I feel like this is more of a short paranormal memoir, as opposed to a "ghost story", as the occurrences have been constant throughout my life. Oh where to begin?
The history/background of where my story occurs:
The house where I spent the first part of my childhood was built around 1910. There is evidence of a cabin on the property but I am unsure of the dates/fates of the occupants. But there is also evidence of Native American occupants, as we have found many tools and weapons of Native American nature. But my grandparents purchased the property in 1966 and our family has been living there since.
The first occurance of any activity I can remember was when I was probably 5 or 6. My sister and I shared a bedroom. There was an old attic in the house, the stair case of which ended up in our bedroom. It was the middle of the night and out of nowhere we heard "Thunk!" up in the attic. Then "thunk, thunk, thunk" decending the stairs. It wasn't like a human foot, but more like something rolling down the stairs. Then on the bottom step it was as if a ball had been dropped and was coming to the end of it's bouncing, that "thunkthunkthunk" that trails off. We ran into our parents' bedroom and explained what we had heard. My dad, very calmly, got up and checked the staircase. Of course, there was nothing there. He then explained to us that he had heard the same noise at various times during his childhood and that there was nothing to be afraid of. We all went back to bed.
I can't remember a lot about my childhood in that house because I was only 8 when we moved out of that house and into a new house located on the same property. I know that my sister and I used to refer to "the people who live upstairs" when we were playing, but I don't remember who we were referring to, if anyone. I don't remember any interactions with these "people" and I'm not even sure if this spawned from an actual event or if it was just child's play. I do know my sister had to get a CT scan after she began kindergarden because she had told her teacher and all of her classmates that there were people living in the house that no one knew about and that they spoke to her on several occasions. But alas, her head was fine and as we grew up the "visits" stopped. All of that is all but forgotten now.
When we moved into our new house I immediately knew there was something eerie about it. When you were in a room alone, or in the house alone, it just felt like there was someone present. Like someone was watching your or standing directly behind you. I never once felt threatened by this or scared in any way. In fact, when I was younger I used to talk to whatever it was to keep myself company. I used to ask it to "help me do dishes" or "hand me the remote", and I would giggle because I felt like it was amused. For some reason I was always under the impression that it was of Native American nature. It's just this feeling I have always had, and some of the things that have happened have justified this to me time and time again.
For instance, my mom bought me these little porcelein indian dolls once as a birthday gift. I sat them on my jewelry box. Every day when I would come home from school they would be on the floor. So I moved them to the opposite corner of my dresser. Still, when I came home from school they would be on the floor. Finally I moved them to the middle of the dresser, back away from the edge. The next day, not only were they on the floor, but one of the headresses had been pulled from its tiny head. After that I returned them to my mom and she sat them in her bedroom on a shelf, where they have been happily residing ever since, undisturbed.
In another instance, my mom bought a fake decorative arrow, which had a stone tip that was filed down to a sharp point. It was summer time and my sister and I had taken to sleeping in the living room so we could stay up extra late watching television. One morning when I woke up, the arrow, which had been placed up on the opposite wall, was laying on me, with the point aiming at my throat. My sister was sitting up on the opposite end of the couch staring at me in horror. Once again, I didn't feel threatened. It was as if "they" had laid it there to remind us that they didn't care for our cheap knock offs.
Then one night, I finally came face to face with one of "them". I was asleep and for some reason, I woke up, feeling as if there was a face just inches from mine. Sure enough when I opened my eyes, there was a face staring back at me. It couldn't have been more than just a second or less. But I saw it. I wasn't afraid. It wasn't there to harm me. The look was one of wonder, as if they had been exploring my face as I slept. It was pale, the eyes large and hollow and dark. And when I opened my eyes I saw it turn, as if it were to run away. I heard what sounded like an "oh!". And it was gone. I think I spooked it more than it spooked me! From then on I made sure to make a noise before I opened my eyes, just to be sure they knew I was awake. I felt then, and I feel now, that it was a male presence that night, protecting me and watching me as I slept.
There are several other instances that have made me feel an element of protection from "them". A few close calls, things that should have turned out much worse than they did that for some unexplained reason, at the last minute, were diverted.
But let's get back to this old farmhouse and this attic...
My grandparents moved back into the house when we moved into our new house. My grandmother told me once before that she believed someone had been locked up in the attic at one point. Like a mentally ill person or a child with behavioral issues. She never said why she felt that way and I never asked her. Unfortunately she died before I could ask her about it. But maybe she had further connections with her spirits like I feel like I have connectiosn with mine. But there is evidence to support her feelings.
The attic hasn't been in use since my aunt was young in the 70's. She once heard footsteps coming up the stairs, saw a hand grip the landing at the top, but there was no one there. After that she stopped going up there and it was primarily used as storage space. Over the years there have been several instances where unexplainable events have taken place. There have been tiny footprints found in the dirt in the floor, long after us kids were grown up. Pictures that were stored up there have been left out on the old desk that's up there. Windows have been cracked, lights left on that can only be turned on and off by pulling a chain. Perhaps the most disturbing of all, once my mom went up there to get some old documents. The next day when she went back to return them, there was a bird up there dead. And destroyed. It's feathers had been ripped off in places and there was blood on the floor from it. It had not died of natural causes. She moved all of our things downstairs that afternoon and the old attic rarely, if ever, gets used or visited anymore. The lights still come on every now and then, but I haven't heard any footsteps or shuffling in the house for quite some time now.
I'm not saying any of this is paranormal in nature. It could all be attributed to dreams, bad pipes, electrical shortages, etc. Most of my family thinks I have an overactive imagination, even the ones who have seen and heard the same things I've seen and heard. But I know what I've seen, and more importantly, I know what I've felt. I truly feel I have a connection to the spirits that have visited me my entire life and I feel that my grandmother had a connection to her spirits. I think hers were a little more unstable than mine, but nonetheless, the feeling is so strong I can't deny it.
I have moved into a new house since then and I know my spirits didn't follow me here. I don't feel them. I still talk to them at times when I visit my parent's house but I don't feel them there anymore. Sometimes when I go for a walk in the woods I can feel them there. I talk to them as I walk, let them know about my new son or share some memories from my childhood with them. Am I crazy? Maybe. But I feel blessed to have grown up haunted.