It was October in the mid 1980s and I was still living in a very old (built in 1889) home in Chicago. The neighborhood kids volunteered to help me put together a yard sale so we were all in my basement rummaging through old stuff to sell. As I was standing at the laundry sink washing some old dishes for the sale, the broom next to me started to hit my left arm. It hit me three times! When I realized what just happened I started to scream. The kids by now were all scared out of their wits by my screaming. Then I asked where the dog was who had been in the basement with us. She was found in the back of the basement tied up to a cabinet with some telephone wire but nobody knew how she got tied up since all of us were busy in the front of the basement.
After that incident, the kids never would go back in my basement again. I ventured back in but never felt comfortable while down there again after this happened. There was always a feeling of a presence down there.
The house was owned by one family from 1902 all the way to 1968 (the Westergards) just being passed down from one family member to another. Looking back I now realize that there was a lot of activity in that house most especially around Halloween.