My family and I lived in a house that was owned by the government, very old by Australian standards. It was just before I began my schooling, and our next door neighbour was a lovely old Italian lady whose name I have changed for privacy reasons. Her husband was not quite right mentally and would always be outside giving us kids coins and saying -'Oh Dear, Oh Dear'. I think that's all he could say in english. Apparently he used to beat her, but I was just a kid, so I didn't see any of that. When he passed on, she was afraid to sleep in her house alone, so my brother and a neighbourhood friend would stay sometimes. But they didn't like it. They would come home very early the next morning pale-faced, telling us tales of seeing Mr Bellucci in the room, or hearing his footsteps down the corridor. We laughed and thought they were just being hilarious. Ha! we were wrong.
Our family was very fond of Mrs Bellucci, and she was like one of us, so it was quite natural for my newly married sister and her husband to move in with her until they found their own place. I have three sisters and one of them is married to a skeptic when it comes to ghosts.
They were in Mrs Bellucci's kitchen, late one night, just talking, when all of a sudden they heard a huge smashing of glass on the floor. They ran into where the sound was coming from and the floor was covered with windscreen-like glass. No window was opened or broken. Not a dish was smashed, no cups, wine glasses, all the doors were locked, light fixtures all intact - nothing was out of order. Just this glass all over the floor. The skeptic was suddenly a believer!
Our house was very haunted too. There was a presence you could almost touch...you know the sort, its like someone behind you watching whatever you do. I would hear knocking on the walls all the time, 14 foot walls and no one was knocking that I could see. A mirror that was fixed into the wall over one of the fireplaces suddenly smashed one night (a stormy one, typical huh) and scared the heck out of my sister. She says she saw a man with a tall hat leaning on the mantelpiece looking at her.
It was an old house, probably turn of the century. When we first saw it, it still had old paintings and some old furnishings in it. The huge backyard had little pathways that led to original stables with all sorts of treasures in it. The good old Aussie dunny was way down the backyard, and I'm pleased to say, it was not working! The toilet we had to use was still outside, but just on the back verandah. Not nice when you're a little kid who has to go in the middle of the night.
Late at night we would hear the front door being opened with a key, solid footsteps walking down the long corridor, walking through rooms until it would stop dead before we saw who it was. There was a certain doorway that always had something go through it when you weren't looking, but you saw it from the corner of your eye. My brother saw an Aboriginal lady standing in our parents room late at night (we used to sleep with mum and dad sometimes when we were little). My dad was a skeptic too, but sadly, mum and dad split up, and he was left alone in that house for many years after. He saw an Aboriginal mans face in the tv which was not turned on.
Dad loved those front porch swings and he finally bought one. One night, he went to sleep and was woken up by the dust-buster (portable vacuum cleaner) on the wall suddenly flying off and crashing on the floor. The next day, the front porch swing was gone, stolen. The spirit in the house was trying to wake him up! He always heard the footsteps coming down the corridor and walking right up to the kitchen in the back of the house where he was. He would turn expectantly waiting for my sister, and no-one was there.
While my mum was living there, she was going through a really bad time with dad, and at night she would sometimes feel a tender stroking down her arm, like it was trying to comfort her (it wasn't dad!).
When I used to visit Dad at Aberdeen Street, the house always felt so oppressive and sad...its like it didn't want to say goodbye when you left it and I'm not the only one who had this feeling. Like arms reaching out to draw you back, made me want to walk faster every time.
Years later, the house was demolished to allow a bypass on the freeway and the demolition team unearthed an Aboriginal burial site. I still have vivid dreams of that house and my father living there. He passed on in '88, but in my dreams I'm there and I see my dad in his room, everything in it's place, I can still smell the same dad smell, the same house smell and I feel like I never left.
Story Submitted By: Michelle, WA, Australia
Contact for story author:
ringsfan65@hotmail.com
Fri May 02, 2008 12:14 pm
