haunted house, but the scariest event of all happened to my mother.
She was awoken in the middle of the night by someone warm, fragrant, and invisible, kissing her, somewhat romantically, on the neck, as well as touching her hair. Her response was (besides the overwhelming fear!) to tell it to bug off, and seek refuge in my bedroom (perhaps assuming it wouldn't follow? It didn't anyhow, as the case may be).
I have not experienced anything super- strange since moving from this house eight years ago, but when I visit, the occasional dish towel has been spotted "jumping" off of the counter and landing on the kitchen table. This account of paranormal happenings may not be the scariest one ever documented, but it was my childhood, and is still going on to this day for my parents.