I'll try my best to put my stories in the best chronological order that I can remember. I've had incidents over the years where unexplained things occurred. The first place that I can think of was at my grandmother's house years back.
Although newer than my parents' house right across the road, her house scared me after dark. To be honest, my parents' house also scared the s&*@ out of me, but my dad was (and is) an extremely explosively angry man. That kind of stuff just stays around even after the person is gone. Don't worry. My dad is and was still loving, just a very angry person. Enough about repressed memories. On to the things you came to read.
The first occurrence at my grandmother's house, my dad's mama, that I can guarantee was not normal was when I was 20. I tore my acl and decided to spend the time after surgery at her house since she had a walk in shower, tall toilet (I'm 6'6"), and an open floor plan compared to my parents' place. Yes, I was on pain killers and they were some potent drugs. Even Morphine barely took the edge off the pain. When I was on them I became extremely hostile to everyone and everything. I even attacked the preacher when he came to visit. It still brings a smile to my heart because he was just a money hungry sermon twister that the old people liked. I wish I could have been there for the sermon the next day! After a week in that fog, my mom finally overslept on a pain pill dose and I refused anything other than ibuprofen. I was done with that junk. Yes it hurt, but I wanted it.
Once off the hard stuff, things began to change. One evening, I was getting my crutches set and preparing myself for the pain that would come from trying to stand up. After I got to my feet, and got the wind back in me, I heard a woman's voice call my name from the back bedroom. It was soft and sweet like someone that knows you and cares about you. I can still hear that voice say my name as I type this because this was something different. I assumed it was my mama's voice, yet hers ain't that sweet...she's half Cajun and raised in Metarie, which is basically a suburb of New Orleans.
As I hobbled on my crutches to the back bedroom, I heard the washing machine lid slam shut and the unit turn on. I stopped dead in my tracks. My grandmother was out playing Pokeno, so it was just mama in the house with me. She could not have been on opposite ends of the house at once. She saw me on my feet and asked me if I was going to bed. All I could think was, "Well I'm fuc*%@." Something was in that bedroom. Mama does not believe in spirits, so I never even brought it up. I went on to bed and said nothing more of that voice.
Throughout the next couple of weeks, I continued to hear noises in her house. I can distinctly remember waking up in the middle of the night hearing footsteps walking up the hall to my room. My grandmaw has wooden floors and it sounded like a lady's gait while wearing heels. As I lay there knowing that my 84 year old grandmaw doesn't even own a pair of heels and has a stumbling walk, I tried to brush it off. However, the knowledge that it was not her, plus the fact that she never answered when I called out to her, let me know that I indeed was hearing granny snoring while some broad was clanking her heels down the hallway towards my room. I thought to myself, "It would be nice if this were a hooker. I would pay her just to ice my knee and put a big bottle of OTC pain relief by my bed." However, all I could do was lay in that bed and feel the pain throb back as the ice bag on my leg thawed into lukewarm water.
Three weeks after the surgery I finally made my escape from grandmaw's overbearing need to shelter me like a toddler (she still does and I'm 27). I've made sure to spend little time over there after dark.
I almost forgot to include something important. My grandmother was born in the late 1920s. Her mother died when she was 5 years old, which lead to her father practically abandoning she and her siblings to be raised by her grandparents. Also, she and my grandfather had two children, my dad and his younger sister. She died from cancer when she was 17 and was living in that house when it all went down.
I've had one other experience that my brother-in-law (a preacher, but not the one I attacked), my sister, my brother, and myself all experienced at that house, but I'm over twice the counter minimum already. I'll just include it in another story, possibly with the incident at my house after the spiritually active day at the cemetery.