My Ghost Story:
A true story
I have no intention of this story to change the way you believe or think about paranormal phenomena. If you don’t believe in that sort of thing then I invite you to enjoy my story any way you wish. For those of you who believe in such things or have had their own experience. I invite you to read and let me share an experience with you that scared me very badly. It changed my views on life in many ways and at such a young age.
I became a hardcore believer in ghosts at a very young age. Upon the marriage of my Step-Father to my mother, we were out of the Poor House and onto better homes to be poor in! (See what I did there?) We moved in and lived in a beautiful house soon after in a beautiful neighborhood. We had a large backyard with amazing green grass. The house was huge to me. At seven or eight years old, I suppose it was enormous. I have an idea of how my parents might have been able to afford it. My Grand-parents helped with the money of course, on my Step-Fathers side.
The house was an old ranch-like style home, the living room was gigantic… The basement was huge! Every room painted a shade of white. So clean and perfect in every way.
Except, of course, it was haunted!
What kind of haunted you ask? Well, I will tell you. These explanations are not just memories from me but my parents and older brother as well. So the following are experiences that we all had. I will end the story with my own personal experience.
In the beginning, it seems like most haunted house cases I have read about throughout my life begin, slowly. Sounds, creeks… Talking. Is that the neighbors? Did you hear someone? Was that you in the kitchen? Who left the food out? Who got into the fridge? Who moved the screen away from the fireplace? These were very serious questions my parents asked us, my brother and I.
On a weekly routine, we would leave the house and go to my Grand Parents home for dinner. We would leave and be home by dark. You could see the lights of the house shining brightly as you pulled on to the street. All other homes around us, mostly dark and quiet. Not ours. Every light in the house was on. I mean, every, single, light!
Closet doors would all be open. Every switch on, every light cord pulled. From the basement to the garage. Porch lights, Oven lights, flashlights in drawers! Laundry rooms, bathrooms, Sometimes faucets would be on also. All of them.
It was amazing to my brother and I. We didn’t realize what was happening at all. I was clueless really. My parents really dumb-ed down the situation and my silly seven or eight-year-old self just didn’t pay attention.
I am not ashamed to admit; bad things do lurk in the dark. I have a feeling some of them can get you also, even if you don’t want them to. The dark holds the secrets of what the light cannot show, and it covets all that it possesses. I know a lot of people would talk this off as an overactive child’s imagination. And yes I do have an overactive imagination. If I didn’t I wouldn’t be the writer I want to become or the Painter I enjoy being. As a young child, I saw a type of hell that has marked me forever in my thoughts. Like when its time for me to go into the dark deep basement to change the light bulb that has burned out, or climb the stairs to the pitch black because no one turned the hall light on. The dark is there. It’s waiting for you… I’m a forty-four-year-old man. The dark terrifies me.
In the basement, the boxes of my stepfather’s life were full of treasures. My brother and I often sneaked down there to peek at cool electronic stuff. Radio equipment, instruments… Cool lights like strobes and disco ball type things. My stepfather had the best treasures.
The basement was one huge room. It only spanned half the gigantic house though and it always felt like it should have been larger. Something I have thought about a lot in my adult life.
One day, while going through treasured boxes I wasn’t supposed to. A loud bang filled the air.
It scared the crap out of my brother and I. The sound came from across the basement near the middle of the basement wall. The only thing there was a very large crawlspace door. A cast iron black latch was keeping that door shut.
If you were to stand in front of this door and go directly up through the floor, you would find yourself directly in the middle of the house. Most likely facing the living room wall. The kitchen would be on the other side of that wall. So the crawl space went under the kitchen.
My brother and I stood there, looking at the door. What was that bang? We thought an animal must be on the other side. We rushed upstairs to get our mom. Dad came home from work later and she discussed with him what happened to us in the basement and they both decided to go down there and have a look.
They walked down the stairs slowly together. My dad was talking about work and they both discussed how they needed to go through the boxes down there. It appears that a few of the boxes, somehow have ripped open, (whistles innocently) spilling the contents all over the floor. My brother and I made ourselves comfortable on the basement steps, even though we were told to stay upstairs.
My dad just casually unlatched the door without hesitation. He had never opened it before and didn’t seem concerned at all. With all that was going on, he just had no concern at all. As an adult, I just don’t understand how he could have been so casual in his actions. As a child sitting on the stairs, my breath caught in my throat. What is in there? Oh my God will a raccoon jump out and attack mom and dad? Something made that huge bang. I watched scared and worried we would all be attacked. He flung it open.
The next part is from my father’s memory of the ordeal that was about to occur. Mine as well, I was there when most of it happened.
Light from inside spilled out onto them. It was very odd really. The large half door swung to the right. The crawlspace spanned far under the house. A light-socket with a very bright light bulb hung down, every four feet or so. Space reached four light bulbs long, easily sixteen to twenty foot. And then turned right. The space was all brick. Like a solid brick tunnel. Three and a half foot by three and a half foot. Or just over one meter by one meter for you metric readers. No wires, pipes, dirt, dust… It was practically sparkling. There were no light switches or pull cord for the lights. If you were to crawl under them or past the bulbs you would have to be so careful. You would surely hit them with your body.
My father quickly slammed the door and latched the lock. He turned to my mother and asked her if she knew how to shut off the lights. Just then…
The door shook hard against the latch. Something on the other side slammed the door hard. My father grabbed the latch and threw open the door. My mother gasped quite loudly and I’m sure my brother and my eyes were as round as tea saucers.
Nothing there… The lights were bright and casting shadows throughout the basement. My father shut the door and latched it once again.
They started walking toward us and we bolted upstairs. We watched as my mom started up the stairs and my dad followed. When he reached the third step. The noise behind the door returned. Except now, it was so loud and hard that the whole floor shook throughout the house.
BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG!
Over and over the sound reverberated in our home. Like something was trying to get out. My parents ran up the stairs and my mother entered the kitchen with a face as white as a sheet. My father followed and slammed the basement door shut. The second the door was shut, the slamming stopped.
Before my brother and I even said a word, we were in the car heading toward my Grandparents house.
My parents told me this next part.
My mom and dad sat down and told everything that was going on. They didn’t think my Grandfather, a very important businessman that has traveled the world, but now retired or Grandmother, the wife of a very successful businessman, would believe them. He didn’t say a sentence until they were finished. He just nodded and encouraged them now and then to continue and not leave anything out.
He encouraged my parents to discover the history of the home. The next few days, after a phone call or two from my Grandfather, a very large history was obtained. Getting information in less than twenty-four to forty-eight hours in the 1980’s is very impressive in my opinion! No Google search to help you there.
The history of the home was very sketchy. It turns out, the man that built the home was very old and a huge alcoholic by the time he passed away. He was a private man and was very mean. He hated kids and people and never talked to anyone if he could help it. It is unclear if he died within the home.
Apparently, my Grandfather talked with certain religious individuals outside of his Catholic back round. I couldn’t pry any more information on the, who, these individuals were. They discovered the favorite drink of this man that lived in our home if you can call it home, was Jack Daniels Whiskey.
Wow, as an adult, hearing these stories, I was transfixed. It made my personal experience expand and I finally understood a little more of what happened to me next.
My parents decided to take action in an unusual way. They were informed by my grandfather and some people he knew to bring into the home, whiskey. To sit and have a few shots. Then take the remainder of the whiskey and place it on the lower steps of the basement. They were instructed to do this every day with a different bottle. Every single day for about a week, while speaking his name and offering up their almost full bottles of booze. My parents did not drink, though they did this for over a week. They were not allowed to waste the liqueur. They were instructed to drink it with no emotion, but enthusiasm for a drink. Going as far as to even act excited about it. To beg each other to pour the shot faster! It was very clear instructions. Drink, take it seriously. Don’t waste a drop. No kids around.
The basement became off limits. A lock was placed on the door and no one went down there except my dad. Even he went down there with my mom standing at the top of the stairs. They offered the liqueur to him by saying his name. No one can remember what it was. I believe my mom does remember, but I think she is afraid to even think about it. So I didn’t push the subject with her.
The house quieted. Things were calm for some time, several months. Certain things would still occur though. If you opened a window in a room for fresh air and left that room. When you came back in the window would be closed. If you closed a window, you would soon find it open.
So my parents smartened up. Though they were quite annoyed about it. If my mom wanted a window open, she would enter a room and open it. She would stand or sit there for a few minutes and pretend that she was cold and shiver. Or maybe pretend that she changed her mind and close it. Soon, awhile later, it would be open again. She would then have to fain frustration about the windows being open. Then to close it, my father would have to do the opposite pretending to want it closed then changing his mind. That kind of stuff worked for a while.
My mother tells this next story like as if you were to say the sun shines because that is the way things are. It always shines. Well, it sounds silly, but my mom blames the spirit for the next event I will share.
One night the power went out. My mom was paranoid and sitting at the table in the kitchen drinking coffee. Other houses lights were out to, so it was the whole neighborhood. My brother and I were running like crazy boys through the house, playing in the darkness, into the laundry room we ran. He grabbed the bottle of bleach off the washer and started to pretend like he was going to dump it all over me. Somehow, the cap was not on tight. The Chlorine Bleach poured quickly from the bottle like a waterfall through the air. The shock on my brother’s face was priceless. I closed my eyes, only by instinct and lowered my head. I had no idea how close I came to losing my eyesight that night. The bleach drenches my hair and my brother screamed. Like he couldn’t stop pouring it on top of me. He won’t talk about the incident with me. He lies and says he can’t remember much. I know he is lying though. You can see it in his scowl.
My mother screamed and rushed me outside to our wading pool. The cold water from the garden hose was freezing and it felt like I was drench in ice water. I screamed.
My mother to this day will tell you. All the bottles were kept up high. All the bottles of poisons and soaps all had their caps on tight. Everyone makes mistakes though, right? When I said this to her, she looked hurt and an incredulous look froze on her face.
Now, the final part of my story. This part is burned into my memory. I would like to say it was or is my strongest memory from childhood. I do though have several that have stayed with me over the years. This one is one of them. Every single moment is solid.
The time was early on some night during some month. I had just kissed my mom goodnight and my older brother and I went to our bunk beds, him on top, and me on the bottom. My hair had been bleached not too many days back from this night. The light was turned off and I lay there vividly thinking about Christmas being not too far away! Christmas is always on a seven-year-old mind. I wasn’t thinking about the giving part. More like the getting part.
I have never been able to get to sleep fast. Often at night I would play with my stuffed animals or pretend I had superman powers. I even talked to my older brother sometimes.
So I lay there in bed dreaming about my first bike, my eyes were open and I was there in the pitch dark looking up at the boards under my brother’s mattress. I was awake, daydreaming (or night being the case) about a bike. Wow, I wanted one so bad.
At some point around five to ten minutes, after we had gone to bed, my brother was no doubt sound asleep. He had always gone to bed and fell asleep fast. He was one of those people that just close their eyes and sleep and you need a jackhammer to shake them awake.
I heard something, a low thumping noise of some kind. Being so young I practically ignored it. I was busy riding my bike in my head. I heard it again, louder this time and I knew mom or dad was coming into the room because the room filled with the light from the hall. The light was different, and my childlike mind didn’t notice this at first. I sat up in bed to address them in a childlike manner. I spoke the first words that came to my mind.
“What ya want?” I said these words as I turned my head. To the left looking out of my bed and into the room was a horrific sight that I would say has literally scarred me for life. He stood there in all his red-fired glory. His height was huge to me at such a young age. As an adult and remembering the image, I would say he was maybe six foot tall, maybe a little more, maybe a little less. He was not human. Maybe once he was. I say, he, because he was a man for sure.
I smelled something awful. And the room became very warm, kind of the opposite of most ghost tales. The grin on his face was abnormally large, it covered most of his face and his eyes glowed a blue I have never seen the like since. His cheeks and for-head and neck were all a yellowish color that was almost literally on fire. He had no feet that I remember but his slacks were an old dirty looking brown that seemed within a red glow. His grin widened when he saw me looking at him, and he lifted what appeared to be his arms toward me, they didn’t have much shape to them. I had to go pee really bad then. I also felt my tummy tighten and its insides come to the top of my throat.
I was terrified.
He was looking at my brother and his form kept changing shape. Sometimes it almost seemed to become solid. Then parts of him would vanish quickly. The blue parts of his eyes became deep dark holes that seemed to be open to an infinite space. His face and figure shifted back to me.
I have never seen a ghost before, but I knew right then that this was what it was. Somehow, I was able to scream! I screamed so loud and so hard I lost my voice the next day. He looked disappointed somehow and looked in the opposite direction of my bedroom door, and then he was just gone, there was nothing. No fading away or leaving, just gone. Just darkness.
That very second my parents rushed into the room and I started telling them what happened. They turned on the lights at first thinking my brother scared me, but he was stone asleep. Even snoring at eight or nine years old, he slept through the whole thing.
I remember quite well, he was mean, and he wanted me. I have always believed that. I slept with the lights on after that, for many years. I only sleep with them off now for my wife’s sake.
He was waiting in the dark. He was real. No one could ever convince me otherwise, he is probably still there.
Just so you know, we were the third family in two years to rent that beautiful house according to my parents. The rent was so cheap for the day, and the house was so amazingly big and beautiful.
He was real! He was the monster under the bed, the eyes that peak at you from the slightly open closet door.
And I know if my foot lowered to the floor in the dark in the middle of the night, his hand would have grabbed my ankle, and pulled me, somewhere.
The dark hides so many secrets, and not all of them safe and cuddly. You have to be careful of the dark, or it will consume you. Monsters are real, I saw one with my own eyes. His home was the dark.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t the last monster to ever cross my path. At least he has been one of the only supernatural ones.
This story was a true experience my family and I went through. If you don’t believe such things, then I hope you enjoyed the story anyway.
If you are a believer. I would love for you to leave a comment. Listen to your own experience.
A true story