When I was younger I lived in a foster home in a city
about an hour from my home town. I was about 8 years old and
being away from my parents for the first time was very
hard. My foster mother tried her best to make me feel at
home and we were always doing things around the house that
she hoped would help me settle in. One afternoon we were up
in the attic of this house going through old photo albums
and boxes of junk. The house was only one story and the
attic. The only way to get into the attic was a pull down
step ladder in the ceiling.
As I was saying, we were up in the attic looking through
these old clothes and things. We had left the stairs out so
that we could hear if someone rang the doorbell. We were
sitting on the floor surrounded by dust and old photo
albums and my foster mother was telling me stories about
the people in the pictures and what they were doing, when I
had the strangest feeling that we were not the only ones in
the attic. I was about to mention this to my foster mother
when all of a sudden the door and stairs came flying shut
with a very loud bang.
Well my foster mother and I sat there kind of stunned for a
minute and then she laughed a little and tried to reassure
me it was just the wind or something. She got up to put the
stairs back down, she pushed for a few minutes and then she
came and sat down and said whatever happened must have
bumped the latch back in place. I was more than skeptical
at this point it was one thing for the door to shut, but
the latch to lock was too much even for me to believe.
My foster mother assured me everything was ok and when my
foster father got home he would let us out. So we tried to
go back to what we were doing and forget about being locked
in. She had turned back to the pictures when the window at
the end of the room flew open. It was midwinter so the wind
was very strong and and blew several shoe boxes with loose
pictures onto their sides. The pictures flew all over the
floor. My foster mother hurried over and reshut the window
mumbling to herself she could have sworn it was locked.
Again she dismissed it as just the wind and we set to
picking up and reorganizing the pictures.
By this point I was convinced these things were not normal
and no way was it the wind. I tried to tell my foster
mother this but she simply said there were no such things
as ghosts. No sooner were the words out of her mouth than a
small vanity mirror on a desk a few feet away shattered
with a crash and a horrible screeching sound, not unlike
the screech of heavily applied car brakes, echoed through
the room. I screamed and my foster mother grabbed my hand
and headed back to the stairs. Just as we were reaching the
stairs the door flew open and my foster father came
clambering up into the attic. My foster mother and I nearly
pushed him back down the ladder and climbed down
ourselves.
When we hit the floor below my foster mother
shut and latched the door and we went into the living room
and sat down out of breath. My foster father said he had
come in the door adn hear a crash and me scream and had
realized where we were. He said he hadn't heard the other
sound until he actually entered the attic. We couldn't
figure that out because the noise had been so loud surely
it would have carried out of the attic.
I was so scared and for the three years I spent there I
never went back into the attic. My foster father always had
to go up and get the Christmas decorations or the summer
play things for outside.
Thanks for reading my story. If anyone has had similar
experiences I would really love to hear about them. I am a
sucker for a great ghost story.:)
Contact me here: chibiangel109@hotmail.com
Submitted From: