This story took place at my grandmother's house. It was
built in the early 1800's, making it very old. When my
Grandpa bought the house, he turned it into a boarding
house. Since then many strange things have happened there.
For instance, four people have died in the house,
including my Grandpa. My Grandma owns the house now and
seems to have no problem with all the paranormal activity.
I, myself, try to ignore much of the strange stuff that
happens there, but there's one time that I'll never forget.
My Grandpa had just died, so I was spending a lot of time
at my Grandma's house. One day, after knowing that I'd
have to spend the night at her house alone, I asked my
Grandma if I could invite a friend and she said yes. I
decided to invite my best friend, Lacey, knowing that
she's use to a lot of the ghostly activity. Out of the
eight bedrooms in the house, we were to sleep in my
father's old room. My fathers room had a tiny door that
led to my Aunt Margarets old room. The door had always
frightened me. It was about 5 feet tall and very skinny
for being a door. The only way to keep it from opening by
itself was a small hook that latched to the wall next to
it.
When Lacey got to my Grandma’s, we went upstairs in my
Aunt Margaret’s room and laid out on her bed playing with
this small clown music box. When you twisted the notch on
the back of the clown, it chimed this song and would
dance. After twisting it one last time, and waiting until
the clown’s music was totally “dead” and its dancing had
completely stopped, Lacey and I made our way downstairs
and had lunch. About an hour later we went back upstairs
to unpack our clothes for the next day. After unpacking we
collapsed on the bed, bored, staring up at the ceiling.
When suddenly we heard a quiet chiming of music and a soft
pattering of feet. We both sat up at the same time covered
in goose-bumps. Clinging to each other, we stared
helplessly at the tiny door. The music and footsteps grew
louder as a tiny miniature shadow crossed along the door.
Not wanting to see what would happen next me and Lacey
broke out in a run out the other door and down the stairs.
When we reached the bottom we were shaking uncontrollably
and where almost to tears. We didn’t go up there the rest
of the day.
We dreaded night to approach, knowing that we’d have to go
back up there and face what had happened. Quietly we made
our way back up the way we had fled down. We got ready for
bed in silence and not once glancing at the tiny door.
After turning off the light switch together, we made a
running leap for the bed. After safely tucked in, we sat
staring at the small door, waiting for our eyes to adjust
to the darkness. After nothing happening for about a half
an hour, we slowly dozed off, only to be awoken again by
the soft chiming melody of the clown. We both froze in
complete terror, staring at the door. Our hearts dropped
to our stomach as we heard the sound of the hook
unlatching and the door creaking open. Lacey and I
screamed and not turning one more glance at the door, ran
down the stairs. We slept in the living room with the
lights on. Only when the bright light of afternoon crept
in the house, did we go back up stairs to only grab our
stuff and go home. It's been a year since that happened,
and still I have not been upstairs to either of those two
rooms.
What made the clown decide to come to life? Was it one of
the many that had died in my Grandma's house just coming
back to play with one of their old toys? Or was it
something else?
Submitted From: Emily Christine, CA, USA
