Everyone loves a good ghost story. I know I do. I also love sharing them, which never used to be a habit of mine until I moved out of a house in the fifth grade. Ever since we moved out of that house, I have had many, many experiences in my life. I'll start with a few.
When I lived in this large grey house, starting in the third grade, I had many things happen. I've seen shadows on the walls in a room, the television the only source of light. My family and I have heard silverware clanging on the dining room table. My name has been said many times. I'd be alone in my room, and sometimes alone in the whole house, and my name would be called over and over. I would always respond to the name.
"What?" I'd say. "ZACH!" "What?" "ZACH!" "WHAT?!"... Never did I get a good answer, just my name over and over. I had a story told to me about this family that used to live in this house. The family had 16 year old son who died in a car accident. I think he became my imaginary friend. I couldn't see him, I could only hear him. "ZACH!"
We moved out of that house. All of us. My parents, my siblings, and I. Oh, and my friend. He moved with us, too. We moved to another small town. My friend decided it was time that I saw him. Actually, he wanted us all to see him. So, we did. I would be in the basement and see him run up the stairs; an average height male, wearing blue jeans and a white t-shirt. I never saw his face. I began to slowly fear him, however. I would walk into my room and find my dog staring at my bed, growling at nothing. "Sable, what are you growling at? There's nothing there!" Sable would look at me and wag her tail, and then would look at the bed, and walk toward me. She'd then follow me throughout the house. Sometimes, she followed me all night. It was normal for her to crawl in my bed with me, though. She had a bed time: 9:00 PM. She would wait for me until I crawled into bed around 9-9:30pm. I would wake up with a bruise or two, and some scratches. I figured it was because I rolled over in my sleep and hit my arm on the bookshelf. I moved the bookshelf later on, just to change the environment of my room so I don't get so bored about it, and the bruises and scratches continued.
On some nights, I'd be in bed with Sable, and she'd wake up and sit up very, very quickly and stare at my door, which was ajar. She'd growl, and my room would get cold. The more she growled, the colder it got. I'd tell Sable to shush, and she'd look at me. Then, I'd look at my door because I could sense what she's growling at. My door would then slowly close itself, and the warm would get warmer.
My mom would see a shadow looking like my brother, and she would ask him, thinking it's my brother, what he wants. "Nathan, what are you doing? Hello? Helloooo? Nathan! Okay, whatever." The shadow would stare at my mom, and just walk off into the hallway.
One night, my brother I were in the basement and heard walking in my sister's room. We'd walk upstairs to find her bedroom door shut, my sister in her bed when we looked, and everything was normal. It wasn't normal, however, when I shut her door as I was leaving the room to have it open back up again. I tested the door to make sure it wasn't me just not shutting the door all the way. Even with the door not shut all the way, it wouldn't swing open.
In the kitchen, I woke up to the sound of silverware and dishes being thrown in the kitchen. I thought we were being robbed! I walked out into the kitchen, ready to kick some butt, only to find everything as it always was.
I actually had three dogs, but Sable was the growler. Sable was a corgi, Jetta and Whinnie were bulldog/boxer mixes. Very chipper, hyper dogs. It worried me when they'd look frightened, and I'd walk into a room, normally my bedroom, and they would absolutely refuse to go in the room. I'd grab their collar and try to guide them in the room, when the family went grocery shopping and I'd stay at home. They'd either slip out of their collar and run, or they'd plant their feet and fight my pulling them.
I don't know who or what my childhood "friend" is, but he slowly became a nightmare. Sad part is, no one believed me. They do now. There's a story for that, too.
I would greatly appreciate opinions as to who this young man in my experiences is. All I know about him is that he died in a car accident... If he's the young man I was told about. Also, for informational purposes, I'm 18 now. This all occurred between the ages of 8-16.