When I was about six years old I lived in a rented house in Framingham, Massachusetts for about a year between 1970 and 1971.
I lay awake in bed one morning fidgeting because I couldn't get back to sleep. I clearly remember staring at the ceiling and watching the light of morning start to fill the room. I could hear my father snoring and my brother grit his teeth in his sleep (it was always very loud). The door to my room was open and I could just see the top of the stairwell from my bed. As I lay there I suddenly heard what sounded like the rhythmic droning of the dishwasher in the kitchen running. I thought it was strange because I knew everyone was still asleep. Well, this droning sound started getting louder as if it were coming up the stairs. I started getting scared and my heart started beating very fast. I knew that I didn't want to see whatever it was that seemed to be approaching so I turned over on my stomach and faced the wall next to my bed and threw the covers over my head. The sound had gotten really loud as though it must have been in my room. At that point, one half of the bed got ice cold and the other half seemed to get real hot. Then it all stopped, no more sound. I just laid there with my heart pounding in my ears. I could still hear the sounds of morning outside and my father's snoring. It never occurred again. I swear to this day that it was not a dream.
Here's a strange twist, after-the-fact; I had originally posted this story online in 2002 on another paranormal website. About one week after the story was posted, I get a call from a guy who said he was a writer for a newspaper in Framingham and claimed to have read my story online and was doing a Halloween "spooky story" special for Framingham residents who wanted to share any paranormal stories. I essentially rehashed the experience over for him and then I hesitated and did something I shouldn't have done; I gave the address of the house.
Turns out, this guy contacted the then-current owner of the house with the details of my story and what, if any, comments he wanted to make. The guy claimed he did not believe in ghosts, but was writing a story about sceptics and the paranormal. The final twist was that the guy mentioned, almost as an afterthought that even though he didn't believe in the paranormal, he had never gone into the attic in the house; just felt something "wasn't right about it".