Real Life Paranormal Experiences Part 2

A Collection

Told by notmakayla 

 I have several stories to tell, far too many to count, but here I will provide a few short ones that have taken place in my bedroom.

There's been a history of these paranormal instances occurring in the basement area of my house. It isn't like the creepy, dark sort, where one would ease down and fear finding a demon. There's a kitchen area, a living room, a bathroom, and a bedroom. My sister sleeps in the bedroom, and I sleep in the living room area.

First, I could start with the reason I no longer sleep in the bedroom. One silent night, when I was alone and sitting on my bed, scrolling on my laptop, I heard a voice from beneath my bed. It sounded like a little girl, whisper-yelling, "Hey!" The next day, my mother told me how, the day I heard the voice, my little sister went downstairs, back upstairs, and asked where the little girl who was calling for her to come play was.

In addition, everyone who has ever slept in that room has reported hearing and seeing things, feeling the presence of evil like a tangible thing. I suppose it doesn't bother my sister to sleep in there, because she's pretty evil herself.

It seems, however, that the hauntings aren't limited to the bedroom. Here are just a few of the odd things that have happened to me in the living room area, in no particular order.

First of all, perhaps the simplest and the most terrifying, is that, every night, if my face is uncovered, I feel a steady breath on my face. There are no fans, no vents that I know of, down there. Sometimes, I think it's my own breath, but when I hold it...the cool air, light and holding a steady pace, fans my face. As if someone is leaning over me and watching me sleep. Breathing.

One morning, my consciousness returned from sleep but I had not yet risen. Behind me, walking across the stone floor, I heard the sound of bare footsteps, crackling toes and all. Thinking it was my sister coming out of her room, despite the early hour, I turned—only to be faced with nothing.

One night, I'd stayed up with my sister; we had freaked ourselves out by reading about some sort of paranormal game (I believe it was the one about Three Kings). Anyway, she went back into her room eventually, and I was turned away from it (from her room and the bathroom). There's a large mirror at the other wall, to the left of my bed, which I was facing. I happened to glance at it, only to find a red light floating past me in its reflection. It was moving away from my sister's room, so I thought it was her, but, naturally, there was no one there. She was still in her bedroom, door shut.

There was a time that I'd been lying in bed, turned at an angle so that I was halfway on my back, halfway on my side. I was doing something on my phone. Suddenly, what felt like a thin finger rose from the mattress, directly beneath my back. It moved upward slowly, digging into my back, and I couldn't move. Then, as slowly as it rose, the "finger" receded.

And now, the most unexplainable story, took place in the bathroom. It's fairly small—a shower that gives hardly any room to spare, and a toilet and a sink just past it. A single step leads up into the shower, and on it rested a bottle of shampoo (TRESemmé, if you must know).

I have seven siblings, five of which are not babies. Often they will come downstairs to bother me. I heard them running around upstairs, as usual, but never once did I hear the creak of the stairs (and trust me, it would be loud). No one had come downstairs. I was completely alone; my sister wasn't even in her room.

When the footsteps came, I had already been listening to the ones upstairs. All of the kids who played wildly were active, where I could hear them. Then what sounded like a small child running into the bathroom sounded, continuing past the shower and to the toilet, followed by the sound of the shampoo falling to the floor. I peeked out of the shower, ready to scold whoever it had been, but there was no one. No one in the bathroom, no one downstairs at all—I checked. The shampoo bottle still lay overturned on the floor, where I know that I definitely hadn't touched it.

So, yeah...my house is definitely haunted. Or maybe it's just me. I have scary stories for every house I've ever lived in (a couple of which I've already submitted for the first book). And I'm the dumbass who still sleeps down there! (It makes me more angry than scared, at times. In several instances, I've spoken aloud, cursing and threatening whatever it was in my presence. They haven't killed me yet.