When I was six, I had moved states, to live with my great grandparents because of reasons. It was a bit of a rough patch in everyone’s life. So to take the weight off of my guardian, and just because they were my grandparents, I’d spent every weekend with them.
Now, the house they lived in really wasn’t all that special – I have no recollection of it being built in like the 1900’s. No one died in the house. A couple wasn’t brutally murdered or anything. It was just a normal house, to me. But there was this one room that always made me feel incredibly off. I couldn’t sleep in there without feeling utterly unsafe. I’d prayer the Lord’s prayer every night before I went to bed, because while I wasn’t necessarily afraid of the dark, I just never felt I was “safe” from anything.
It wasn’t until I was thirteen that I learned the history our family; the horrible afflictions that had taken over many of my predecessors, and the things I’d say that they had brought into our home in consequence. That room had been every child’s room at some point. My grandparent’s kids, their kid’s kids, and my mother’s, and each of them have always felt the same uneasiness that I had.
Strange things have always happened to me as a child. Often, in that home, my things would go missing. On one occasion my children’s bible had disappeared, along with a few of my toys, and then they’d appear in strange places. Parts of the house would get unbelievably cold. Upon one or two occasions I have heard my mother call me from the back room only to stop in my tracks and release she’s been dead since I was six.
But that isn’t the worst thing, and I think this was the most horrifying of them all to me. It was some weekend when I was fifteen or so. My great Grandmother had just passed away from a occurrence of throat cancer and she couldn’t fight the fight any longer. He’d been widowed for about three months, and during this time, he had opted to spend as much time with me as he could. I decided to come home with him for the weekend, since it had been so long since I had spent any amount of time there. Years, since I have.
It was one of the worst decisions I had made, I believe.
I had slept in that bedroom, knowing that deep inside, as I’d walk past it, that the uneasiness I felt was real. I had this major contemplation of whether I should or not – you see, since I was a child, I rarely slept in there. I can count on one hand the times I’ve stayed an entire night; half of which I didn’t succeed, and the other half spent with another person to sleep with me till morning. I thought, I’d fifteen and a freaking half! I shouldn’t be so scared anymore. I had to man up and prove to myself that I definitely did not need to sleep in the same room as my grandparents, or out in the livingroom wrapped in a couple of sleeping bags.
It had been pretty late into the night when I started getting ready to retire, reluctantly. I began to turn off all the lights from the living room, between the dining room, and then the hallways. I looked across at my grandfather’s door to see that his was closed, locked even per habit (none of which I can now discern why) and thought to give myself comfort that even as childish as I felt, if I needed someone, he was right across from me. I could see his door as long as I kept the door open.
It took me forever to fall asleep, but when I did and morning had come, I woke up in my grandfather’s bed, alone, with my head throbbing.
I cannot describe what had happened the previous night, but even as I type this it settles unpleasantly in the pit of my stomach. One minute I was sleeping and the next I was startled awake with a heaviness on my chest and the feeling of the bed vibrating underneath me. I panicked, I’m pretty fucking sure, and shot straight out bed in an attempt to run out the open door only to miscalculate my steps and run into the wall. It was – absolutely, I can’t even explain. After that, all I remember is frantically reaching for the key that hangs on a nail up on the wall near the door and shoving it into the door to climb into his bed.
I’ve never been more afraid than I have that night, and I’ve experienced some shit. It’s just – it unsettles me so much. But if there’s anything I’ve learned is that as much as I wanted to take comfort that whatever plagued our household before was gone, that I now understand why my great grandmother had been so reluctant to ever speak about it to me.
I hope you enjoyed this as much as I really did. A part of me felt like I should share.
Fuck Yeah Nightmares Moderator Gracie:6/10 I did, Thanks for the chills and scares!
SCARY GHOST STORIES
27 Jan, 2017
Posted in Nightmares and tagged Ghost Stories by cnkguy with no comments yet.