My mom never believed me when I would talk about hearing voices call out my name when her and my other family members would go out. She would say it was in my head because I was scared of being alone.
She also didn't believe me when I came running up from my room in the basement one night because I had woken up to my bed shaking and lifting off the ground and falling back down. She told me it was just a train on the tracks that where three blocks away from us.
She never believed anything about the basement. She didn't even believe me, my sister, and our grandma when we told her we heard footsteps in her room up in the attic when her and her second husband had taken my youngest sister and brother out.
It wasn't until after her second husband was deported that she told me a few things.
She told me she could hear people fighting upstairs near her bed. She said it freaked her out o the point that she started leaving her TV on at night.
She told me sometimes she would feel tugging at her hair and touches on her hand (nothing like the inappropriate touches I got in the basement). She mentioned something bit her foot once (we had no pets at the time) and I decided to get her back for not believing me that I said, "maybe its the little monsters that bite your toes off if you don't wear socks or cover your feet when you sleep" (background to that is that my family tells all the kids at some point when they are young, that monsters eat your toes if your feet weren't covered at night. I don't know why, but it is some messed up family tradition). She was not amused.
She also said she got pinned down by a shadow and all she could see was a tail swishing around (no pets at the time).
The biggest thing to freak her out was that quite often my brother would wake from a dead sleep and look at this one corner and ask to go play with the "bug" mom would look to where he was pointing and see nothing and tell him no. He would apologize to the "bug" and go back to sleep.
She started to believe me about the basement after awhile. She would even come down to the main floor where I would sleep, once I stopped sleeping in the basement, if I screamed for any reason.
At some point during all of this, she found an alter and book in the crawl space in her room that wasn't there when we first moved in and during her first marriage.
After finding that, I came to the conclusion that what happened in the attic and main floor was different than the basement.
The basement seemed to only bother me, while the upstairs liked to mess with anyone, but it loved to mess with my mom the most.
My mom passed away in 2011 and we moved out two months later. The house has been vacant since we moved. No one wants to live there.
Sometimes I drive by now and again, but I don't linger. I feel like I'm being watched by something in the house.