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I knew the redhead to be my wife.

May 11, 2011

It began with my four-year-old daughter screaming at something she had seen in the living room. She said it was a black cloud and that it had crossed the room and disappeared into a corner. We dismissed it until my wife’s sister visited a few days later. She said the cloud reappeared from the same corner and enveloped her two little girls. Later that same day, my wife saw the cloud come from the corner and wrap itself around her. She said it was suffocating, hot and stank of burning meat. The cloud seemed to only manifest itself around women and girls. Unfortunately for my sons, males were not spared the haunting.

The front door of the old house squeaked loudly and no amount of WD40, graphite, or silicone gel would quiet it. Now, to get the layout of the house, one has to understand that it was built into the side of a hill. The front door faced the West and one would enter there onto the second floor, which is where the living area, dining room, kitchen and bathrooms all were. The bedrooms and laundry room were on the first floor, which could be accessed by the East facing back door.

One night the boys, aged eight and six, heard the front door open so they went to investigate. In the open front door they could see an odd green colored mist. When they went to the door to see where the glow was originating, it disappeared.

Up to this point, I had seen nothing so I was still somewhat skeptical of all these stories. That changed on the last night of the haunting.

We were asleep downstairs, and I was dreaming. I dreamt that I walked into our bedroom, but there was no bedroom furniture there. It was furnished as a living room and on the sofa sat the most beautiful redheaded woman I had ever seen. Now my wife, beautiful in her own right, is a brunette. But in this dream, I knew the redhead to be my wife.

She was crying. She turned and looked at me through blackened, tear-filled and fear filled eyes. I should have had pity in my heart for this woman, but all I felt was rage. She cowered into an arm of the sofa and I started toward her to continue the beating I knew she deserved.

It was when I heard a voice that I realized that the dream had been silent up to that point. In my dream I knew that this was because the wife was deaf. The voice I had heard was that of my six-year-old. I turned and looked to the doorway to see my real-life son standing there in clothes I had never seen before. He was wearing black pants and a long-sleeved red pullover shirt. He was soaking wet from head to toe and his skin appeared ashen and lifeless. Again, I felt no love for my family, only a burning rage.

The boy looked up to me and said, “Dad?” He too, had a look of abject fear in his eyes, but he continued, “Dad? Help me!” I turned toward him and raised my clenched fist and struck the child square in the face.

Suddenly I awoke sitting up in bed, my wife sitting up as well, screaming at me, “What the Hell is that?” I then realized that there was a fight going on in the living room above my head. Two men were yelling at each other, throwing furniture around and braking glass. I jumped from my bed and ran upstairs. As my foot fell onto the carpeted hallway of the second story, all was silent.

No one was there. The windows were intact, the furniture upright. But the door stood open shrouded in an iridescent green glow. Drawn, I approached the door and looked out onto the darkened street. There was nothing. All was quiet. I returned to my wife and my room to not sleep. We sat in silence awaiting the dawn.

And dawn did come. As it happened, it was October 31st. I stood on my front porch drinking my coffee, trying to rationalize my dream. And then I heard it. A chill locked into my spine as I heard my six-year-old son say, “Dad?”. Scared, I turned and looked down the hill. My son said, “Dad? Help me!” I approached as the boy was using a stick to try to dig something out of the ground. It was a strip of black corduroy. I went to help him, but pulled him away when I saw the flash of white bone. I grabbed my son and ran into the house.

The police dug up the body of the little boy. He was six when he died. He was wearing black corduroy pants and a long sleeved red pullover shirt.

My brother is now a detective on our local police department. Although the have a lengthy file on the boy’s father, they remain unable to locate him or his beautiful, deaf, redheaded wife.

/True story

//people still rent that house

///No one has ever reported anything unusual since that Halloween.

– Posted by acad1228; Fark

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