There is a house on a road I know in my hometown. It was a story that revolved around a two-story house. My sister had always told me it was haunted ever since I was a little kid, and I believed her. Sadly it was true....I'll give you the backstory, and then my experience in the house.
It all started around the mid-80s when the house was first built. An old lady and her husband lived there, and the husband had built the house with his brother. When it was built, the husband (we'll call him John) thought they did a fine job, but the brother couldn't quite feel right around the house. It was one of those feelings where you know something isn't right.
Well it turned out, back in the 1800s, a man had been shot and killed and was buried on the spot. Seeing that he'd been wrongfully accused by the sheriff, he cursed anyone that came near his grave. This grave had been unmarked so they couldn't dig him up and bury him somewhere else. Well, it turns out that it had just been some empty lot and had stayed that way for a LONG time all because the sheriff had made it against the law to build anything on the spot. He believed very much that he could cause trouble, even from the grave.
Well, about a week after moving in, they knew something was wrong. They heard moans and yells in the middle of the night and the outside doorknobs were jiggling, as though someone was trying to get in. Well John knew better than to open the door if someone was jiggling the handle, but his wife (we'll call her Sarah), a very sweet woman, said to open the door, as it could be someone needing shelter. The bad thing was, it happened almost every night. One day while out feeding his cows, John got a terrible pain in his left arm. He was having a heart attack. His wife had seen him from the garden and rushed over to him immediately. He could only get a few words out, and they were "Sarah, whatever you do, don't open the...", and at that second, he stopped talking. Sarah knew he had died. Well that night, Sarah was going to the kitchen when she heard the doorknob jiggle. She rushed to the door and said "What do you want!", but there was no one there. A rush of cool air rushed by her, which was strange considering it was 80 degrees outside and the wind wasn't blowing. She thought nothing of it and shut the door and went up to bed. That was the last night anyone saw her. The next day, the sheriff came by to pay his respects of John, but no one answered the door. He went in and saw Sarah dead at the foot of the stairs.
That was the backstory. My sister had told it to me. I believed it at first, but had my doubts. When I finally got my permit, I drove up to the house to check it out. Nobody had lived there since the old woman, so it was a bit rundown. No one person wanted to live in it. The realtor had given me a key, so I stepped in. The second I did, a picture fell of the wall. I looked up the stairs, and standing right at the top was a man in old clothes. He yelled, came halfway down the stairs and vanished. I've never been in that house since then, and probably never will.