I guess you could say the first time any odd things began to happen was when my mom was little. It started for her when she and my grandfather moved into a house that was originally built in a different location, but moved to where it still now sits 40 years later.
It was a two story, but the second floor had only one bedroom and this is where my mother slept. She said there was a cubby hole in the bottom of the closet, and one day she and her best friend were scouting around in there when her friend found a small door.
They thought perhaps it was another entrance to the attic, and daring one another until finally her friend opened the door and crawled in. Once inside, she reported to my mother, being only 5 or 6, that she could see a light from inside, and coming closer she saw a small coffin like structure.
She crawled out as fast as she could and they closed the door, making my mom promise to not go in there. The point of that story is that my mom began to grow scared of her upstairs room, covering up the small box T.V. with a sheet at the end of the night because of the figures she would see.
She told me that when she was home alone, it would sound like someone was kicking the furnace upstairs in her room, and that one night she woke up to feeling something heavy on her legs. She told me that she looked down and saw an Indian woman staring at her.
Even though she saw her, she said that she was never afraid because she felt as if she were protecting her and watching over her against the bad men.
Then when she was 20, my grandfather moved me, my younger baby sister, and my mom into the duplex that he is still living in. Yes, my mom had me at 16, so I was 4, my sister 2 or 3. We all shared one room at this time before she moved out.
There was two beds, a normal twin sized one and a racecar bed. It was meant that I and my sister would take turns sleeping alone and sleeping with our mother. One night, she had woken up to two dark shadowy looking guys standing between her bed and my bed.
They were looking at her though. She calls them the tall hat figures due to how she said they were wearing the tall top hats. She squeezed my younger sister, not knowing what else to do, and closed her eyes praying for them to go away.
I'm only telling you this because it serves as proof that my experience wasn't the only one that has happened in that particular room. What I experienced scared me more than my mother. I was about 15 years old, and now that room was just mine, my sister slept in the next room and my grandfather slept downstairs.
Some background on him that will make more sense later; he has to get up a lot in the night to pee and always checks on us before going back to bed. Also note that I am very unluckily a light sleeper and I need glasses to see clearly far away.
So, it happened at 3:16 in the morning. My bed was across from the door, but over in the opposite corner. I awoke to my door knob jingling, like my grandpa was having a very hard time trying to open the door, and the constant noise had woken me up.
I watched as I heard the door "click" open. Then it started to open, slowly. It was a very noisy door. I was honestly getting irritated by how long I thought my grandfather was taking in opening up my door.
I was obviously watching the door the whole time, and I thought at the time that the black shadow figure was my grandfather, not being able to see clearly, so I closed my eyes to tried to go back to sleep.
And I waited. My Grandpa KNOWS how upset I get if he doesn't shut my door, and I waited to hear the familiar "flick" of the bathroom light turning on, or the familiar sound of him lifting up the toilet seat. 5 minutes passed. I opened my eyes, and he was still standing there, staring at me.
And the more I stared back, the more I realized how my Grandpa wasn't that tall, how his shoulders weren't that wide, how he wasn't that skinny. That was when I started to get scared. About a week ago, there was a black man who was standing in the middle of our yard and staring at the house when my mother stopped over to visit us.
She chased him away by trying to hit him with her car because we saw someone jump the fence in the backyard and she thought he was trying to rob us. So my first thought was "oh no, it’s the black man, and he's IN the house".
I immediately grabbed my phone and dialed 911, and when I looked back he was gone. I didn't hear him move, didn't even hear the creak of the floorboards. I got up, grabbed my comforting stuffed animal and my hairbrush for a weapon. I inched along my wall, and with the hairbrush I opened my door the rest of the way.
From here I could see my sister’s door was closed, but the bathroom door wasn't. So I'm like, he's hiding behind the door. I kicked it as hard as I could and it bounced very loudly off the wall. Hurled into completely terrified mode, I open my sisters door and shake her awake, telling her to get up now, there's someone in the house, we have to get Grandpa.
Now that she's awake and a bit freaked out, we search the small duplex and come up empty handed. We call down to my Grandfather in the basement and ask him if he was awake just now, even though I didn't hear him walk away and knew he wasn't up there, if he would of said yes, I would of felt better.
He said no, and I told him that someone opened my door, and he told me that it was the wind, obviously mad that I woke him up. All the windows in the house were covered in plastic to try and keep the heat inside.
I slept on my sister’s floor for two months before sleeping in that room again. I would rather be stepped on and woken up an hour early every day to her getting ready then be in that room.
Other than that, the only odd things that have happened in that room are the noises that would be in my closet at night, the breaking of dishes in the kitchen, or my imaginary friend when I was younger.
My Mom says that it was a friendly ghost that was just checking in on me. But it wasn't until a couple of months ago when me and my sister were talking that I realized that it had stared at me for a while.
Why would a protective ghost open my door and stare me down? Realizing that, my 18 year old self started to cry from reliving that memory. Regardless, the terror that I felt I can still recall 3 years later.ANONYMOUS SUBMISSION.
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