Giggles from the Attic
Sent in by: Britt
In the late eighties, my aunt and uncle purchased a large, old house to accomodate their growing family. Right from the very begginning something seemed to be a little off about the old house. Lights would mysteriously turn on or off, doors would slam shut and sometimes lock, things would dissapear and turn up later in a different spot. Still, my aunt and uncle didn't think much of it. They simply figuired it was an old house and occurances such as these came with the territory.
They lived there for about six months before my uncle decided to clean out the attic. The previous owners had left decades of junk and my uncle wanted the extra storage the attic would provide once it was cleaned. The project took about two months. The stuff, which consisted mostly of childrens toys and furniture, was either given away or thrown out. This was a mistake. Immediately after my uncle put his own things in the attic, the disturbances began in earnest. They could hear childrens voices coming from the attic and the sound of children running and playing. Heavy, booted footsteps would come up the basement stairs and then fade away. Shadows of a man wearing a hat could be seen on the walls. Televisions would flicker on and off. My aunt's bed began shaking one night, and a bookcase on wheels rolled across the room before my aunt's and uncle's stunned eyes. Yet, I was still not afraid to visit the house.
By the time I was old enough to understand what was going on, my aunt and uncle had lived there for fifteen years. They grew used to the phenomenom. I went to their house hoping to encounter the ethereal beings, but never once did anything happen while I was there. I thought, perhaps, my aunt and uncle and multiple cousins were victims of overactive imaginations. Then, it happened to me.
While visiting, I went to the restroom, which was located down a short hallway and next to the basement. I flicked on the light and left the door open a crack, since only two of my cousins and I were in the house. Or, so I thought. First, I heard giggling. Thinking it was my cousins and rolled my eyes and turned to flush the toilet. It flushed on its own. Still not really thinking about it, I turned to wash my hands. That is when the door slammed shut and the lights turned off. Still thinking it was my cousins somehow playing a joke, I yelled for them to open the door. Nothing happened. Then, my arms were grabbed. I fought off my attacked, screaming and fighting. I can not accurately explain the terror I felt in this moment. This was something I could not see or hear, holding onto my arms, restraining me. Finally, my cousins responded to my screams and began banging on the bathroom door. Unfortunatley, they knew exactly what was happening and also knew they could do nothing about it. Finally, after about three minutes, the lights switched back on and I was released. My cousins and I listened as heavily booted feet clomped back down the basement stairs. Upon looking at my arms, there were three scratches, which scared me more then anything. I didn't know ghosts could hurt you physically.
Soon after this, my aunt and uncle decided to move out, and my mom and I decided to research the house. What we turned up didn't surprise anyone. In the fifties a man lived in the house with his five young children and his wife. His wife left him and, apparantely, he went a little crazy because he set his house on fire-with his children locked in the attic. Then, the man went into the basement and shot himself. Half the house burned before the fire was put out, but it was too late. The children died. No one has been back to the house since they sold it, but the new owners are experiencing much of the same things, since the house was featured in an article about our local haunted houses.
As for me, I am not committed to ghosts and the paranormal. Call me a sucker for punishment!