Some years ago, when I was sixteen, I had the one of the most frightening experiences of my life. I was in my bedroom writing some rather hard rocking music on my new synthesizer, when my mother came in and said that dad and her were going to the grocery store. Basically I just nodded with that teenage temperament that speaks, "yeah, ok, whatever, bye". Soon after their departure it began to cloud up outside as if a rainstorm was imminent.
My bedroom window was open and speaking of this particular window; it was a very old window that took just about all of the strength one could muster up to open it and to close it - well, let's just say that seemed about twice as hard to accomplish that feat - so basically the window, for all intents and purposes, was stuck open; come rain or shine.
As I slowly crept the volume up on my amplifier and played more and more feverishly to the rocking tune I was creating, the attic door, a standard 1930's issue inside door, which is also in my room suddenly swung open. Startled, I quickly hit the Stop button on my synth and turned around to see the attic door fully open. My rather logical mind, though stunned, quickly jumped in and said, "The window is open and it was probably just a pressure draft that pulled the door open". So with that logical explanation firmly in place, I pressed the start button and continued to marvel at my loud, musical creation.
Not more than ten seconds passed and I heard the attic door slam shut; rather loudly! This time I noticed, there was absolutely no breeze coming in the window. In fact, the curtains weren't rustling at all. "Hmm... That was weird and scared the heck out of me", I mumbled to myself. But once again, even though the hair on my arms was standing at full attention, my logic interrupted and put me at ease.
After taking a deep breath, I decided to again press start and wait and see what happens. Nothing. Then, just as I was getting into the music again, the attic door slammed open with such ferocity that it made the room shake then it immediately slammed shut again. This time, not only was every hair on my body standing straight up, but I was frozen in place with an intense fear - as if a presence was in the room with me - and it was standing right behind me, breathing down my neck.
I felt compelled to run as fast as I could from the room, but instead I began walking toward the open window. I was no more than three steps away from the window when it suddenly slammed shut and the glass broke inward into my room.
In one quick motion I leaped toward my bedroom door, yanked the door open and flew down the stairs, missing about fifteen of sixteen steps; pulled open the front door of the house and ran into the front yard. I stood in the front yard for the next twenty minutes (until my parents returned) in the drizzling rain, staring up into my bedroom window in complete shock over what had just transpired.
As I recall, this was the only "hostile" event that ever happened while in my house. While many will agree this seems like an extreme paranormal experience, some offered a more subtle, logical explanation to this event.
I was told that my first impulse, in which air pressure was causing the door to open and shut, was the correct unconscious response to what was happening. That the window in my room was wide open just before a thunderstorm completely explains this strange but all too common phenomenon. The fact that my window slammed shut just as I was walking towards it was nothing more than the coincidence of the loud rocking music causing vibrations in the window frame, thus freeing the old window from its "stuck" state, ultimately leading to it slamming shut.
A teenager all alone in an old house as storm clouds approached produced an unconscious fear response that so many youngsters experience when startled.
These explanations in and by themselves are actually very academic and the most logical explanations available, but once this story is put into context with the other strange occurrences that happened while in the house lead me to less logical conclusions.
As such, my conclusions lead me to abandon the overpowering musical work I had been composing and indulge in more benign and relaxed music fare. So that evening I erased the composition and began working on my first love ballad, which as it turns out was the first real song I ever wrote. Oddly enough, and I know this will sound cliche, but soon after turning my musical taste to the more relaxed state, a soft smell of roses filled my room. At the time I had no idea where such a smell was coming from but it was there. I carefully walked over to the attic door with every corpuscle on my body in full alert; most likely from the earlier trauma I suffered; and slowly opened the door. To my amazement the smell of roses was ten-fold stronger in the attic stairway!
All at once my fear dissipated and I was filled with newly found inspiration to complete my first, and to this day, one of my best musical compositions.