My current house is 70+ years old, going on 80. It’s old. Really old—and also falling apart. It was built as part of a housing unit for the Chinese labor camps that used to live in this town when they were installing the railroad through this part of Texas. It’s cramped, shoddy, and has a history. The first day I moved into this house I lugged some boxes into my computer room (Where I’m sitting as I type this) and into the closet. The attic entrance is in the closet. It’s a drop-panel entrance. To be blunt, I nearly peed myself that day when I opened up the closet door and the attic’s drop-panel flung open and away into the darkness.
It was the air pressure between the rooms. This house sucks. Needless to say, I’ve never actually been up into this attic. I still look up at the panel every time I open the closet—just to make sure it’s still closed and not open an inch.. or six. When it gets windy, the panel bangs around in the closet, but do I open the closet to look? Nope. Never going to happen. My house is not haunted. I’m just creeped out by attics at this point. Even as I’ve sat here for the past two hours typing out these Story Time articles, I’ve glanced back at that closet about 20 times. Just to make sure it’s closed. Why? Because the other night I went to bed, and when I woke up in the morning, the closet door was open. I –always- keep that door closed.
Now maybe you understand what that door being open means to me, and why I’m currently a little freaked out. To top it off, I’ve been watching a Ghost Hunters marathon for the past three days (this was after that door was found open) so forgive me if I’m a little paranoid.
At this point, you may be wondering where Nightmares fit into all of this. I’m getting to that.
I’ve lived in this house for about 8 years. In that time I’ve had a reoccurring nightmare that I’ve just moved into a severely haunted house. I spend my nights going room to room through this haunted mansion of a house trying to discover its secrets and deal with the creatures that live in it. I say creatures because I’m fairly certain not all of them are human.
The weird part is, every time I have this dream, I remember that I’ve had it before. I know that I’m dreaming, and I remember all the previous dreams (even though I sometimes forget them when I wake up). Last week I had the 20-something version of this dream, and in that dream I was standing in my computer room, putting boxes away into the closet. At the top/back of the closet was a cubbyhole that lead into a crawlspace. I remember hearing the crawlspace open, and laughing it off as air pressure. I then went to get another box, and when I came back, an arm was reaching out of the cubbyhole beckoning me to follow it into the attic.
The creepiest part about that dream was that I remember wanting to go into the attic. I was literally trying to force the other people in the dream with me to go into the attic even though I knew what kind of malevolent creatures lived up there. Why the heck would I do that?!
Flash forward to today.
Once again, I dreamed I was back in the haunted house. Only this time, I’d gone back in time about 20 years. It was long before I moved in and the residents several decades ahead of me were painting the house, ready to put it up on the market. They’d invited dozens of people over to view the place. It was odd because as I walked into the house I recognized some of the people there (though I still can’t place where I know them from) and they were surprised when I addressed them by name. I kept hinting to them that they really didn’t want to buy this house. The house was meant for me. I knew I was going to be the last owner that ever lived there.
For once, I wasn’t freaked out by the paranormal activity. Yah, there were creepy things in the house, but they were my creepy things, and I was sort of annoyed that all these people were even considering buying the house.
I remember at one point in the dream I walked into the kitchen and a group of men and women were sipping alcoholic drinks and talking about a man who’d reportedly hanged himself in the kitchen. I laughed at them and told them he’d hanged himself here, but not in the kitchen.
Don’t even ask me how I knew that.
After getting some pretty strange looks from the group in the kitchen, I wandered into the living room just in time to hear this massive inhuman growl. The room went silent (despite being full of people) and a chair went flying across the room (with a very startled person sitting in it). I marched angrily into the room and in the loudest voice I’ve probably ever uttered (dream or not) I shouted “STOP IT! Do you think I don’t remember what you are?” I remember getting the impression that whatever it was in that house.. and however many there were (we’re talking in the dozens), they all turned towards me, zeroing in, and… they recognized me. For a moment I and the creatures living in that house were both aware that we’d been in this dream before. They remembered who I was, and knew that I’d recognized them too.
Then, I woke up.
It was so real—so intense. I still feel like I’m in that house in my dreams, and I’m still standing in that room surrounded by those things… and we’re all just staring back at each other, acknowledging the other’s presence. It feels like I’m back in the basement of my second house. It feels… Wrong.
The incidents in this article have all been 100% true as far as I can remember them. Oddly I now have the strange urge to write them into a horror story… and somehow that thought terrifies me—maybe because the dream still feels all too real.