Individual fingers and veiny skin.

May 11, 2011

I lived in an haunted house. I was probably the only teenager who did not want their parents to leave her alone in the house.

“Wait, you’re leaving for the weekend? Oh, Fark. I am sleeping on the couch with all the lights on.”

Seriously, that’s what I did whenever they would leave. Every single light would be turned on regardless if I even thought about entering the room. The things that would happen in the house seemed tame by paranormal standards; doorknobs rattling, lights flickering, pots and plates clunking around, doors that never moved on their own suddenly closing, objects disappearing only to reappear days later in another room. But the worse was the feeling of being watched. You could actually sense what ever it was walking across the room like another person. Sometimes it would stand at my bedroom closet and stare at me at night.

One time when I was around 11, I had sneaked out in the middle of the night to watch TV in the living room. Being a kid, I sat within inches of the screen just so I could keep the volume really low. Suddenly I felt an itching on my back, like something was pressing against my skin. I went to scratch and I touched a hand. Individual fingers and veiny skin. A man’s hand. I turned around but no one was there. The hand wasn’t there on my back either. I turned off the TV, ran to my bed and hid under my covers. I didn’t sleep that night.

Another time, years later when I was a teenager, I was alone in the house again but it was day time. I went to go to the bathroom when I passed my parents’ room. Now my parents’ room was the worst room in the house in terms of the hauntings. The moment you entered it, you had a sense of dread. I hated that room and refused to go into it after dark. I even hated going into it during the day. So, there I was passing by when I spotted a red ball of light floating right in front of the mirror. The odd thing? The light didn’t cast a reflection. I stood there for about ten seconds staring at the red ball before brushing it off as “the ghost” and simply went to the bathroom. When I came back out, the ball was gone. Thinking back now, I brushed off the ghost easily as “meh” because my head couldn’t wrap around the fact that it didn’t have a reflection.

The strangest thing was, it was a brand new house. But the land, oh, man, the land had a dark, bloody history. Two wars and the site of a slave auction house. Even stranger, every other house in that neighborhood had its own ghost. People would talk about their inhabitants like they were talking about their pets.

“It kept me up all night, scratching the door. I told it shut up and let me sleep.”

– Posted by mekki; Fark

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