My History With Ghosts

Until 1979, I lived in a home that dated back to at least the 1820's, and perhaps even earlier. The home had a full basement, first floor, second floor, and an attic that was divided into rooms with 8-10' ceilings. To get into the attic
you had to lower a door (which was located in my room) by pulling two levers. The door would lower at one end to the floor, and there were steps built in to the back side of the door. The home was used as a duplex, one "apartment" upstairs on the second floor, where we lived, and the one on first floor where an elderly landlady lived. My brother, who is 13 months younger than I am, and I had a number of weird experiences in that house. We used to jokingly refer to the ghost as "Harry." Items used to disappear, only to reappear in an obvious place at a later time.

Once, a friend who lived behind us refused to come to our house for nearly a year after swearing that someone "grabbed" her shoulder, but when she looked, no one was there. I remember often feeling "watched," and having the feeling that someone was in the room with me. Although I realize this sounds like "kid stuff," I
remember having an irrational fear of my closet. The only incident I ever remember happening when my parents were around was one Sunday morning. You entered the apartment in the kitchen, which was the center of the apartment, and the other rooms opened up off of it. My bedroom was to the left, then my parents' room, bathroom, living room, and my brother's room. My father was sitting at the kitchen table, and I was laying
on the living room floor coloring.

We had an old console stereo, and suddenly the stations started to "flip," like someone was turning the dial. My father
started to yell, "Leave the doggone radio alooo...." and as he looked up, saw that I hadn't moved from the floor. He looked perplexed for a moment, then got up and went over to the stereo, where he looked at the dial. It looked
like someone was spinning the dial back and forth. He put his hand on the dial to stop it, then turned it back to the station he had it on. He stood there for a moment, then went back to his newspaper in the kitchen. He never said anything about it.

The scariest thing by far that happened though was in July 1979. We were planning to move, and my brother and I were 12 and 13 at the time, old enough to be by ourselves - especially with the landlady right downstairs. My mom had gone to California with her mother and 2 other relatives, and my dad was at work (second shift). My brother and I spent all day cleaning out the attic, packing up stuff we were taking, getting rid of, etc. We had boxes taped up and clearly marked of things we
were taking with us, and garbage bags full of stuff to throw away.

About 10 p.m. that night, my brother and I were both in bed when all sorts of noises started coming from the attic. It sounded like someone was up there "stomping around", throwing things, and basically just throwing a fit. After
a few minutes my brother came into my room and asked, "Were you just upstairs?" I told him "no," and asked if he had heard the noises as well. At that point, the noise escalated to the point I chased my brother back to his room and
slept on the floor in his room. When my dad got home we told him what had happened, and he told us it was just our imaginations because we were home alone.

My mother returned from California the next day, and we told her what happened.She just laughed and told us we were telling stories. When we got home from the airport, we went up in the attic, and it looked just like it had sounded the night before: like someone had pulled everything out of bags and boxes and thrown it everywhere tantrum! My mom got mad at us, and told us she expected us to have attic finished and ready to move when she returned from California. We tried to tell her that we had cleaned the attic, but she didn't believe us. I remember my brother and I saying goodbye to "Harry" when we left about 2 weeks later.

It was really scary, but it was almost like he was upset we were leaving.The "new" house we moved to was actually the house my mother grew up in.My great-grandfather had built the house for he and my great-grandmother,and had died not too long afterwards. My maternal grandmother and my grand-father lived in the house with my great-grandmother until her death, around1950. My mother has told me stories about she and her brothers and sisters
peeking down the stairs as they carried her body out of the house. Finally, in 1979, my maternal grandparents decided to move to Florida, and offered to sell the house to my parents.Shortly after the move, my mother and I had gotten into a major fight one day, and I was upstairs in my bedroom. My desk was located between two windows, and when I sat at it my back was to the door.


I was sitting at my desk with my head on folded arms crying when I felt someone patting and rubbing my back. It was comforting, but after a moment I realized that I'd never heard anyone come upstairs -- which were very noisy! I stiffened and began to turn, and the touch stopped. It was kind of creepy, but like I said, comforting,
so I wasn't afraid. The second incident happened in November of 1979. I awoke at 4:05 in the morning. You know how you're suddenly wide awake, and you lay there for a minute trying to figure out what woke you up? I became aware of someone "sitting" on the edge of my bed near my knees, and when I looked, there was
a depression as if someone were sitting there.

I rubbed my eyes and looked again, and after a moment the sensation went away. I looked at the clock and
made note of the time, and went back to sleep. I proceeded to dream about my Uncle Joe. He had advanced cancer, and had lost a leg years earlier in a vehicle accident. I'd never seen him with two legs. In the dream, he had both legs, and was walking away from me across a very green field. He approached and climbed a hill, and as he reached the top, he turned around and waved at me, smiled, and went over the top.

When I got up for school that morning I told my mom what had happened, and she kind of laughed and thought it was funny. About 7 a.m. my aunt called, and told my mother that my uncle had died at 4 a.m. that morning! My mother just kind of looked at me and said, "Well, I guess your uncle came to tell you goodbye." I've asked my parents (who still live in the house) if they've had any experiences, but neither claim to have. I've stayed at the house a number of times since moving out, but nother further has happened.

By: ImATripp2U@aol.com