A good old fashioned haunted house, and of course I had to be smack dab in the middle of it.
It started with old books.
Isn't that always the way? Something old is uncovered and mysterious occurrences begin to take place. This horror catalyst is so common it might even be considered clichè. Though, I suppose clichés don't concern the dead.
They were old textbooks from Germany, around 18th century I believe. Originally belonging to my ancestor, they were passed down in my family until they reached me.
It was actually casual. My mother was cleaning the study and I asked what was in the neon green box. She showed me the books and I was delighted. Mostly because I saw that my ancestor had doodled in his textbook. I guess doodling in class runs in the family!
The books weren't anything special. They were just old textbooks on grammar and history with some doodles here and there.
Then came the smells.
I'm stopping the story here to make a note. I have a very bad sense of smell. It occurs to me that my lack of nasal perception began around the time the smells started. Maybe it was for the best I couldn't smell anymore.
It smelled like death.
It's unmistakable. The stench of decay and rotting carcasses. I live in the country, so I've seen my fair share of dead animals. I've smelled the unpleasant smells and whipped out the air freshener. So when I smelled it, there was no question that this was the smell of the dead. It would go away and then come back, having no discernible pattern other than location. It would always appear in the same place. A small pocket of air in the hallway would suddenly reek of death and everyone in the house would complain.
The smells eventually stopped. Or, at least, I think they did. My sense of smell was never good after that, so perhaps it returned and I just didn't notice.
I sure noticed the touch, though. I suppose brushing someones bangs out of their face while they're trying to sleep is a kind thing, but because no one was in my room to actually do so it quickly became a very bad thing.
I moved into my parents room and refused to sleep in my own, fear and anxiety welling up to such a point that I could barely set foot in the place.
Then came the voices.
Yes, I know. It's another clichè. Just bear with me here.
Those whispers and voices you hear in the horror movies aren't like the ones in real life. The real ones are different, filtered, muffled. There's something in the way of making them understandable and clear.
A good analogy would be television. If someone is watching the news in another room, you can hear it. However, the voices sound a bit foreign and are difficult to understand, or perhaps you can relate to hearing distant music from a house party.
And, yes, this happened mostly at night. Not to discount those who had something to say during the day, but I was too preoccupied with getting to school on time to be freaked out by early morning spook sessions. Maybe that's why vision was the next sense to be harassed.
As I mentioned before, I was in my parents room. There's a little light in the hallway so those going to the restroom at night can see. Imagine my horror when I look up and see a six foot tall shadowy figure in the doorway, outlined by this little light that was supposed to be helpful. Whatever it was, it stayed no matter how much I kept blinking and turning my head.
It only dared to leave when I tried to wake my mother.
By this point, it's been a few months since this started. The activity slowly escalated, reaching levels of super creepiness that can only come from objects moving on their own.
A bullet standing upright on the table when the gun cabinet had been locked - I would like to thank whatever put that bullet there for putting it there in the daytime, as it was far less creepy than it would be at night.
Flashlights never found.
Blankets tugged at.
Swivel chairs swiveled.
Batteries in the fruit bowl.
And let's not forget the moving wooden statue.
Sure, it hung from the ceiling, but that thing was heavy. I wish I could say that one of my cats bumped into it but that just wouldn't have been enough to make it swing so violently. Needless to say, I was terrified.
It was morning and the sun was up but that somehow made it worse. I still don't trust that statue. Gives me the willies.
The oven turning on by itself (and by this I mean the dials themselves being moved and set to broil) was interesting as well, especially since I had a guest over to experience this with me.
At this point, a lot of the electronics were behaving strangely. I'm no electrician, so I can't say that all of this was supernatural, but when sound amplifiers for the TV start making a racket when the TV is off I'd say that's cause for freaking out a little.
Speaking of sound, you'll love this one. The voices came back. I heard them. And just once, I understood them.
"Do you think she can hear us?"
Yes. Yes I can. I could also hear the footsteps in the attic and halls.
I was fed up. I was scared of my own room and sleeping on the floor in my parents room. I had enough. So I contacted a paranormal society. They came to our house and did an investigation.
I wish I could say blood oozed out of the walls, but their findings were rather standard. Temperature drops, odd feelings of dread. High EMF levels where there was no electricity.
Voices caught on tape:
"...it's beautiful here in the country." Investigator asked why they were here.
"Woof. Good dog." A dog barked outside and then this was recorded.
"It was me." Investigator asked who moved my hair.
"Yes, cold water. Yes." Translated from Cherokee. Please note that there was a tribe that lived in the area long ago near where I now live. Another note is that my dad was using the restroom and these voices appeared when he was washing his hands.
At some point one of the investigators called the other one stupid and whatever was in my room agreed, because it let out a chuckle.
And then there was my personal favorite. One of the investigators had a little sound recording device on his clipboard. No matter how hard he tried to keep it put it would always fall off and onto the floor. He seemed particularly frustrated about that.
The house got scored on some level of haunting as a 7/10.
Them coming over didn't solve anything, though. Eventually, I had to put my foot down. I salted the place and rang a bell three times in each corner of the house.
It seems to have worked. Years later and there's no sign of anything spooky. Not even a little whisper in the night.
I still don't completely understand what went on or why it happened. I only know that it's over now and I can sleep at night.
