Since this story will not make sense without explaining what happened before the experiences, then I will start from the beginning. It was some time around June during the year 2003. My family was really screwed up at the time, due to the loss of my cousin during the 2001 World Trade Center incident. Ever since then, my Uncle Jim has been a real drunk. Every night it was the same routine: come home from his girlfriend's house, go to the fridge for a beer, drink the whole 6 pack in 15 minutes, then drive out to the bar. You could say he was depressed, even angry.
I started to worry about him. He passed out a lot and was always complaining of headaches. I remember it was a Wednesday that I went over his house. He was surprisingly way over-the-limit drunk. He stank of Bud Light beer, and his teeth were a bright yellow. I told him that his drinking habits were a little overboard and he should consider going to a rehabilitation center. My Uncle Jim was always a violent person, especially when drunk. He didn't like the word
"rehabilitation." To him, everything can be solved with a can of beer. I should have known better than to say this. The next thing I know, I was hit with a chair and thrown out the front door. He was screaming with rage I could not understand at the time. He screamed at me, "What the hell do you know, huh!?" He then got in his car and drove off. There was nothing I can do to stop him. He was too powerful for me to handle.
It was around 3:00 a.m. When my grandmother woke me up to tell me we had to go to the hospital. It turned out Uncle Jim got into a serious car wreck. By the time we got to the hospital, he was pronounced dead. At the time, I didn't know what to make of it.
About 3 weeks later, I was painting a picture of my girlfriend for her birthday. Cyndy was the most beautiful, sweet girl I have ever met. Still is. I decided to take a break for lunch and went to Subway. When I came back into the canvas room, the whole thing was knocked down and ripped into 3 pieces. I was a huge skeptic, so I thought maybe the wind, but all windows were closed and locked. So I cleaned up and went to work.
Around 10:00 p.m. I came home from work where Cyndy was waiting for me. She was complaining about hearing footsteps and noises upstairs. I grabbed my 20 gauge shotgun and a flashlight and headed upstairs. Nothing was there but a chair. I thought this was weird, so I shut and locked the attic door. I then climbed into bed with Cyndy to get some sleep.
About 3 hours later, I heard what sounded like a screech followed by stomping on the stairs. I ran to see what was going on, and I saw a figure standing in the doorway of my bedroom. It came at me really fast. I felt cold as if ice was poured on my skin. After the cold, I felt a burning sensation on my chest, so I quickly flicked on the lights. It was over just as suddenly as it happened. I lifted up my shirt and with scratch marks "Jim" was traced. I knew then my Uncle Jim came back and wanted to torture me. It was probably because I suggested rehab to him.
After all these years, the experiences never ceased. I've grown quite used to it, and actually don't mind his presence in my home. I am a big believer in the paranormal now, and I am trying to seek others who have had other experiences. Jim never attacked me again, nor Cyndy. He still continues to rip my paintings and sometimes even makes a little snack late at night. Sometimes, he isn't even there at all. Where he goes those periods of time, no one will know.
Thank you for letting me share my story, and I am eager to hear yours.