(Continued from PART 1)
Our second house was a three-story monstrosity that had been built by a carpenter for him and his handful of sons. It had a first floor that was half underground, a second floor, and a third floor that was split in two. You had to cross the entire house to get between the two halves of the third floor via the second and a set of stairs. It also had a multitude of crawlspaces and several (yes, several) enclosed attics that were separate from each other and required separate entrances. My father even found a closed-off room behind one of the walls that seemed to have no entrance except through a hole in one of the attics.
We’re talking the stuff of nightmares here.
When we moved in, I purposefully picked a room that had no attic entrance and had a lock on the door. I was planning ahead you see. Oddly, and though we wouldn’t remember this until years later, the first day we moved into this new house, my sister and I went to our rooms, sat in the middle of the floors (to get a feel for our new space), and when we came out, turned to each other and exclaimed “A little girl used to live in my room!” “A guy used to live in mine!” It was just a feeling we had – a bit of silliness between sisters, and we didn’t think of it again for quite awhile.
I’m not exactly sure when strange things started to happen in that house. It’s a bit hazy to me—but I do remember sitting in our computer room one day (which was next to my bedroom and across the hall from the bathroom on our half of the third floor) and I started staring off into space towards the bathroom. There was the briefest flash of an imagine in my mind of a man sitting on the edge of the bathtub, watching us in the other room… like a brief glimpse of an idea or a memory, and when my sister asked me what I was staring at—even before I could think about a reply—I turned back to the computer and said as if it were the most natural thing in the world: “Joe.” and continued on with whatever it was I was doing. My sister didn’t question it. It was just something we both knew.
Now, I would never call myself sensitive or a medium. I think those labels are silly and make you sound somewhat insane—but it is widely believed that identical twins have a connection that science just can’t seem to understand. We know what the other is thinking, and often finish each other’s sentences. I’d like to attribute some of what I know and sensed in that house to that connection…whatever that means.
Even before the footsteps started and things started moving around the house on their own, we also knew just as we had about “Joe”, the man who inhabited the third floor with us, that there was something terribly wrong with the basement (1st floor). Walking down those stairs (which were right next to the stairs to the third floor) was like walking into a dark hole—even though there were windows. It felt wrong down there, and even during the day I would catch myself running up the stairs as if I were being chased. At night I wouldn’t even look down the stairwell unless I knew a family member was down there.
A few times we heard giggling, whispers, and a child’s voice from down those stairs, particularly around the room that sat under the stairs, and a bedroom at the far end. We believed there was a malevolent child ghost in that basement, though I couldn’t tell you why, and we nicknamed her Isabella. (I have no idea what her real name might have been or why she was there). I only know that she gave off this feeling that sent a chill up your spine, and she never ventured up out of the first floor. Joe on the other hand, didn’t scare us. We treated him as a guardian of sorts, and he almost always stuck to the third floor. I can’t say why we felt that way, but our general impression was that the two didn’t like each other.
Now I realize I’m starting to sound a bit crazy, but hang in there with me. These stories have a purpose: context.
One night, after raving about our haunted house to our friends for well over a year, we had a slumber party, and we invited all our friends to spend the night in the basement with us. We told ghost stories, recounted true stories about our previous hauntings, and unfortunately, we played with a Ouija Board. I won’t get into the details, but after that night, we never played with our Ouija Board again, and my friends vowed never to sleep over in our basement again. Everyone felt the wrongness of that place.
Part-way through the night, as we were telling stories, we heard a THUNK! from upstairs (the third floor where our bedrooms were). Curious, we all raced up stairs to the second floor, turned the corner to race up the stairs to the third floor, and discovered that there, sitting at the top of the stairs as if it had been gently placed there (and totally facing down the stairs) was my Kindergarten Diploma. What you have to understand, is that the Diploma (in it’s picture frame) had previously been sitting atop of a tall computer desk (one of those HUGE ones that’s over 6 feet tall) behind a lamp and a dollhouse, and also behind a partially closed door. (it was open maybe 6-12 inches).
Somehow, it had ended up at the top of the stairs (out in the hall and 8 feet from it’s previous spot) without having knocked anything down, been broken, and past the still mostly-closed computer room door. We had no explanation for it, but from that point on, my friends believed me when I said my house was haunted.
Unfortunately, that was not the end of it. I will never forget the moment it was at it’s worst in that house. Mirrors and TV reflections still make me nervous.
(Story Time will continue in Part 3)