I wish I could believe that ghosts and things like that can't harm us or even touch us, but unfortunately I know different.
When I was in the third grade, my family and I lived in a haunted house.
Many weird things happened all the time there, such as: my dolls and teddy bears would move on their own, shadow people (including a man with a hat), voices, objects moving (a big lamp fell on me once when I was home alone, things like that happened a lot), etc.
Whatever was there felt evil and violent.It was a Victorian style house, and we rented the entire bottom floor, and the upper level of the house was split into two apartments.
I would often wake up in the night to hear very loud breathing in the hallway outside of my bedroom. The breathing would get closer and closer to me, and it felt terrifying.
The breathing would get so close that it sounded like it was in my room. The breathing sounded raspy and sick, slow and sometimes wheezing in a high pitched inhuman way.
These events would take about a half an hour to subside, but the breathing got closer to me each time it happened.
It happened about three times a week, and at first it was so far away that I wondered if it could be my parents snoring or something, but I knew it was something other than that when the sound came closer to me.
This went on for months.
One night I awoke to the familiar scary breathing sound in the hallway.
I was laying on my side, facing away from the doorway. I felt such terror that I tried not to change my breathing, and I dared not open my eyes.
I didn't want it to know I was awake, because I felt that it would attack me if it knew I knew it was there.
Then, it grabbed me. It somehow grabbed me with two hands on my sides, about where my kidneys are. It somehow could reach through my blankets and mattress and grab me... It shook me very hard with a painful grip.
It shook me about five times, the way an abusive parent might shake a child in a fit of rage- hard. Then it let go, pushing me as it released me, sort of like throwing me.
I was still in my bed, under my blankets, hyperventilating and crying. I tried not to move. The breathing faded away behind me. I didn't want to turn and look to see what it was.
I spent the next day talking with my little friend who lived up the street about what it could have been. She said it was a dream, but I know it wasn't and I didn't fall asleep again that night.
I just laid there waiting for the sun. To this day it is hard for me to sleep on my side and I surround myself in a nest of pillows and blankets, as if that would even help. It hasn't happened again.