Being Alone Doesn't Mean Someone Isn't There
Lauren, NC, USA
I’m not the sort of person strange things happen to. I’m an observer. I’m the one that the eerie stories are relayed to, but when I was around twelve years of age I believe I had an encounter with an entity. I wasn’t sure then, but now I’m certain that I did. I’ve grown since then, but the years still haven’t erased what happened. It was Sunday morning and I was in the bathroom getting read for church, running late as usual I grabbed what I needed and headed into my room (it was the last one down the hall from the living room) and closed the door. As I stood in front of the mirror brushing my hair I heard a sudden bang. It was a like a hammer slamming through a wooden wall. I jerked open the bedroom door and hurried down the hall. I remember that at first I thought it might have been our cat. Buddy was a climber and would knock things on the floor from time to time, but a broken vase and the sound I’d heard were two totally different things. Instead of something broken on the ground, I was met with a wide open basement door. There was a security chain that fastened to lock it; it was ripped from the door and half-way across the room. The bolt was used to hold the locking piece to the door was also wrenched away.
I was the only person in the house at the time this occurred and can think of no reason for the door to so violently open in the way it did. The wind was not blowing, I WAS alone, and a cat certainly cannot open a door. Soon after I passed on my experience to my mother, she told me that the house had been owned pervious to us. A fire had destroyed the basement and much of the upstairs, killing an older man that had used the basement as his work shop.
To my knowledge nothing else has happened in that house, I no longer live there but visit my grandparents who still do. There are still shivers that goose-step on my spine when I go into that house, but the best I can do is ignore it.