My story started in 1982. My Dad had been in the military for 32 years and then had worked for NASA before he retired. Because of his military service, he and my Mom were eligible to travel anywhere in the world by military transport if there was available room and pay a nominal fee for any meals while in flight. They had never been to Hong Kong and it had long been on their bucket list. They arranged for the trip which would be for about two weeks if I remember correctly. They were worried leaving their house empty for that long and asked me to house sit. There had been a string of burglaries in the area but they targeted houses that were up for sale or empty.
Now, the house I grew up in was not a very cozy or warm and fuzzy place. The rumor that I heard when we moved in was that a boy of 13 had killed himself with a shotgun a couple of years prior to us moving in. I had never been able to substantiate the rumor and it was definitely verboten in my house to ask about it. It was a standard ranch in the burbs built in probably 1968 or 1969 when California started booming and my parents got a suspiciously good deal on it. But, I digress.
This house just did NOT feel friendly. Even with all of the windows and doors open it felt dark. When you entered the front door you had the kitchen and family to your right, living room to the left and a long hallway leading back to 4 bedrooms and 2 baths. Classic L shape with the tile roofs of a pseudo hacienda. The energy made me nervous. Quite often at night you would hear footsteps going down the hall turning, and going to the kitchen. There was a built in desk there where they kept a phone/answering machine/fax machine. Without fail, we would hear the fax machine dialing and the phone's speaker would pick up ringing. No one ever answered, thank god. My Dad was an ex search and rescue man. He quickly shut down any discussion. If you grew up military, you understand that one look would wilt you in your seat.
They left for their trip and I nervously settled in. I had the instinct to keep myself near the front of the house. I chose the family room couch in order to stay as close to the front door as possible. Things have a habit of pretty much saying "I SEE YOU" and I have to say "I SEE YOU, TOO!" which can lead to pretty nasty stand off. The first night there I stayed up late and finally went to sleep about 2am. At 3 o'clock right on the dot (yes, I know the cliché) the little entity came walking down the hall. Step, shuffle, step... All the way into the kitchen. I waited for it to start dialing. Nope. It paused, and the footsteps came right up to where I was lying on the couch. I was feeling an energy surge but I didn't see anything. My impression was that it was agitated.
In my head I heard "Move". I was trying to wake up and pull myself together when it said again "MOVE". More urgent and I sat up and started putting my shoes on. There was a kitchen between me and the front door. I was flabbergasted that this thing I had been afraid of was more scared than I was. I was shaking and fumbling for my car keys. This thing was screaming in my head "MOVE PLEASE GO PLEASE GO NOW GO" and I bolted for the kitchen.
As I got to the edge of the dining room I heard what this ghost was afraid of. It sounded huge. Heavy footsteps boomed down the hall. Something growled and I heard the farthest bedroom door slam, then the next one, then the bathroom. Only one doorway left before it got to the kitchen. I grabbed the front door knob and frantically tried to get it open but it wouldn't budge. It was unlocked but there was so much pressure that I couldn't pull it open. The last door slammed and I prayed for help to get it open. It suddenly popped open so hard that I fell backward into the wall and scrambled outside onto my hands and knees. Behind me the front door slammed so hard that the wood in the frame splintered in an area about 3 inches across.
I sat in the car until dawn and I never again went into that house at night. I took a friend back with me to check it before dark every night. My parents sold it to my sister when they downsized but I never went over there again. Years later, I told this story to a friend of mine, Nick, who had spent time with me over there when we were in high school. His comment? "That poltergeist that hates blondes?" Yes, Nick had felt it too. We're both blondes. It had trapped him in the kitchen one day. I wondered why he had suddenly stopped coming over.