As it seems people seemed to have enjoyed or even sympathized with my first tale, I thought I would also pass along this one.
In the story about the most recent house I lived in with my mother, I was troubled by what I thought were aggressive spirits, or perhaps just one. In it I had mentioned a house with a bad aura and in this tale I will recount the story of it. Unfortunately it seems that when I lived with my family, we almost always had some sort of spirit activity. It was simply something we learned to live with. Sometimes it was easy to ignore. Sometimes it was hard to ignore. Other members of my family were, and still are skeptics and when even brought face to face with the paranormal, feign ignorance. How difficult is that for someone like my sister or me growing up when our mother embraced it and our father refused to acknowledge it?
Some people may like to think that houses have a life of their own. That they are living, breathing things and that, they adsorb the energy around you, happiness, sadness, anger, the whole nine yards. If that were true the house in Michigan we spent about three years in was definably an angry or even sick house. It defiantly looked sick. An old shack of a house with drooping window frames, dirty green siding and a walk-in porch that looked like it was ready to collapse any second. To be honest, the house fit the whole "haunted house" theme. But it simply didn't end there with looks. As soon as you stepped in to the house, a heavy wave of resistance would be placed on your entire being. Not only did you constantly feel like the house didn't want you there, but you also felt like someone was always watching you. It was an awful feeling that would stay by you as long as you were in the house. And anyone, with a skill for the paranormal or not, would feel it.
Like most houses that show spiritual activity, we had the same classic signs, such as invisible footsteps, doors opening and closing and things being moved around or displaced. One of the interesting ones, were footsteps coming up through the back of our garage, up the stairs, into the hall way and then finally knocking on the back of our kitchen door. When we would go to answer, no one would be there. Another problem that my sister constantly had (and only her), was when she was using the bathroom, the door would constantly open on its own. It is difficult to recount everything that happened in that house, in the proper order that it happened, so I am going to tell you the events that remain most prominent in my mind.
Shadow People - My mother had one of those instant Polaroid cameras. It was around 8:00 pm, I cannot recall the day of the week. Most of the lights in the house were off because we were trying to save on the electric bill. I had found her camera and was a running around the house taking pictures. When I had made it into the kitchen I simply took a random picture. When the camera ran out of film I sat down on the couch in the living room with the rest of my family and looked at the pictures. Most of them were just pictures of our home. But in the kitchen, that photo was strange. Just about a foot off the floor, above the kitchen counters were what appeared to be two, shadowy figures. There were heads, torsos, arms and legs, they were arguably people. Everyone got excited about the picture right away. I mean, how often do you get authentic pictures like this? My step father quickly took the picture, scanned it for a second and then began to make up excuses.
"It was a reflection" he said.
"It was night out and we don't have any glass cabinetry" I replied.
"It was light from another room obviously."
"The only light on was from the living room, two rooms away."
"There was gunk on the film"
"In the shape of two people and only on a single frame of film?"
The conversation went on like this for a few moments until my step father gave up. He refused to give me the photo back and I never saw it again.
Bedside Ghost - My sister's room seemed to have had most of the ill feelings the house had for us almost radiating from its core. Many times we couldn't even get friends and family members to stay at our house. And when we did, they refused to stay in my sister's room and they refused to let us leave them alone in any other part of the house as well. Even animals avoided the room at all costs. They would follow us like lost puppies throughout the house. This is not my tale, but a tale my sister recounted to me.
One night she was in her room, lying in bed, trying to get to sleep. Something was keeping her awake, but she wasn't sure what it was yet. All she knew was that she wished she had a door, or even a blanket or something, to cover the door leading to her toy closet, which was half as big as her room and for some reason, scared her beyond belief. She was facing the wall when she heard something and rolled over. Standing at the side of her bed, was a figure of a man, in a ghostly, light blue color staring at her. At this point she screamed and ran into my room. Where she stayed for the next week.
Mother's Room - My mother's room was an interesting room. See, the whole house was kind of on a raised foundation. So even on the first floor, it was hard to try and climb into a first storey window. You would need a ladder or something to boost you up. My mother's room, for some reason or another, was even higher up and had only one window, which for one reason or another, had been permanently glued and nailed shut.
One day my mother went to her room to get something, but discovered the door refused to open up. Stranger still, the door was unlocked. Banging on the door quickly showed us, no one else was in the room. The only option we had was to remove the hinges from the door. After about forty or so minutes of work, we managed to get the door out of the frame. What we found was a queer sight.
My mother had owned an old world colonial dresser made out of thick, heavy, solid oak wood. The thing was heavy enough as it was without the drawers or any clothes in it. But with all six drawers in and all of them filled with clothes, the thing was damn near impossible for any less then three people to push out of the way. The dresser somehow managed to make its way all the way across the room, in front of my mother's bedroom door. At this discovery, we climbed over the dresser and then proceeded to push the dresser back in place. This event happened several more times before we moved.
Another interesting aspect of her room was a small, quarter sized hole above her bed, about an inch deep that refused to be sealed shut. Now it wasn't for the lack of ability, because both my mother and stepfather were well known for their ability at carpentry, indeed at the time they even owned a local company. It appeared to us, the hole simply refused to be fixed. Be it either a few hours, a day, a week or even a month or so, the end results were always the same the hole would come back. We never did end up patching that spot on the wall.
All in all, the events in the house were no where near as bad as depicted in my more recent run in with the paranormal I published to the site called "The Uninvited", but it still wasn't very pleasant. As far as the house goes, we did eventually try to learn more about the house, try to figure out way it was so angry. But the small town I lived in didn't start keeping accurate records of anything in our town until later, and we were mostly met with dead ends. We had to go on, by what locals were able to relay to us. From what we were told, a long while back, a husband came home early to find his wife cheating on him. He shot his wife and the man in bed and then hung himself on the tree that sat in front of our home.
Was that why the bedroom was always trying to prevent access?
Perhaps the hole in the wall was from a bullet or shrapnel from a gun shot?
I cannot say for sure, because I am still going on hearsay, but what happened to us in the house while we lived there, was very real.
I swear this to you to be true.