How can I put my life in a short story that has been through so much and yet has so little to say.
It all started when I was a young kid, at the age of 2, when I could talk. I can't remember distinctly all what happened, I can just barely put all the bits and pieces together, my dad filled me in on what happened in my dreadful child years when someone from beyond the grave played with my mind.
It all started before we moved in, a place I would say near Clermont Northeastern High schools. The yellow house from the day I moved burned into my memory not by myself, but my relatives. You see, before we moved in, that yellow house had a deadly past, in the attic. A man named George went into the attic, and committed suicide by hanging himself. It is not known what his last name is due to that it didn't matter to me or my family because my mom and dad was scared, and my sister wasn't even born yet. It IS, however, known on what the man looked like; at least, to me anyways. He looked like my uncle Randy. I thought he had special powers when he walked through the walls and talked to me.
I didn't even know he was dead, until, a while ago, when my dad told me the stories in the car up to Lake Erie which was last Friday. I thought everyone was kidding me when they said a ghost haunted that yellow house, but I was wrong. I do remember some things, but some is blurred from thought, while the rest was so horrifying, that it traumatized me to this very day. I always wondered what happened to me over the years. I went from happy-go-lucky, to obsessed with violence, Goth, and all that other weird stuff.
Anyways, back to the house. I would always get out of my crib, and follow that haunting voice, whatever it was, to its origin, and furniture would be stacked up by the window, from which the screen door was pushed out. The voice started to sound familiar, which even today I cannot put my finger on it. I should have known that it was the voice of "George", but I was a little kid, I didn't know what was going on. I would climb on the furniture, jump out the window since it was near the ground, and get on my tricycle. The voice came to me and said "Go out into the street and ride it until a car comes, then stand in front of the car."I didn't understand what it was saying but what was I to do but listen to the voice, because it sounded like someone from my family and I knew who was in my family. Believe it or not, I was smart for a three year old. When I rode my tricycle I would see a car up ahead coming towards me, I would stand in front of the car's way and not budge, like the voice said. The neighbors woke up from the cars honking and called my parents to know what was going on. My parents grabbed me and my tricycle and would go into the house. I told my mom that Uncle Randy said to do that. My mom was horrified. This was only the beginning.
I used to always sit in my room and lay in my crib. The spirit of George would appear near my crib and talk to me. When he talked to me, the door would always be closed and my mom would hear only my voice. She would open the door and I would stop talking. When she left, George commanded me to close the door, I did. We started talking again and my mom opened the door again, the talking stopped. She then asked me "Why don't you leave the door open, honey?" and I would reply, "Because Uncle Randy wanted me to keep the door closed." Again, my mother was horrified, she didn't know if it really was my uncle Randy playing a prank or the ghost. Although I can't remember what we talked about, I would bet anything that it wasn't good.
The next story should really haunt you, because I myself saw the powers that ghost had when I was in the attic.
My dad put some of my toys upstairs because he had thought I had enough toys in my room, so he put some up in the attic, directly on the spot where the suicide was committed. My dad accidental left one of my favorite toys up there so I went to get it, I knew my way around the house. I went to play with my toy upstairs. The ghost appeared in front of me while I was playing and I never liked to be interrupted while I was playing, so I ignored "George". BIG MISTAKE. I felt a rumble in the house and the window suddenly opened (telekinesis), and all my toys was thrown out of the attic window. The ghost, who looked like my Uncle Randy like I said before, had an evil, demonic look that even words could not describe. I had just angered a spirit, and just my luck, it had to be a ghost that knew where I slept. If you thought the Blair Witch scared the bejesus out of those three filmakers, think of what a three year old was going through at that particular moment.
As I am writing, more and more hauntings of this yellow house is becoming more and more clearer, and it gets more and more stranger.
I had a babysitter while my parents were out. I was in my crib and it was just me, the babysitter, and her boyfriend. Well, anyways, there was a few taps on the walls and the babysitter ignored it. Then the taps started to become violent knocks. The whole house was surrounded by violent bangings on walls. I don't know what happened after that because I became frightened of the ghost.
The day I started to fear "George" became a curse on my family. I started to hug my little bear "Snuggles"(hey, you never had a stuffed teddy-bear to guard you from things?) so maybe it would protect me. WRONG!!!!! This ghost wanted us out and was going to get us out, one way or another. "George" appeared in my room and saw my teddy bear, it was taken out of my hands and was thrown across the room. I screamed like I was just born. I screamed Bloody Murder(actually, i just screamed). My parents knew that this was final and that we had to get the Hell out as soon as possible.
This last story is probably the most chilling, maybe it was just coincidence, or something far more freaky. The buyers of this somewhat "peaceful" looking house in their view, had a catch. The family, had 1 kid, my age, when I was moving. And the father was dressed just like my dad that day. My dad said they looked a little like them too. My family and theirs went out to eat at Red Lobster in Amelia. Soon enough, they moved in and we were gone.
Now that I know what the truth is about that yellow house, I have the urge to go back. I want to sleep there for a night, maybe bang on the walls to get it mad or say mean things to it. Whatever it is now, its still in that very house, probably haunting people that only has one kid. They probably ran like scattered geese to another location, I wouldn't blame them. George is still in that house, I am gonna laugh hard when that house goes CRRRAAAASSSSSSHH!!
I know that these stories sound made up to you, but it happened, and the house is still standing today. These hauntings sound like a movie to you, but in this movie, there were no scripts or directors or people playing your part. It has no fiction to it. And the movie will never end. I know in some way, emotionally, that I have been traumatized but it doesn't show. I'll bet you anything that the people that lived in that same house have too been traumatized in one way or another, maybe someone was physically hurt by the ghost. To anyone else that reads this: Next time you move into a house, know the history, unless it is a new house, check to see if you're on a burial ground too.