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I grew up in Colorado Springs, CO. Our house was a new construction,
and we were the first occupants, moving in when I was 6 years old.
All was normal until my great-aunt, who had lived in Georgia (US)
passed away when I was seven.
I went with my mom to Georgia to handle the funeral and sale of my
great-aunt's home and belongings. There were many antiques of some
value, and my mom commissioned a few to be shipped back to our home,
including a wooden rocking chair that had been with our family for
many years.
Seriously, this chair was out of a horror movie. It was hand-carved,
with scary faces on the hand rests and intricate, odd Gothic-style
designs carved in to the legs and headboard. My brother and I hated
the chair and the dog growled at it, but my mom thought it was very
prestigious and placed it in the guest room in our furnished
basement. After that, things were never the same in our house.
Soon after the arrival of The Chair, the basement became cold, and
the dog refused to go down there. Indeed, my brother and I didn't
like to play there anymore, and the chair seemed to rock on its own.
However, the truly scary thing first happened about two months after
The Chair's arrival, and this happened to me.
I was sleeping in my room on the second floor when I awoke in the
middle of the night, hearing footsteps on the stairs. Figuring this
was my parents going to bed, I didn't worry, or open my eyes. Then
my room got cold and I heard the footsteps, very softly, come in to
my bedroom. I got very scared, and pretended to be asleep - that was
when I felt the hand on my hip. I turned and looked, hoping to see
my mom's hand... but that's not what I saw. Instead, resting on my
hip, was a large, white, misty hand, attached to a white, misty arm,
attached to a... well, at that point I screamed and pulled the covers
over my head. My mom came running, and nothing was there when she
arrived (till the day she passed, my mom thought I was a little crazy
because of this).
This happened on many occasions between the time I was 7 and when I
left home for college at age 17. Many additional, inexplicable
incidents happened as well, but those are for another time.
After my mom passed away in 1993, my stepdad sold The Chair and the
house in Colorado Springs. I apologize to the new owners - and I
hope you're able to sleep through the night!
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