This story takes place back in 1989.
It was a few days before Christmas and I was up from Sydney for a few weeks holiday with my mum and ex-step father. I came back from a party with old school mates and stumbled into my bed. Now, the house my mum and ex-ste father owned used to belong to a doctor back in the 1960s. The house itself was built roughly around the 1920s. A red brick house with a nice big lawn out the back, just perfect for backyard cricket. Anyway, getting back to my ghost story.
I was in deep slumber when I suddenly felt something hit me HARD on the foot, my left foot to be precise. I woke up and, to my surprise, I saw a man wearing what looks to be a tartan suit and a tartan hat with a pompom on it, like the ones some of the silly looking golfers like to wear (they remind me of demented clowns to be quite honest) and he was holding a walking stick. Man, he looked pissed at me for something. I remember sitting up with fascination as he suddenly turned his back on me and vanished into the door. I sat up and shouted: "Hey, come back you old goat, I wanna talk to you"... I wasn't sure if I should tell mum but I did then she told me about her experiences like having some old woman standing over her with a pillow and an evil grin (I'm fair dinkum about this) and having the old man standing watching her.
Like I said, it was a strange house. I used always get goose bumps as I walk by the bedroom where I saw the old man.