When I was a younger child I was completely sure there was something living in my shed.
We live in a fairly nice neighbourhood, but our house had a somewhat sketchy past. The former owner was a drug addict and frequently invited his friends (also drug addicts) to come over and get high. Years after he went to prison and we moved in, we'd still find needles scattered around the backyard. The house was in horrible condition when my parents found it, and was very cheap. My dad owns a company that builds houses for a living and decided he would buy it as a fixer upper.
The house was a thousand times better by the time he was done and is now just as nice as the other houses on our street. However, for many years, he left the shed in the corner of the backyard alone.
The shed was a dingy little thing, painted in an off-white colour that was almost all peeled off, revealing half rotten planks of timber underneath. The window was smashed to pieces and there was no lighting installed. Basically, it was the kind of place you'd expect something creepy to happen. Still, we stored all our stuff in there and whenever I wanted to get my bike or outdoor toys I'd have to venture in.
Even as very young child, the place made me feel very uneasy. My skin would prick and often I would dart in with my eyes half closed, grab whatever I wanted and bolt out. It had a weird feel to it, as if there was something in there that wanted you to leave, and strangely a little sad, as well. Even just looking at it from my balcony made me shiver. My siblings felt the same, and my little sister wouldn't even go near the thing. My mother asked my father several times to fix it up but for awhile he declined, not citing any particular reason. I often wonder if it was because he sensed it, too.
The experience that to this day makes me steer clear of that shed happened when I was 10, a few years ago. It was in the early evening when I went in to get my sand buckets, intending to play in the sandpit until my mother called me in (I was young for my age). The buckets were at the far side of the shed and so I couldn't just grab it and leave as I usually did. Hesitantly, I wandered in and got my buckets. I turned around and the door was closed.
I swear to God, I did not close that door; I would never have, considering how scared I was of it. I started to panic, as the door doesn't open from inside the shed (stupid design.) I pounded on the door, crying and shrieking, but nobody came to let me out. I continued doing this for around 6 or 7 minutes as it got darker, and I was terrified. Suddenly, I felt something behind me. I could feel it shifting, and I thought I heard it make grunting sounds, low but somehow sounded painful, like someone was in intense pain and too weak to make much noise. I didn't dare turn around; I was frozen like a rabbit in terror.
Then the noises were all around me and sounded alternatively young and old, female and male. I had been frozen still but I started trying to bang the door down. I was too scared to look behind me into the dark. I clutched at the window but it was still broken and I cut my hand a little. The groaning gave way to crying and what I think were words, but I couldn't understand at all (looking back, it sounded German or some other similar language.) I was hysterical at this point and screaming at the top of my lungs.
Finally, the door swung open and my dad pulled me out. He was furious, asking why I hadn't called to him and why was I hiding from him as he had looked in and hadn't seen me. I guess he assumed I was hiding in the corner or something, because he was the angriest I'd ever seen him. He dragged me inside, where my mom and siblings were gathered around the tabe, my mom's eyes puffy and red and my brothers and sister looking scared.
Turns out, I had been there for an hour or more. It felt quite short to me, but that doesn't really startle me because when I get panic attacks time is a little fuzzy. What scares me is they couldn't find me at all, and my dad had peeked in the window I was standing right in view of. They should have been able to see me, but they didn't. Of course, they didn't believe me. My mom balked when I said I heard a voice, but as I went on I think she chalked it up to extreme fright hallucinations from being locked in, and didn't investigate.
I never went back in that shed, even after my dad renovated it. Seeing it now makes me feel literally sick to my stomach. It's oddly less of a scary feeling now than a very, very sad feeling. I know something horrible happened in that shed, though what exactly I have no clue. I would like to know, but I doubt anything will ever reveal itself.
Sorry that was long! But I had to get it off my chest.