Haunted Homes & Places I’ll Never Visit

Greetings my fiendish friends! This weirdo weather has got me feeling like I’m ready for fall. Usually I would be dramatically mourning the end of summer but it’s been a strange one for me and I’m happy to see it go.

I’m not sure if it’s the dreary gray skies, the smell of burning cedar replacing the scent of mulch and fresh cut grass, or if it’s just this house and my last post recounting the haunting events that have taken place here. But I’m getting in the spirit and I’ve got spirits on the brain. (I swear I’ll eventually  get back to the recipes but this is where my head’s at right now.)

My spooky experiences stretch far beyond the confines of my home. Some of my friends and acquaintances think that it’s me, I either attract spirits, or I’ve had the same menacing energy following me throughout all walks of life. I’d like to think it’s the former, but I refuse to see a medium, psychic, whatever to find out the actual truth. I channel the energy as it comes to me and I do my best to accept it, that’s it. If something happens to be following me, I choose to live in blissful ignorance.

I’ve broken up my experiences into a few categories because everyone loves a theme. Today’s theme is Haunted Homes. Friends homes that have terrified me to the point of no return. I’ve always been uncomfortable staying alone in my friends’ homes. That is when I’m able to best tune my energy and channel whatever presence might be lurking. I’ve done a relatively good job veering away from stranger ghosts but some just demand to be heard.


Engulfed in Flames

Psyche! This one was actually in my home. But it’s too creepy not to share. You may have gotten the idea from my last post that the majority of the hauntings take place on the stairwell, and still continue to do so. (My roommate found phantom blood on the steps/her dog a few days ago, none of the animals were bleeding. I must conduct further investigation before determining that it was indeed blood.)

For a frame of reference I must first ask you a question. Have you ever seen burning film? I did once when I was just a wee lass. My mother took me to see the film “Pleasantville” while I was still too young to understand the concept. During the climax of the movie the film began smoldering around the edges before it burned up entirely. I’m not sure why that image has always stuck with me, but it has. And if you’ve ever seen it you can probably still picture it too.

I’m not sure if you’ve ever gotten this idea from my writing either, but I was not a good kid. I certainly wasn’t the worst, but I was riddled with angst and did whatever I wanted, when I wanted. Parents and rules be damned.

I never had a curfew until after I got  my driver’s license. I guess now I can sort of see the logic, but not really. And I sure as shit didn’t see it then, so as soon as my dad hit the sheets, I was out the door.

At the time I was hanging with this guy from the town over nearly every night. Not romantically or sexually, we just liked to smoke a lot of weed together and talk about life. I’ve had many male friends who I’ve shared a similar relationship with, it’s just an extension of who I am I suppose.

My dad had just gone to bed. I waited an extra twenty minutes just to make sure he was totally out and wouldn’t hear me sneaking off or starting my car. I held my enormous boots in one hand as I tactfully crept down the stairs, alternating edges and relying on my muscle memory to expertly descend the stairs without a single creak. When I reached the bottom step I flicked off the light switch for no real reason at all, plunging myself into complete darkness.

Now you could say that it was my eyes adjusting to the light. Some strange phenomena that causes your subconscious to project an image when your eyes are subject to an abrupt and extreme shift in lighting. But I just don’t think so.

When I flicked that switch there was an explosion of light right before me illuminating a very pronounced and intricate image of a woman; writhing in complete agony, engulfed in flames. But the flames didn’t look like normal flames. And the woman didn’t look like a solid person standing before me. It looked like a film, burning film. Black, red, and smoldering around the edges.

The image wasn’t there for long. It probably only lasted for all of 5 seconds. Enough for my mind to register what it was seeing before it burned up into the ominous darkness that lay before me. Petrified, paralyzed, I stood there stupidly trying to get a grip. To make any sort of sense of it. Then the dread started to set it. I was standing right where that thing had been. And I was sure it was right there with me. Watching. Waiting.

I sprinted out of that house like a bat out of hell, not giving a shit if my dad woke up to the panicked raucous I must have caused. But he never stirred. I gunned it to my friends house and smoked myself into a coma just to get the nerve to re-enter my home.

That was nearly a decade ago and I can still see her. Her anguish, her face. She was so perfect. As if Michael Angelo had recreated Edvard Munch’s The Scream. Even though I haven’t seen her again, I know she’s there.



In the dark, dark attic there was a dark, dark soul…

There’s a certain friend of mine who’s house I will never re-enter. Ever. Never, ever, ever, ever. That place is not right. There is something evil there. My hair still stands on end just thinking about it and this story took place 14 years ago. If she’s reading this, she already knows I’m talking about her home. Hey girl! Your house terrifies me. Sorry.

This is a three parter. I’ll begin with the more mild events and work my way up from there.

Head of the Household

The first isn’t too bad, so you can relax for now. But just you wait. This story makes more sense now, knowing now what I didn’t then. This friend has since had a medium walk through their house to attempt to “expel” the spirits. I wasn’t there to witness, but the medium suffered multiple lacerations on her arms from unhappy spirits standing their ground (or…floating? I guess?) Two of them manned her mother’s bedroom, one of which wanted to take her place as the head of the household.

This story makes more sense now, knowing now what I didn’t then. This friend has since had a medium walk through their house to attempt to “expel” the spirits. I wasn’t there to witness, but the medium supposedly suffered multiple lacerations on her arms from unhappy spirits standing their ground (or…floating? I guess?) Two of them manned her mother’s bedroom, one of which wanted to take her place as the head of the household.

Unbeknownst to us at the time, we were just silly pre-teens (or I was, she was a year older and an actual teenager). We watched the movie The Craft a few times and fancied ourselves to be Wiccans. She, I and two of our friends formed a “coven” to effectively practice our magic. We bought the books, the Ouija board, the herbs and trinkets for casting “spells.” We had no idea what we were messing with. But not on this day. On this day we were just being kids. Watching movies, jumping on the bed when we weren’t supposed to, eating in the bed cause mom’s not home.

I housed an entire bag of potato chips and placed the empty bag on the dresser to get picked up later (probably not by me.) I guess “the head of the household” didn’t like my carelessness. As soon as I dropped the bag it crumpled up into a tiny ball, remaining compact. We both just stared at it, waiting for it to un-crumple, attack us, whatever. It didn’t move. Sensibly we hid under the covers until we thought it was safe, knowing all too well that it would never be.


The Bodies Hit the Floor

Her house was always much more active than mine. You were always seeing shadows, hearing voices. Blood curdling screams from outside during a torrential downpour when no sound could possibly penetrate her home. But these were all normal. Nothing to worry about. The spirits are just restless. They don’t mean us any harm… right?

One afternoon we were just being idiots as usual. We discovered that balsamic vinegar had a small level of alcohol content, so if we drank enough of it we could get drunk. We weren’t drinking the stuff straight. Just drowning our instant rice in it and drinking rice-vinegar soup, giggling as we became more “intoxicated.”

We sat at that table for hours joking, giggling, drinking vinegar. We hadn’t noticed how much time had gone by until her Aunt came running up the stairs gnashing at the bit.

“What the HELL are you two doing!? Can you keep it down?!” She shrieked, clearly at her wits end.

Horrified, we just stared at her, daring to glance at each other for only a second.

“We’ve just been sitting here…” my friend began to explain.

“BULLSHIT! I can hear you guys running around like animals! And what is that dragging? It sounds like you’re pulling a dead body around! Cut the shit!”

“Oh…kay.” Is all we could muster as she stomped down the stairs. We polished off the vinegar to try to drown out our fear.


Knock, knock, don’t you dare.

Here’s the one you’ve been waiting for. This was by far the most terrifying night of my life in terms of supernatural occurrences. Most experiences are creepy regardless of how jaded I’ve become, but this was the only time I ever felt unsafe. Like something intangible could possibly hurt me or worse.

Her mom had won a raffle at work and her prize was a two-person camping tent. Naturally that would become our clubhouse so she didn’t even bother trying to keep it. Excited for a camp-out, my friend called me over to set up and get our party started. Both her mom and her aunt would be working late that night so we could have the house to ourselves. (To sneak cigarettes or get wasted off of the neck of a beer, or vinegar).

I don’t really remember the events of the night prior to this experience. I just remember waking up. I’m not sure what time it was exactly. It was late. Probably around 3am…that’s the witching hour isn’t it? As self proclaimed witches perhaps something was testing us, and we failed miserably. But I’m afraid this presence was much more insidious than that.

I’m not sure what woke me, but I opened my eyes to my friend sitting up perfectly still, staring out into the darkness.

“What the fuck are you doing dude? You’re freaking me out!” I joked groggily. Her eyes locked into mine, full of fear. Pure fear. My heart sank. My mouth went dry. My senses became instincutally intuned as I snapped awake. What? What is it? She slowly lifted a finger to her lips. Her eyes screamed, “shut the fuck up!” She pointed up, upstairs. To the attic. I waited.


I jumped at the sound. I desperately gawked at her for an explanation. My eyes screamed, “is that it?!” Hers answered. “Yes.”

Thud. Louder this time. And from the opposite end of the attic. The finished attic ran the full length of the house, with stairs leading down into the living room. The living room which connected to my friends new bedroom. She used to live in the attic, but for obvious reasons decided to move. There was a sickening heaviness up there, just an overall feeling that something was very wrong.


The  sounds were becoming more frequent. Each time landing in a different spot. As if to purposely keep us on our toes, unaware of where the sound is coming from. Not knowing what’s making it, where it is, or where it might strike next.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

The sound became chaotic. It was coming from every direction of the attic, multiple thuds at once. The house was trembling with each blow. We sat helplessly as the banging became more aggressive. We didn’t dare cross into the living room. To go passed the stairwell to the attic. Where something was surely waiting.

Then the sound stopped. The house was eerily quiet except for a high pitched frequency that can only be heard with absolute silence. A quiet so hollow it becomes painful.


This time it was on the stairs.


It was getting closer.

We called for her dog, Tommy Girl. Surely she could save us. We heard the pitter patter of her little feet as she trekked across the kitchen. But then she stopped. We called for her again. She answered with an agitated growl. We could see her shadow as she stood at the edge of the kitchen, bordering the living room. Her growling became more aggressive and still, she wouldn’t come.

The parakeets suddenly started going crazy, screeching and fluttering in their cages. Tommy Girl flipped and started hysterically barking and yelping. The blinds on the window began swaying and shuffling as if someone was running their hand up and down on the blinds. Still, we dared not move. Not even to cling to each other for comfort. We both just stared at her door, open to the living room. To whatever it was.

Then everything fell silent. The dog, the birds, the windows, everything.

Thud. Now it was at the wall between the living room and her bedroom. It was coming for us. And it wanted us to know.


We stared at each other, waiting for someone to have an idea. To make it all stop. Something. Anything.

Slam! The door bounced off of the wall. As if someone had punched it. It was in the room with us. Watching. Waiting.

I can be painfully blunt at times. I don’t have much of a filter. I’d like to say it’s something I’m working on and I’ve come a long way. But at this time I was in my prime. If shit was hitting the fan, you didn’t want me around. The worst thoughts would come to mind, and I would always say them. As if putting it out into the universe would somehow prevent it.

“I’m afraid to turn around.” I finally whispered. The first time anyone had spoken since we heard the first thud. Her eyes bulged out. WHY?! They pleaded. “I feel like we’re going to see a face pressed into the side…”

She punched my arm. “You’re such a fucking asshole! Why would you say that?!” We both reluctantly turned around, expecting the worst.

There was no face. There was nothing there.


Someone, something smacked the side of the tent- right where we were staring. It didn’t have a shape. It wasn’t a face or a fist, more like a giant pocket of air. A phantom ball.

That shook us out of our trance. As if that force of air thrusted us forward, we jumped out of the tent and hauled ass down the stairs. The house was in complete chaos once again. The blinds, the birds, the banging, the dog. My forward momentum was so strong I couldn’t stop as the front door flung open, her aunt standing in the threshold. I slammed right into her and clung to her, rambling hysterically about demons and birds.

We frantically screamed over each other as we tried to explain the events to my friends clearly exhausted and annoyed aunt who really couldn’t be bothered.

“I don’t hear anything.” She finally said. We both stopped screaming and listened. She was right.

The house was completely silent.


Wakey, wakey

Sleep paralysis. It’s a bitch. If you’ve read my previous post then you know my stance on it. I only experience this when I’m being contacted by a negative presence. Demonic if you will, if I can even mentally process that.

Negative energy attracts more negative energy. And negative entities feed off of that shit. Wherever you find turmoil and anguish, you will find an evil presence lurking about, riding the wave of despair.

There was a lot of tension in my friend’s home. Her parents were separated but couldn’t afford a divorce or for either one to move out. Instead they lived in separate rooms and in a constant state of conflict. The children, clearly affected by the conditions, were on edge. The house was always in a constant state of chaos. Screaming, fighting, slinging insults and profanities.

I was still living in Providence, Rhode Island at the time so Boston was only a hop and skip away. I took the drive over and we spent the night bar hopping,  deciding to pack it in when the pubs and clubs began to close down.

My friend had just started seeing a new love interest and had been snapping him all night. She told me she’d be spending the night with him but she’d tuck me into her room and tell her sister (who she shared a room with) so she didn’t freak out to a stranger in her bed.

Pretty drunk and lit, I had no trouble falling asleep. I was in a deep slumber until I was awakened by the chaotic frenzy that was this family’s morning routine. People fighting for the bathroom, so much screaming, so much tension. I smashed my head between two pillows to drown out the sound.

Eventually the door slammed shut, leaving behind a vacant house and an exhausted me. I let out a deep breath, releasing the tension I’d absorbed during my waking moments. I managed to drift back to a sleep like trance. I think I was dreaming. But  I woke up in her room, in her bed, wearing the same clothes I’d been wearing. Everything felt real, except for the vibe. I wasn’t really awake.

I woke up again. And again. The same thing. Same room, same realization. I was stuck in a cycle of waking up in different forms of consciousness on different planes, or at least that’s what I’ve come to understand throughout these reoccurring experiences.

Finally I woke up where I suppose I was meant to. Shocked, I saw my friend’s mother standing in the doorway, watching me. Except it wasn’t really her. Her face was distorted, her eyeballs a dark inky black. She stood rigid as she stared, and I could feel her hatred filtering through me.

She clumsily staggered towards me with an immense fury in her eyes. Paralyzed (hence the sleep paralysis) I laid helpelsslu as she pounced on top of me, digging her fingers into me and pressing down, shaking me as she growled.

I could feel my subsonscience writhing inside of my body as I tried to struggle free, take control, but I couldn’t move. I was trapped. I focused all of my strength into opening my eyes. I knew once I succeeded I’d break free from this trance. Finally I felt my eyes begin to flutter. The grip began to lose it’s hold.

Finally my eyes shot open to an empty room. That thing was gone but I could still feel the heavy animosity weighing down on me, waiting to pounce again.

As soon as I was fully back in my own body I swept up my stuff in one hand and sprinted out the door. I didn’t stop to check if I’d left anything behind. I just had to get the fuck out of there.

I never did tell my friend what happened. It was in her bedroom after all and most people don’t process these experiences the way I do. And if you’re reading this right now and figured out I’m talking about your house, sorry girl. Your house is haunted AF.

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