I Grew Up in a Haunted House

I grew up in a haunted house. Recently, I’ve moved back in to this old thing. I expected a welcome party from my non-living tenants but as of late they’ve been pretty secluded. Some people doubt the haunting because the ghosts don’t dance for them on demand the one time they decided to drop by. Maybe the ghosts have grown disinterested, or they can  sense the fear and leave it alone. I never have experiences when I anticipate them. Normally when I interact with the paranormal, I won’t even realize until after the fact. When I realize there’s no possible explanation, and no chance of the living being involved.

I’ve been clairvoyant for as long as I can remember. As a kid, I would sleep on the floor of my parents bedroom because my own never felt safe.

“There’s a little girl in my room mommy, she’s mean. I don’t want to share with her.” I would say. My parents would dismiss it and send me back to bed, only to find me sleeping elsewhere in the morning. Eventually I renounced my bedroom and starting sleeping permanently on the living room sofa. My parents didn’t want to feed into my “delusions.” They thought I just had too active of an imagination, I watched too many scary movies.

Although I can’t remember the little girl, I remember the fear I felt living in that room. To this day I’ll always keep the door closed and avoid entering by any means necessary. When I  moved back in, that room remained untouched for two months. I just couldn’t. In my adult life, I’ve never seen the girl. Only the shadow of a man. To me, it means that either the man is guarding the door for the girl, or the entity changes shape depending on who is looking at it. I fear it’s the latter, cause that would indicate a demonic presence.

Footsteps, doors swinging open, phantom feet going down the stairs out of the corner of my eye, shadow people, phantom cats, these are among the common phenomena that I encounter on a daily basis. Could it be the alarming amount of brain altering drugs I’ve taken in the past manifesting into long term damage? Or is it something else?


Giggles on the steps

The majority of the hauntings for whatever reason linger on or around the stairs leading from the first floor to the second. My father, who did not believe in the existence of supernatural activity had admitted to seeing phantom feet walking up the stairs as he was walking down out of the corner of his eye. I guess the same could be said for him, perhaps it’s the after effects of hallucinogenics, but it’s too big of a coincidence.

At this point in time I was still in high school, either my junior or senior year. I had made my rounds around the house, sleeping in every bed and on every couch, only to be shocked enough to move on to the next place. Eventually I found myself in my dad’s office, an extension that had been built onto the house within the last 60 years. I’m not sure exactly how old this house is, but it’s old. My dads parents bought it when they got married. My dad grew up here, I grew up here. Who knows who lived here or what took place before my family moved in. But this office room is the only place I didn’t feel any energy, the only place I ever felt safe. It is also one of the only rooms I didn’t play with the Ouija board as a child. Word from the wise, don’t fuck with that shit. And don’t EVER bring it around me.

I started sleeping on the couch in the office until my dad finally caved and got me a bed. It wasn’t a proper bedroom, but he accepted that I refused to sleep anywhere else in the house. The office is located on the first floor with only a half bathroom standing between me and the stairs.

One night I was shocked awake by something, a noise perhaps. I waited silently to see what it may have been. And then I heard it. It was ever so faint as first, but it grew louder as I focused all of my attention on this one sound. It was a creaking. A fast paced creaking coming from the steps. The only way I could describe it, is if someone was standing on a step and bouncing on it repetitively. For hours. My blood ran cold as I listened, grasping for any sort of explanation. It wasn’t the animals, I’d hear their collars jangling around. My sister was on new medication but it couldn’t have been her either, she wasn’t home.

Then the giggling started. A stifled giggle, as if someone was trying to suppress their laughter. A hissing laugh like the alien baby from Eraserhead. I couldn’t move. I watched the light under the door for a shadow, any sign of movement, it never came. This went on for hours. The creaking would sometimes cease, I’d take a deep breath and try to convince myself it was anything other than what I feared and try to lull myself to sleep. But it would always start again, with a burst of laughter and chaotic creaking. It carried on until dawn. Suddenly as the sun crept up, the noise finally stopped and did not start again.

That was the first and only time I’d ever heard that noise. My dad tried to blame it on my sister, but as I said, she wasn’t home. Whoever/whatever it was got a good laugh at my expense, and I soaked my sheets with sweat into a scared-shitless-swamp.


Tug of war.

Are you familiar with sleep paralysis? If you’re not, you’re lucky. It’s terrifying. There are various conflicting explanations for this phenomena, but no actual solid proof of a cause. Some believe that it’s inflicted by the presence of a demonic being trying to penetrate your soul. I am among these people. I’ve only experienced sleep paralysis in environments with very negative energy due to family issues or whatever else, the type of energy that invites evil to stay.

There wasn’t anything particularly negative happening at the time, but my house has seen some shit. And as I’d mentioned, I dabbled a lot with witch craft and the Ouija board as an adolescent, with no regard for the consequences or any actual knowledge of what I was doing. I have no doubt that I invited some unwanted energy into my home.

This was still during my feeling out phase. Sleeping in various places to find the safest space. At the time I was crashing on the living room couch, directly next to the stairs. I was dreaming that I woke up on the couch in the living room, but then I woke up again. And again. I continuously woke up in a network of dreams until I felt trapped in my body. My mind was awake, but I couldn’t move. I could just barely open my eyes. I felt my blankets being pulled off of me. I couldn’t move my head, but I could glance down the length of the couch to see a large dark figure grabbing at the end of my blanket and attempting to pull it away from me. With the minimal strength that I had, I gripped the end of the blanket and yanked back. The back and forth grew intense as we struggled over the blanket.

Then I hit the floor. Shaken, I was actually awake and freed from my body. It must have been a dream. A terrifyingly fucked up dream, but a dream nonetheless. That is until I saw the blanket. It was crumpled in a corner on the other side of the room. Unless I threw the blanket and then threw myself on the floor in my sleep, that game of tug of war had actually taken place.

And I lost.


The Panda Room

I effing love pandas. I love their silly faces and their clumsy antics. I’ve always been obsessed. I think I was perhaps 10 years old around this time. My mother who at the time was a freelance painter had made over my sisters room with a celestial theme. Naturally, I had to have whatever my sister did. So I wanted my room made over as well.

I always slept on the couch, but my parents hoped that if they designed a room to my liking that I would actually sleep in it. So as you would have it, I chose a panda theme. My mom spent weeks putting it together. Painting the room, creating decorative pieces and picking out the matching linens. Finally it was all done and I could sleep in my newly furnished room.

To celebrate I invited my friend from karate class to sleep over. We’d never hung out outside of class and I was pumped to show her my new digs. We set up sleeping bags on the floor and giggled ourselves into exhaustion. Just as we were about to drift off to sleep, we heard a slam outside of the door. Like something falling. We both froze, eyes bulging over the tops of our sleeping bags. We dare not even look at each other, we dare not move.

That’s when the doorknob started to turn. I had fully shut and locked the door, mostly to keep out my parents. The door swung open but didn’t hit the wall. It was stopped as if someone had pushed the door open and was holding the handle, watching us. I waited for my eyes to adjust to the light. To see my parents or my sister looming in the hallway. But no one was there. We did however find the source of the crash. A broom lay across the hallway in front of the door. For the more superstitious of you, you already know what this means. Company is coming.

Kim never came over again, and I never spent another night in that room. All of my mom’s hard work had gone to waste. Whoever/whatever it was wanted the Panda Room for itself.


Whistle while you haunt.

I wasn’t the most behaved kid. I was a horrible shit to be totally truthful, and left to my own devices I always chose to do what I wanted. That never included school. I cut class every chance I got. I’d just not go altogether and forge notes from my father explaining my absence. This was one of the many days that I decided not to go.

Sometimes my father would come home from his lunch break, so when I heard the back door slam I thought nothing of it. The footsteps going up the stairs, the jubilant whistling, it all seemed normal. I was still petrified, but only of being caught. I wedged myself behind my desk just in case he decided to peak in and caught me skipping school.

Just then I heard the door slam again. My sister. She came flying into my room like a bat out of hell to reprimand me for a text I’d accidentally sent to her.

“Keep your fucking voice down dude! Dad doesn’t know I’m here!” I hissed, unmoved by her verbal lashing.

“Dad isn’t fucking here!” She roared. “It’s just us!”

She noticed as my face fell, but she didn’t let up. She trailed me yammering on as I scoured the house, not to find a living soul anywhere. Tara swore the driveway was empty when she pulled in. Only a few moments after I’d heard the footsteps and the whistling.

I was almost relieved to learn that it had been a ghost, and I was going to get away with cutting school once more.


He’s waiting down there.

Obviously you know I fucked around with the Ouija board, and I despise it with every fiber of my being. You have no idea who you’re inviting in unless they have the decency to introduce themselves. Well, as for my demon, if nothing else is to be said about him at least he told me his name. But only in dreams. While I believe that you can communicate with the dead during the waking hours of this realm, the best place to communicate with them is in the dream world. It is the only place that we can coexist and visibly be aware of each other’s presence. Mainly when I channel energy and interact with spirits, it’s when I’m sleeping. I guess you could say I’m just imagining it all, it’s purely a fabrication, and that could absolutely be true.

I just don’t think so.

My demons name was Max, I could always feel him, but he only communicated with me when I slept. He always had two broads with him. Astonishingly beautiful, and even more malicious. Max always looked the same, but the women’s hair would change with each appearance. It always followed the same pattern. I’d be having a Disney-esque type dream. Everything is rainbows and butterflies, la-dee-da, and then boom. Darkness. The sky would swallow up with dark dismal despair as Max and his bitches entered the scene. Demonic minions would rise up from every direction, capturing my friends and brutally torturing them to death as I watched and they laughed. The dreams would always end in my house, and me surrounded by the chopped up bodies of my loved ones.

Except for the last time. It had been years since I dreamt about Max. I thought I’d phased him out. At this point in time I was sleeping in my father’s bedroom. I exiled him to the guest room (the little demon girl room) and took over his space because it felt safer. Until one weekend he went away to his girlfriends house and I had the house to myself.

I was sleeping as normal, and then I woke up on the bed. And then I woke up again. And again. I was continuously waking up in the same dream over and over until I finally woke to see two girls sitting on my bed. Them. They looked as beautiful as ever, one with long flowing red hair, and the other with a short blonde bob.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, trying to sound tough.

“To bring you to him. He’s under the bed.” One of the girls tapped the bed, pointing down.

“I’m not going down there!” I demanded. But they just laughed as they lunged at me, pushing me off the bed with their sharp manicured fingers. I desperately clung to the edge, terrified of facing Max who was undoubtedly waiting for me.

And then I woke up for real. Clinging to the edge of my bed, barely hanging on. My arm was fresh with bloody scratches and my heart was beating out of my chest. I steadied myself and flopped back onto my bed gasping for air.

That was the last time I ever dreamt about Max or his hoes. It’s very possible it was all a dream. I could have scratched myself and clutched the edge of my bed as a physical reaction to my dream.

I just don’t think so.


Maybe it’s me.

Every place I’ve ever lived, many places that I’ve visited, I have experiences. I’m not sure if I’m just very sensitive and channel energies wherever I go, or if there is a presence that follows me and shows itself every now and again. It’s possible it could be both.

On a few occasions I have had “mediums” and “witches” approach me to tell me that I have “the gift.” That there is a presence about me and I need to learn how to hone the craft. It could be true. Or they could totally be full of shit.

For someone who is so tuned in, I’m pretty turned  off. In my home I don’t feel threatened by the spirits because we have coexisted for years, but I just can’t hang with hauntings elsewhere. It’s too taboo, too creepy.

Now that I’ve moved back in, I expected more of a rise out of the spirits. Other than a few knockings and footsteps, but they’ve pretty much kept to themselves.

And I’m totally cool with it.

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