The little white farmhouse has three rooms, two upstairs and one downstairs in the basement that incorporates the laundry room. Built in the 1800’s, about $600 a month (cheap for a restored home), most of the outlets and walls outfitted for modern electronics.
Our research during house-hunting revealed why it was so cheap: it was a makeshift opium den and brothel. The walls along the back entrance of the house are hollow enough for people to slide in sideways. Panels and trap doors in the basement and the roof reveal piping. We still find human bones and rural knick-knacks scattered about in the backyard and shared farmland with our various neighbors along the city block, most from the three rivers in pioneering times being dredged and turned into functional dirt before the Industrial Age hit.
I was up at 4:30 to get to work at a fast-food restaurant a few months back, making sure I kept quiet so I wouldn’t wake up my roommates in the second upstairs bedroom and in the basement.
Got my work outfit. Got my coat, my backpack, ready to jog to the bus stop. I crack open the bedroom door. The lights in the bathroom, kitchen, living room and hallway are all off like usual, but I know my way around in the dark to the front door.
I see just a face. Two heads taller than me in the dark, in the doorway of the kitchen not even a few feet away from me. Older man, 40’s or so, bony from age. Caucasian. Blue eyes full of hate, chapped lips pulled back to show yellow teeth in a scowl.
“Get out.” The face snarls before sliding sideways into the wall.
“Bullshit!” I put on a brave face. “I know, I have work to go to!”
I know there are ghosts, monsters, things out there that can’t be explained with science out right or are at least hinted at in mythology, religion and folklore. This is honestly the closest I’ve gotten to anything like that.
I come home after work later that day, and my three room-mates are all in the living room.
Two of them saw the ghost’s face on the staircase in the basement around eight in the morning, walking backwards with noisy boots for footsteps back upstairs. The stomping work the third roommate from his room across from mine. All three saw the ghost march right up and disappear into my room through the wooden door. It didn’t ruin any of my things inside.
That night, we all slept in the living room, sharing the couch or rescuing blankets from our rooms because of the knocking and punching. Windows would crack and doors splintered for the next night and day. Our neighbors called the police various, thinking we were damaging our own property or if we were in some sort of trouble. No, just the ghost angry at me being there. It continued to abuse the house both inside and out for about a week, no matter how much we had restoration services buy sturdy, insuranced materials.
My room-mate are all varying degrees of Latter-Day Saints [Mormons], having their bishops from different wards in town come in to lay blessings of protection on them and read from their scriptures for guidance. I’m Wiccan myself from a Catholic family, my mom gathering up saints and candles for my room that I’d put on my altar among my goddess figurines, collection of feathers and sticks.
It must have given up after weeks of this, because it stopped in September.
Fuck Yeah Nightmare Moderator Gracie:6/10 Im glad nothing bad further happened to you or your roommates. why was the ghost angry at you being there?Thanks for the chills and scares!
SCARY GHOST STORIES
28 Dec, 2016
Posted in Nightmares and tagged Ghost Stories by cnkguy with no comments yet.