27 February 2017 | Haunted houses, Your Stories, Your True Encounters
When I was eight, my father retired from the military. We moved to North Carolina to be close to my mothers family. My mom found a 3 bedroom home 1/4 mile from my grandparents. My two sisters and I shared a room. It was huge! Enough room for our full size bed, a twin size bed, 4 dressers with a space in between you could have put two more full size beds and still had room.
The first night there I woke up in the middle if the night. I could feel someone staring at me. And it definitely wasn’t in a nice way. I rolled over towards the door and saw an old man in a wheelchair. He looked furious. He was pointing at me and mouthing something but I didn’t hear anything. I couldn’t move or make a sound. Then he was gone. No fading. Just gone. I screamed bloody murder then. My parents weren’t to happy being woke up in the dead of night, and I got in trouble for screaming like that over a ” nightmare”.
Over the next few weeks, more things happened and not to just me. My mom, brother and other sisters also saw the old man. The stove would turn off by itself every time my mom tried to cook dinner. She had to stay in the kitchen the whole time to turn the burners back on. Doors would slam shut and lock you out of the house or out of your room. Clothes would be pulled off hangers in the closets or thrown on the floor out of dressers. Several times we thought someone had broken in and ransacked the house while we were out.
The last straw was one Sunday while we were sitting down to Sunday dinner. Something grabbed me by my shoulders and pinned me to my chair. I felt a horrible burning sensation along my lower back and I started screaming in pain. My mom jumped up and yelled for my dad to help me. Once they touched me it suddenly let me go. My mom pulled up my shirt and deeply scratched into my back were three letters. Zeb.
Talking to the old couple who were renting to us, my parents found out they had purchased the home from a son and daughter. It had been their father’s home. He had been sick the last few years of his life and ended up in a wheelchair the last year or so before he passed away. His name? Zebediah!
We moved out a week later. That whole last week my mom kept us all together at night in one room. I was so glad to get out of there
Submitted by Christina D Jones
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