14 April 2016 | April 2016
Our house was built by a man called Jack. Nothing in this house was done properly, and Jack died before he could do anymore work. The floors were uneven, the cabinets, walls and doors were all crooked. It’s not a nice house to look at—but that didn’t bother me. I had just gotten divorced and Jacks daughter had invited me to live in her father’s old house. I was happy to oblige.
The first night I spent there was uneasy. The closet in my room gave me a really strong vibe. But you always think that about a new house, don’t you? There’s spooks in every new thing we do. Whenever I was in the kitchen I felt like I was being watched. I constantly felt terrified in the basemen. I hated the closet in my room, it smelled so strange.
The crawlspace under the house gave me my first experience of “seeing” the paranormal. I saw the figure of a man crouching under there. He looked young, and pre-occupied. I thought it was the exterminator, but as I walked towards him he disappeared.
Two weeks after that experience my son told me that the man in the kitchen had threatened him. He pointed to the corner and said that he was “Jack” and that it was his house. He wanted to know what we were doing there—and wanted to know where his “stuff” was. I scolded my son and told him not to make up stories. Naturally I assumed that he had overheard Jacks daughter, and myself, talking about the house.
Later I would come to realize that Jack was one of the many spirits that filled that house. I saw the man crouching under the crawlspace again—he was in exactly the same position he had been in before. I saw a man in the basemen who seemed to be crying.
One night I was lying awake and all of a sudden the sound of old country music on the radio came blaring from the basement. I went down and tried to find out what was going on. When I opened the basement door, the music stopped. But the TV in my room started up, and I could hear a boxing match going on.
I went back upstairs and my TV was turned off. I sat on my bed and my closet door opened. That was it. I was getting pretty freaked out and decided to leave. I couldn’t take anymore. I collected my son from school the next day and we went to my parents to stay. My last night in that house was filled with footsteps, music, bangs and all manner of intrusions.
On the way to my parents’ house I was told by my son that “Jack” and “Roy” were the two ghosts. They had both died there, and apparently didn’t know anything about the other. My son explained that they had both appeared to him, and seemed to be friendly.
Friendly, or not, we didn’t live there again.
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