I was relatively young when my father and I watched the chandelier, probably eight or nine. I was living in a house that had been constructed naught but ten years ago. It was my father's house, as my parents were divorced, and it was very large. It had a single sort of winding stair case to an overhang above the foyer, that was a railed hallway to the other rooms. To be frank, I was fascinated by ghosts, but hated large houses. Unexplainable things were both enthralling and horrible to me. Generally if I wasn't by myself, I'd drag anybody I could along to go 'ghost hunting'. I was convinced my father's house was haunted, even though it was so young. Though the original owner of the house had died while still owning it, he was not inside the house, and therefore my father would try to convince me nothing was wrong.
But he could not explain the odd things that constantly happened in bad fortune -the pipes breaking suddenly, our porch falling on itself... Probably the most frightening was two days after the new family who had bought our house moved in, it was struck by lightening and the entire roof caught on fire. My pregnant stepmother was upstairs asleep. It must have been about ten thirty at night, and I can't distinctly remember what season it was, but I believe it was pretty warm outside. My father and I had been watching a late-night television show and were on our way to bed. As we climbed the stairs, I was telling him about a phenomenal dream I had where I was riding in a buggy, and a boy pressed his face to the window. It wasn't a frightening face, on the contrary quite attractive, yet I knew somehow, distinctly, I knew him... I couldn't place how.
Exactly as I was telling him of the boy I looked in the mirror, and saw the electric chandelier in our dining room go on, despite the fact that my father had distinctly turned it off. Now, before I continue, I must explain that I hate mirrors. Every dream I've ever had with a mirror involves something frightening, by staring at my reflection and seeing something else look back at me. I avoid mirrors as much as possible. But it was odd, because I had no desire to look in the mirror when I was telling the story, but I did. I soon pointed the chandelier out to my father, who mused for a bit and said he just must've "forgotten to turn it off". My father does not believe in ghosts.
I didn't want to budge from where I was, so I asked my father to turn it off. He obliged, and the second he took a step, the light went off... Then it went on... Then it went off... Very slowly. Mind you that we could practically hear my stepmother snoring in the other room, and the three of us were the only ones in the house. My father was slightly alarmed, and took another step. On cue, the lights began to flash brighter, and more frequently. Now I was on the verge of screaming, so I urged him to stop "this stupid magic trick". He assured me this was not his doing and began to race down the stairs. The lights began to flicker incredibly fast with each hurdle he took. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. I was crying and my father dashed across the foyer, into the living room, but he never quite made the light switch. It flashed an unfathomably brightly, more so than the setter could ever allow, and went out. My father, left in the dark, testily walked over to the light switched which was still remaining in 'off'. He flicked it on, and it worked like a charm. We both went to bed and said nothing about it until the next morning.
My father told me a white lie saying that the switch had been 'stuck' in the middle which caused it to flicker. Only later did he tell me that was untrue, and he only told me that so I didn't have any worries. What alarms me is that the house was built over an ancient railroad track, which had been disabled probably seven decades ago, and it might have been partly because of my active imagination, but I was convinced a little girl lived in our house. Of course, my grandmother fueled my beliefs by saying she saw the same thing. Was it the little girl? Or was it just me?
While my father does not believe in ghosts, and assures me he never will, this is one event he can never come to explain, and leaves it at that. My step mother still yells about not being awake to see it, as she too loves the ghost encounters. Any ideas of what could have caused this?