I don't know if it's an over active imagination, extreme sensitivity, or what, but I've got many stories. I am very glad to be able to share them here with people finally. I truly believe in spirits and that they exist. Some people don't believe, that is fine. Perhaps they are just not sensitive. I don't know.
I was in high school and my best friend invited me over to her house after school. She drove us there and we walked in. Her house was creepy. For one, all the curtains were heavy so the house was dark. The panelling was dark brown, the carpet was dark brown.
The house was built against a hill so it sort of had 2 floors to it. You could open a closet and drop down a set of three steps and walk up the steps into the attic, which had been dry walled and was technically an additional floor. The main entry level was technically the middle floor. It housed two bedrooms belonging to my best friend and her sister. One of the bathrooms and the main living space shared this floor. At the end of the room opposite the front entry door was a set of stairs. These stairs went down into the kitchen, dining area, kind of a pantry space beyond it, and then the master bedroom. The downstairs area made me want to panic. I hated going down there. It was frightening to me. I asked my best friend if she'd ever thought her house to be haunted as I got this horrible feeling from being there. She said to me "Oh yeah it's totally haunted" and spread her hands out flat toward the field next door to her. She was full blooded Indian and the way she did it was indicative of how an American Indian would indicate the entirety of an area. Kind of neat how she did that. "This open field here isn't built on because it was found to be a burial ground. There's non-Indians buried there, but some of the archaeologists found it was originally an Indian burial ground. Because of that, nobody builds there. We figure we get visitors from there". Great. Just great.
This one day we stopped at her house because she had to run in and get some clothes. She was staying the night at my house. I went in with her and was standing in her front room as she ran back and forth from bedroom to bathroom getting her things together. I had noticed no one else was home, but I heard shuffling around downstairs. I asked her "Hey, someone's downstairs. I thought nobody was home" She stuck her head out and listened and whispered "No we are supposed to be the only ones here" Swallowing my heart, she stepped out beside me. We listened to someone or something clearly moving pots, pans, and a chair sliding out from the table downstairs. We tiptoed across the front room floor and heard footsteps come across the kitchen downstairs. It came closer to the steps and began coming up the steps. You could hear each stair squeaking. The only problem was, we were peering DOWN the steps and nothing could be seen - only heard. I looked at her. We backed up three steps. You could hear it walk past us with the floor squeaking from being walked on. It walked into her sister's room and the door swung shut about halfway on its hinges.
I don't think my feet touched the floor as I went out the front door.
YET I managed to allow myself to be talked into staying the night there once. I was woken by something shaking my feet at the end of the bed trying to wake me up. I saw a shadow. It scared me so bad that I got up at 3 in the morning and went home.
I adore my friend but her house... Yike.
They moved out some years later. That house is still there. Nobody moved into it. Nobody goes near it. Nobody touches it. Two decades later, there it still sits. Vacant with its secrets inside, though I've witnessed them. It doesn''t fool me. It's waiting. I can tell.