I Lived in a Haunted House

Photo by Sean MacEntee

When I was a child, our family lived in a two-story wood house which was built in the early ’50s. According to my parents, the lot where our house stood was once a cemetery.

When we were children, we often found bones in the open drain. Naturally, we wondered where those bones came from. There were also coins that we used to pick up from the ground.

But that’s not even what I want to share with readers: this story is about the house being haunted.

haunted house photo
Photo by Sean MacEntee

Sisters and Stories of Ghosts

My two elder sisters called our home – a haunted house. They told me about ghosts they saw and weird sounds they heard at night when everybody else was enjoying a good night’s sleep.

I didn’t know anything about what they were saying and I didn’t believe in ghosts when I was a kid. The stories they told me sounded creepy and made up at best.

I thought they were just trying to scare me so I would not join their young girls’ fantasies. They often had secrets that they didn’t like to share with me.

At night, when the lights were off, I could see them both covering their heads while I stared at the faded light from our glass windows. I didn’t feel anything nor did I hear anything. I thought they were only imagining things, perhaps.

One morning when I went into the kitchen, I found my two sisters whispering to each other again. When they heard my footsteps they both turned to look at me. They looked weird and I smiled. Perhaps it was one of their many tricks again not to include me in their conversation.

My eldest sister looked at me then said, “You did it again.”

I was surprised because I knew I did nothing wrong. “What’s wrong with you? You always want to blame me.” I said as I sat on the chair next to the dining table.

My sister’s eyes went big and she said, “I always tell you to open your books and notebooks slowly without sound.”

I smiled. “So, you are making up stories again to scare me,” I complained.

My other sister looked at me with a serious face. “You don’t believe us because when you sleep, you sleep like a log,” she said angrily.

Am I Dreaming?

I turned my back and went back to our room. Perhaps it’s better to sleep again I told myself, and I lay down on the matted floor. I covered my head and tried to go back to sleep.

It was still early because my sisters often woke up at 4 in the morning to prepare our breakfast.

Just when I was feeling drowsy, I heard something. It was soft at first then it became louder. Someone was leafing over the pages of my book on the table. I wanted to look,

but I couldn’t because I was trembling with fear.

After a few minutes another sound followed, like someone mopping the floor. I thought I was dreaming or it was my mother cleaning the floor early, but that was impossible because she was still sleeping. When I slowly peeked, nobody was in the room. I wanted to shout, but I couldn’t utter a word because of fright, but I was able to cover my head.

The sound finally stopped when I heard the door open and my mother came to wake me up for breakfast.

When I told my sisters what I’d heard they were very happy. “At last you know how we feel,” my sisters said.

I still remember that after what happened I experienced more creepy things like the door of the other rooms opening then closing. Sometimes we heard footsteps coming up the stairs but nobody was really there. However, my sisters treated me kindly this time because we shared the creepy moments together.

Stranger Still…

There was one time when the keys I put on the bench went missing and we could not find them. The next day, my mother found them in the kitchen. They say that there were spirits of the dead roaming around the house.

My eldest sister experienced the worst because she even saw things like dilated eyes in the glass window and twice she saw our dead neighbor standing by our gate.

I still can’t forget our house which was sold in 1972. The new owner made some renovations and we haven’t heard any news about the weird sounds.

To date, I still can’t explain what these creepy things were about. Are there really ghosts around?

This is a true story experienced by the author.

About Liz Daskeo

I am a 54-year-old writer and a blogger. I spend a lot of time coining words and expressing what I feel online. I just love writing.
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