Hello. Like so many others, I’ve come to add my creepy accounts to the ever-expanding archives of stories on this website. To share with you, I’ve brought three stories, one of my own and two of my mother’s.
When my mother was twelve years old, she lived in an apartment complex not far from our home now. The floors of the old apartments were very creaky, and one could not take a single step in any of the homes without the floor creaking under the weight. Upon entering the apartment, the kitchen could be found straight ahead, and the living room attached, and directly to the left was the hallway containing the restroom, the bedroom which she and her sisters shared, and her parents’ room. Their dog, a loyal golden retriever named Sandie, invariably slept under the kitchen table.
One night, very late, my mother rose from bed, thirsty, to get a glass of water. She padded quietly down the hallway, stopping by the front door to allow her eyes to adjust to the darkness. As usual, she found Sandie lying deeply in slumber beneath the table. Much to her horror, however, she also discovered that there was creaking on the kitchen floor, as if someone were walking through the kitchen in her direction. Needless to say she ran quite promptly back to her room, water all but forgotten, and did not even bother to slam the door on her way in, thinking only of the protection of the large bed that she shared with her sisters.
She lied there, quietly, for several minutes, ears poised and prepared to pick up on any sound that might penetrate the heavy silence in the apartment. Sure enough, there came the creaking again, only at the end of the hallway, this time, by the door. It very deliberately made its way down the hallway, and as it passed my mother’s bedroom she saw…what else but nothing? It continued on its way down the hall, not hesitating at all at the open door, heading for my mother’s parents’ room. Thoroughly terrified at this point, my mother lay petrified, listening, anticipating that the creaking would travel again down the hall. Indeed, there came more creaking, but, much to her relief, the hallway light was switched on and her father poked his head into her bedroom.
"Dad?" she asked.
"Yes. Did you hear anything a minute ago?"
"Yeah, I was up about ten minutes ago, but I heard creaking in the kitchen and I ran back to my room"
At that point, he nodded, said his goodnights, and returned to bed, and my mother somehow found a way to sleep. The next morning, her father told everyone that he had had an experience that night. He explained that he woke in the night to find that he could not open his eyes, nor speak, nor move at all, and then, suddenly, he felt as if something was trying to push its way into his body. Terrified, he’d begun to pray and say the words, "In the name of Jesus Christ, if you are not of God, leave this place!" in the hopes that it would banish whatever it was. Indeed, the sensation was ended, and he could move, speak, and open his eyes, and took the opportunity, then, to walk down the hall and question my mother.
Confused and frightened at that point, they confided in a neighbor, who proceeded to tell them a story that quite explained it all and was, indeed, seconded by the landlord. Apparently a self-proclaimed witch had lived in the apartments, and had been evicted for unknown reasons. In anger, she swore that she would leave a spirit to wreak havoc, and wreak havoc it did.
Later in her life, my mother’s family moved a very short distance down the road to a house in the same town. My grandparents still live in that house, and most of the time it is not threatening in any way, though there have been a handful of spooky scenarios. In the house there is what is now a guest room at the back of the house which, at the time, served as my mother’s room. As she lie sleeping one night, she jolted awake somehow and, very similarly to my grandfather’s account, could not move, or speak, but could open her eyes. As she lie paralyzed she felt the edge of her bed indent, as if someone had sat on the edge of the bed, by her legs. Then, the drawers in her bureau began to open and close as if someone was looking through them. This went on for a few moments more, and then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the last drawer closed itself and the pressure on the bed relented. My mother, unsure of what else to do, merely drifted back into dreamland.
One night, when I was somewhere between twelve and fourteen years old, I spent the night with my best friend, Danielle. Having never had a particularly exciting sleepover before that point, we saw fit to entertain ourselves by reading ghost stories. Armed with chips and hot cans of soda from the garage, we hunkered down and began reading quietly to ourselves, sharing occasionally when we found ourselves in the depths of a particularly spine-tingling one. At the end of a rather long session we took a break to tuck into the chips and sodas, which we hadn’t touched for no less than four hours. Danny, having been chilled through-and-through, made the offhanded remark, "What if all the ghosts we just read about were in the room with us right now?"
And with that, one of our hot, unopened cans of soda began to make its way across the desk on which it had been placed.
Danny didn’t need to be told to run, and I didn’t need to be told twice. Needless to say, we avoided the room for the rest of the night, and when hunger tweaked at our stomachs and sleep at our eyelids, her father was made to fetch our snacks and sleeping bags.
Thanks for your time. :)