It was about 20 years ago my now ex-husband, daughter and I were looking for a place to live in San Angelo, TX. My then mother-in-law had a secretarial business and one day we had stopped in to say hello. She told us of one of her clients having a home a ways outside of town, that she wanted care-takers for; no rent or compensation except to live in the home and take care of the grounds. We were excited to take the opportunity. I mean, really, no rent, how great is that?
Upon arrival at the home, we were stunned at its grandeur. It was a newer, two storey, huge home set 30 miles outside of town on several acres. We went inside and found all the furnishings, dishes in the sink, and on the stove, clothes and filth everywhere. It looked as though the house had been occupied by a bunch of slobs, whom all left in a hurry. It was weird. We got busy cleaning everything upon move-in.
One morning I was alone in the house and I was cleaning the bar that separated the kitchen and dining area. As I reached for the other side of the counter with the cleanser, the wreath on the opposite side of the oak cabinet fell on my hand. I thought it odd, but got a step ladder and placed it back on the nail. I continued my cleaning, and it did it again. Right on my hand! This time, I went out to the garage and got the biggest nail I could find and a hammer. I got back up on the ladder and nailed through the wreath into the cabinet all the while nailing, saying out loud, "There you won't be coming down now." I put the ladder away and went back into the kitchen. It was only a moment later that I heard the wreath fall on the floor. I went around to the other side to look. There was straw from the wreath all over the nail; as if someone had jerked it off, hard. Chills immediately went up my body and I knew something was very wrong about this house. It was only the beginning of things to come.
One afternoon, after getting off work from my part-time job, I came home as usual, walking through the back door from the garage. There was a small bathroom just off to the right upon entry. Taking a few steps inside, the toilet in the bathroom started having water forcibly rush into its bowl. I thought it was strange that it would happen just as I walked in, but I shrugged it off and lifted the lid of the tank and pulling up the bulb, the water stopped. I turned and just walked away, and it did it again. I reached in again and lifted the bulb. It seemed to be fine. Then the bathroom in the hallway started doing it. I went into that bathroom, lifted the lid, and pulled up the bulb. Surprisingly, the water started rushing again, forcibly in the bowl only moments later. So I turned the water off to that toilet. I then turned on the faucet thinking there was pressure built up in the lines nothing. No sputtering, no pressure, no force... I thought it odd. As soon as I left that bathroom, the one in the bedroom started going. I walked in, and turned the water off on that toilet. Walking back through the house, I then heard the toilet upstairs... This was a problem. I hated going upstairs. It was scary. I don't mean weird, although it was that too, but I mean, frightening. Even just going up half way on the stairs, I would become overwhelmed with fear. I took a big gulp, and thought to myself, "It's trying to get me to come upstairs. It's a trap." I stood there for what seemed an eternity, but finally decided I was being stupid, and I needed to take care of it. As fast as my legs could take me, I ran up the stairs, into the bathroom and turned off the water. I thought my heart was going to burst. I barely opened eyes, and ran back down the stairs. I didn't want to see anything - I was afraid to look at anything but the floor, and I was happy that I made it back down to the kitchen. I again turned on the faucet to relieve any pressure nothing. Everything was fine. When my husband and daughter got home, I told my husband all about it. We agreed to call out plumber to check the lines.
The next evening, our plumber called us on the phone. He asked if we were going to be home that evening, that he wanted to come out and talk to us. I said yes. I looked at my husband and told him, "Oh, this can't be good. The plumber wants to come out in person and talk to us." When he arrived, he looked nervous. He was a large, middle aged, rugged looking man. We introduced ourselves and he started to talk.
"I just wanted you to know that there's nothing wrong with your plumbing. (We were relieved). But, there is something wrong with your house. (A long pause). I was working on your plumbing, and don't ask me why, but I got scared. I mean, REALLY scared. I heard voices, and noises, and yeah, I was scared. So I left. I went back into town and I got my dad to come back out with me. We're both plumbers. We looked all around your house. We saw no one. We both started checking things out again with the plumbing, and we both started hearing things. I'm sorry, but we left. We were both terrified. I just wanted to tell you, I think your house is evil, and please don't ever call me again. OK? Please. I'm sorry, but you need to know." We apologized to him, thanked him, and said good-bye. It never happened again. Well, not the plumbing part.
A few months later, my husband made plans with a friend to go deer hunting on the property. Unfortunately, my husband got called in to work, so we left his friend a note and securely taped it to the front door. (It was too early to call). Later that day, his friend came out and wanted to talk to us. He asked where my husband had been. We told him we had taped a note to the door. "There was no note." We opened the door, and sure enough, no note. Not even the tape that held it. The door was in a cove, so there was never any wind there, not to mention we had secured the note with duct tape. We looked around the grounds and the note was nowhere to be found.
Anyway, his friend said that when he got out of his truck to knock on the door, he heard voices, so he thought we were home. He knocked and rang the bell. He walked all around the house looking in the windows thinking we were home, or the TV was on, or possibly a radio, but he saw no one. Then he got scared. He explained he had never felt fear like that, so he immediately left. He asked that we never ask him to come out here again. "Your house is evil, or something. There's something wrong out here. Y'all need to leave it aint' safe. I got the distinct impression that I was in harm's way." Again we apologized and thanked him, and told him we couldn't leave because of our financial situation.
After he left, we decided to go for a walk in the pasture. It was such a nice day, so we did. We came up on the ridge on the way back to the house around dusk. All the lights upstairs in the house were on all of them. My husband and I started accusing each other of turning them all on. I told him, "You know I didn't do it. I HATE going upstairs. You must have done it." We knew our daughter didn't do it; she was too little to reach the switches. He was convinced that I had done it. We came back in the house, and he started up the stairs. I told him I wasn't about to go up there. He laughed at me and said "I'll do it. This is dumb."
Halfway up the stairs, all the lights upstairs, all at once, went out. My husband fell into the corner of the landing with a total look of fear on his face, "Jesus! They all went out! God Dammit, I'm not going up there." He ran back down rubbing the back of his neck saying, "Sh**! What the hell is going on in here? I just got the shiat scared out of me." I looked at him in disgust and said, "I told you so. I've been telling you for months this house is haunted." He now believed me.
We went into town, to his mom's. We asked her if something bad had happened out there at the house. She said, "Well, I know she was having drug parties, orgies and other parties to communicate with the dead. She was all into doing all kinds of wild things. Then she just left. She took her kids and said she couldn't live there anymore. It was quite sudden." "Communicate with the dead? Oh my God. She invited spirits into her home and did all kinds of evil crap out there. Great." I said. Now we knew.
Not long after that, we were all asleep. Our daughter slept with us the entire time we lived in that house. She said that there was a lady on fire in her room and every night around 2 or 3 in the morning, noises, all kinds of noises. So, she slept with us.
The bed in our room was massive. It was specially made for the enormous bedroom, so there was no problem for her to sleep with us. Anyway, we were all sleeping in on the weekend, and a fly kept bothering me. I swished it away several times and finally became frustrated and sat up. "Oh my God! Look at the bed!" My husband and daughter both sat up and gasped. The bed was COVERED in flies. So thick was the insect mass, that you couldn't even see the color of the bedspread. "Sh**!" We all jumped up. "I'll go get the bug spray", said my husband. "I'll get the fly swatter!" When we came back into the room, all the flies were gone. Not a trace. Not a fly anywhere. What was really weird was that none of the windows opened in that house, so how any flies could've gotten in was a mystery we never solved. We dismantled the bed and set up our own that had been in storage.
Not long after that, we had saved enough money to finally move out. I don't know who lived there after us. All I know is, whomever it was I hope God was there to help them.
Thank you for letting me tell you my story.