Do The Dead Still Play Games?
Emily Christine, CA, USA
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 Margaret's 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?