Fark writes: Okay, I might as well tell of the two times I freaked out growing up in my parents’ house. The first was when I was seven, and it was winter. I had fallen asleep in my bed as normal, and I was having this very realistic dream where I had to go downstairs and get something for my mom from the storage shelves. But once I got down into the basement, which isn’t finished and only has a cement floor, where our storage and washer/dryer was, a girl about my age came up to me and said “Sweetheart, you need to go back upstairs; it’s too cold for you down here and you’ll catch cold.” I woke up, and I was standing in front of the washer; I had slept walked out of bed, opened my bedroom door, went down the hallway, turned the corner, opened the door to the basement, went down the stairs, turned another corner, opened the door to the washer/dryer room and had been standing in my bare feet on the cold concrete. The girl in my dream? The great-grandmother I had been named after, but never met. She died before I could meet her, but a few years after that sleepwalking episode, my mom had found a child portrait of my great-grandma in my grandma’s house with a bunch of old framed pictures in storage and brought it back home with her, and I recognized the girl as the one in my sleep-walking dream. The second creepy thing dealt with the stairs to the basement themselves. My parents decided to do a second honeymoon sort of thing, so I was in charge of the house (I was living at home and commuting to college at the time, so I was 20 at this time). Everything was fine, except I was lonely because our family cat had died in October, and since it was only January, we hadn’t acquired another pet (mom was still in mourning because he’d been the family pet for 16 years). Three days after my parents left for their vacation, it’s 1 AM and I’m getting ready for bed. I hear creaking on the basement stairs, the exact kind of sound that would be made if our cat went down the stairs. I go and check it out, because I don’t get spooked very easily, and of course nothing is there. I go to bed and go to sleep. I wake up around 4 AM to go to the bathroom. As I’m swinging my legs out of bed so I can stand up, I hear the basement stairs creak again; this time it sounds like my dad is walking up the stairs; I even hear the basement door handle jiggle like he’s gotten to the top and is opening the door. I turned on every light I could and went to go investigate. Nothing is there. I even went downstairs, turned on all the lights, and searched everywhere in the basement. Nothing. I am now freaking out, because I have lived in this house since I was 4 farking years old, and I know what the house sounds like when it’s settling, and I know the difference between the stairs creaking because it’s a part of the house settling and them creaking because somebody is on them. So I did what every rational 20 year old does when she’s scared: I kept all the lights on in the house, and then went back to bed, locking my bedroom door. That is how I slept for the rest of the time my parents were gone. I told my parents about it when they came home, and neither of them believed me. Well, Dad believes me now, because three years after that, when Mom and I went on a trip to visit relatives and Dad was alone in the house for two weeks, he heard the stairs too. To him, it sounded like somebody deliberately walking up the stairs, then walking back down, several times a night. Admin Sally
Posted on: Fri, 02 Jan 2015 04:09:31 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015