My House (2)
Janell, Wyoming, USA
Alright folks, here goes. I feel like a total dork saying this, as it seems to be on pretty much every story I've read here, but I guess I'm what you would call a "Sensitive". I just seem to attract things from, well, beyond, I guess you could say. I've even had a woman from India tell me that I have "dog's eyes" since I seem to have had so many experiences. But, on to what you came here for, a good ghost story.
I'm going to post the most important one to me, and that is the story of growing up in my old home. A quick background might help out:
We moved into this particular house when I was two years old. Before my parents bought it, it was owned by friends of the family. Their son actually committed suicide in a house down the street shorty after they moved out. My dad and uncle actually helped clean up, well, the "mess" I guess, as he had shot himself in the head in their new house's basement. It had been built in 1973 or so, and before that time, nothing stood on that site, or any of the surrounding areas, but a large vacant field.
If any of you have ever had the pleasure of reading "Ghosts on the Range" *If you haven't, I highly suggest it* There's a story in there concerning the Middle School and a house located a few blocks from it. My house is only three blocks from both. Almost everyone I know who lives on this particular patch of land has had some type of phenomenon in their homes, some more severe than others.
When we first moved in, the house was in much different condition than it was been worked into now. Imagine this, if you will: A three bedroom, two bath town house, with a large basement and attached garage. In my parents room, deep purple shag carpet. My brother's room, between mine and my parents, puke green shag carpet. My room, dark red shag carpet. The rest of the house, you got it, bright orange shag carpet. The basement was the strangest, though. Concrete walls and floors, and no walls, just the studs where walls would soon be built. There were definite "rooms" down there, but you had an unobstructed view of the entire basement, no matter where you stood.
The first thing I remember about that house is that my room was paneled with a dark, purely 70's wood paneling. I used to see shadows crossing the walls almost constantly, and I remember being extremely frightened. I don't know if I complained enough, or my parents just decided to redo my room, but I can remember standing in our garage, watching my dad and my uncle pile those pieces of panelling against the wall, ready to go to the dump, and being somehow relieved. I was only about three or so, but I can still see that scene, clear as day. My room was then wallpapered with rainbows and smiling suns, so I was a happy camper.
After this, I remember having a playmate named Samantha, kind of like my invisible friend. She had on a pretty blue dress, and she always used to stand by my little Strawberry Shortcake toy box. I would wake up to find my dolls or other toys in different positions in the room from where I had left them at night. When my brother was old enough to play with me, our favorite place was the basement, as it was large and pretty much made for a kids play room. No carpet to get dirty, etc. It was our place, even though we were scared to death of it, and never liked going down there alone.
There's a crawl space directly under my parents room that had only a small, uncovered square leading to it, about two feet or so off the ground. I still to this day do not know what is in that space, but when it was covered in renovations, a clock was placed on the cap. It hasn't worked since. Not with new batteries, not after my dad, the ultimate handy man, looked at it, nothing. It would work when you took it off the wall, but soon it stopped working even then.
My brother and I used to play a game where we would stand at the base of the stairs, ready to run, and then scream at the top of our lungs. We were ready to bolt because when we did this, a dark black, almost mist would float out of that hole and come towards us. It was terrifying, but you know little kids. My brother's favorite prank was to scream while I was absorbed in playing, and then rush up the stairs and slam the door, leaving me a blubbering mess, trying to get up the steps before it got me.
Whatever it was had a mean streak, as I have been pushed or tripped numerous times going up or down those stairs, while I was the only one there. Things went on like this for years, but seemed to intensify as I got older. In middle school, I did what any outcast teenage girl would do, I got involved with Wicca and the occult. I was fascinated by it, and studied everything I could possibly find on these subjects. I asked for a Ouija board one year for Christmas, and got it. Long story short, my friends and I took to playing it in my basement all the time (which was now finished - couches, TV... walls) It worked way too well, and I ended up paying for it.
The strongest presences I felt before that time were of a woman, kind and caring, named Isabelle, two boys, around the ages of 4-6 and 15-17, and Frank, the dude in the crawl space. The Ouija board had told us that the other spirits were there to protect us from Frank, and would not let him harm us. After we began messing with things, though, I think I gave him free range of the house. My experiences went from kind of cool, to down right scary. One day in June or July, I was listening to music in my room. I collect nutcrackers, and at the time had about 30 or so. Two of them were animated and musical, and required winding up to play. I only wind them up at Christmas time, because they both play Christmas carols. And my brother never touches them. They freak him out. :)
As I was putting away some things in my dresser, I suddenly heard music start to play behind the CD I was listening to. I turned it off, and turned to find the source of the sound. When I saw what it was, I backed against the wall so hard I hit the back of my head on the window. One of my nutcrackers was playing gaily along, arms moving up and down, mouth opening and closing, like it had just been wound to full capacity. And I swear, it was looking right at me. It's eyes usually point to the right, but they were looking RIGHT AT ME. I stood, stunned, trying to comprehend what I was seeing, and it just kept playing. Finally, after what seemed like forever, it started to slow, then finally ground to a stop. I took a deep breath, realizing that to get out of my room I had to go right by it, and bolted. As I passed it, it played 7 or 8 more notes, clear as day, then stopped abruptly as I flew into the hallway. When I finally got the courage (and a friend) to touch it, we tried winding it up to see how long it would play. Even wound as tight as it would go, it won't play near as long or as clearly as it did that day, no matter what we tried.
On top of that, I'd hear strange, deep voices coming from weird places, and it seemed to have some type of thing for water. I would be standing in my room, alone, when suddenly I would feel a spray of water hit my back or side. When I'd turn to kill my little bro for using a squirt gun inside, I'd realize I was alone in the house. And it would not leave me alone in the shower. I'd be standing there, doing what you do when showering, and all of a sudden, the water would go ice cold. When I'd turn to shut it off or see if I could get it to go warmer, the handle would be all the way over to the cold side. I actually caught it moving once or twice. Now, this handle does not move easily. And I am the only one that's ever had that happen. Believe me, I asked.
After this, I got really into cleansing and white magic, and things seemed to quiet down. Except for Isabelle. From that point on, for about 6 months or so, I would see a silhouette of a woman standing in my corner at night. Windows open, windows closed, moon or no moon, she was there, clear as day. Just the black figure of a woman in a dress. I was never scared, and actually felt comforted by her presence.
I'm not the only one to have had experiences in my house (though both my parents swear they have never seen or felt anything). Most notable is one occasion where I had a friend over to watch movies. We were home alone, and I had told her to go downstairs while I got some soda and chips. I heard her get halfway down the stairs, and then scream. She bolted back up, and before I could ask what was wrong, she shouted, "I'm going to kill your brother!" I looked at her strangely, and she explained what had just happened.
As she was descending the stairs, a boy had run out from the shadows, wearing what looked like an alien mask. He had stopped at the bottom step, looked up at her, lifted the mask a tiny bit, laughed, and run back into the shadows. After I explained to her that we were the only ones home, and doing a quick search of the basement, we decided that we would just watch our movie upstairs, thank you very much.
Another time, another friend and I were watching TV downstairs, when suddenly she asked, "Do you hear that?" I inquired what she was hearing, and she quickly muted the TV. "That humming, don't you hear it?" And I did. A woman's voice, humming some unknown tune, was coming from behind the storage room door. We crawled silently around the couch, and put our ears as close as we dared to the door. Sure enough, there was someone humming in there. She leaned closer, and accidentally bumped the door with her head, causing a light thumping sound. The humming stopped immediately, and we stared at each other, our breath caught in our throats, waiting for what would happen next. When nothing did, I got bold, and reached out a hand and tapped on the door three times. Almost instantly, three small knocks came from the INSIDE of the door, just like I had done. My friend actually stepped on me in her frantic flight to the stairs. None of the windows in that room open, and the only room above it is mine, and there was no music playing in my room.
I have had numerous other experiences both in my own home and elsewhere, but that would take pages, so I'll leave it at that. I still have things happen when I go home to visit, and still believe my house is haunted. I recently moved, and have been trying to find someone to talk to about things of this nature. If you would like to hear more, or tell me some of your own stories, I would like to hear from you. And if you have any advice for what to do with my "sensitivity", I'm willing to listen.
Thanks for taking the time to read this monster of an entry!