I have never really paid much attention to the paranormal. I wouldn't call myself a skeptic per se; more of a neutral third party. What happened last July changed my outlook on the subject forever.
It was about nine pm on a Tuesday night. My family was getting ready to go upstairs to bed. I was in the kitchen when I heard this really strange whining sound coming from the basement. I had never heard a noise like that before in my life. I looked down the stairs and saw it was our chocolate lab, Hershey, making the noise. He was standing at the bottom of the stairs, staring into our laundry room making this awful sound. He was only about 8 months old at the time and the strange thing was we had never heard him bark before. Not once. And now he was barking furiously, as if he was warning something off. Finally, fur standing on end and ears back against his head, he shot up the stairs and into the living room. My mother, who was in the kitchen said he must have been afraid of the washing machine. I didn't think so.
She asked me to take a couple dish cloths to the laundry room, and put them in the washer with the rest of the towels. I slowly walked down the stairs and looked in the dark room. I got these eerie chills down my arm. There was no way I was going in there. I dropped the cloths at the bottom of the stairs and booked it back up into the kitchen.
I went upstairs to the second floor, and mostly forgot about what happened. I didn't want to scare myself. At about eleven pm, I got so thirsty, I had to open my door and venture downstairs for a drink. I went out into the hallway, and noticed there were lights on downstairs. I assumed my mother couldn't sleep, so I went downstairs without any fear because I thought she was down there.
I got to the bottom of the stairs, and stepped in something wet. The hall light was on- strangely because it isn't a light you would turn on normally. It's bright and only gets turned on when we have company leaving out the front door. The floor was wet with water- and all over the floor were these men's footprints; big ones, barefoot- they looked like my fathers. The living room was dark- no other lights were on. I walked into the kitchen, expecting to see my father fixing the sink or something. He wasn't there, but in the middle of the floor were the two dish cloths I had set at the bottom of the stairs. They were neatly spread out next to each other, and those wet footprints were everywhere. I looked towards the stairs and it seemed the footprints had come from there.
I still thought my mother or father MUST be down here somewhere. I called their names, silent at first, then louder. When no one answered I started to get a little freaked out so I called their names up the stairs. My father rushed down. I asked him if he'd been down here- no. I showed him the footprints. My mother called from upstairs and came down. Had she been down here? No. My father said little, and started searching the house. My parent's panic was beginning to scare me. This wasn't a joke.
My father searched everywhere and found nothing. He even went outside to check the yard. Nothing. The doors were still locked. No one was there. The strange thing is sometimes when a member of the family is in the laundry room, they leave wet footprints around the house because the washer leaks. Whoever, or whatever left those tea towels came from our laundry room...
This was my very first encounter with Gregory; the man who lives in my laundry room. For more on his tragic, truthful death and more haunting, stay tuned.