Ghost Stories & Paranormal Encounters

The real estate agent had been quite up front about it right from the start. While walking up the driveway towards the house, the agent announced quite plainly, “…And I must tell you, this home is priced well below market value for the area on account of it’s…history. You are aware of it’s history are you not?” Dad had died recently, and we needed to downsize. We spent the weekends house hunting. My mom shrugged and said, “No, actually we’re pretty new to the area.” The agent looked at my brother and I, then aged about 9 and 12 respectively, and pulled my mother off to the side. She obviously didn’t think we’d be able to hear her, but I heard every word as she told my mother that the reason why this house was selling for so little was because two years ago, some man had murdered his wife and two kids in it. Apparently that had turned most potential buyers off, as nobody would buy the place. She did mention that the house had sold once about a year and a half ago, but was put back up for sale after less than a year.

We took a tour of the inside, and I remember this house was way nicer than any of the other places we had seen up to that point. After dad had died, mom wasn’t left with much money, but she always put the little she did have to good use. She wanted the best for us, and she wasn’t going to let something like a two-year-old triple homicide stop her from buying the nicest house she could afford. We moved in about a month later.

Nobody in my family believed in ghosts, so there was initially no fear when we first moved in. We all knew what had happened in the house (although we purposely avoided learning all the grisly details), but aside from a slight feeling of creepiness for the first few weeks, we were all pretty much able to forget about it and live a pretty normal life in our new home. We were happy; My brother and I each had our own room (something we had never had before), and mom contented herself by painting and decorating each room, one at a time.

The blood started slowly at first. I remember waking up one night to go to the bathroom. We had a small night light in the hallway which provided some light, but still left things pretty dim. As I walked back towards my bed, I noticed 4 or 5 small droplets of blood on the white carpet in my bedroom, right next to my bed. I assumed that I had scratched myself, or maybe had a nosebleed. I gave myself a quick look over and couldn’t find the source, so I hopped back into bed. I would give myself a better check tomorrow, and also clean up the blood on the carpet.

In the morning I woke up, and went to examine the mess in the daylight. When I peered down and saw nothing on the carpet, no blood, no scrub marks, I had to get out of bed for a better look. The carpet looked exactly as it always had. ‘Must have dreamt the blood,’ I thought.

I didn’t give the phantom blood drops another thought until about a week later when I was awoken again in the middle of the night to a steady dripping sound. It didn’t sound like it was coming from the bathroom, but more towards the end of my bed. I crawled to the edge and looked down and was shocked to see a dinner plate sized pool of blood accumulating on the floor. I looked up to the ceiling and saw nothing. There was no blood dripping down from it, but I could see and hear the blood drips as they hit the pool on the ground. There was a loud bang behind me, back up towards the head of my bed. I turned to look, and saw that my books were tipping over and falling off the bookshelf, one by one, almost as if someone was just pushing them over. I remember being quite startled by both the blood and the books, and that’s when I think I fainted.

I woke up the next morning with my head still at the foot of the bed. I peeked over the edge to see how bad the mess was, and just like the week before, the blood was completely gone! I was losing it. I gave my head a shake and decided to tell my mom about the nightmares I had been having, until I turned around and saw every single one of my books still lying on the ground. I ran out of there.

The next week or so was pretty uneventful. I slept in my own room, and nothing out of the ordinary happened. The only thing that stands out in my mind is something that my brother told me. He told me that sometimes when he would wake up at night, his closet door and doorknob would be lightly shaking back and forth, like something inside was ever-so-slightly trying to get out. He said that it would never last for very long, and he’d fall asleep soon after, but he was now starting to get worried as the shaking seemed to be getting louder as time passed.

One night, weeks later, we had gone out to dinner and a movie. We got back to the house around 9:30pm. As we walked up to the house, we could hear loud music coming from inside. Knowing none of us had left any music on, my mother warily unlocked the front door and went inside. We were all a little horrified to see what greeted us. The sound alone took us all aback. Everything in the house was turned on and running at full blast. Every TV, DVD player, stereo and computer, all turned on and at full volume. Every sink and shower in the house had both taps cranked open, and water shot out of them as hard as it could. Every light fixture, including lamps and flashlights had been turned on. Even my mother’s blender, and the oven had been switched on. After investigating for about 5 minutes, Mom decided my brother and I should wait on the porch while she went next door and grabbed Rich, our next-door-neighbor.

We waited on the porch as the two of them went inside and began searching the house, turning off appliances as they went from room to room. As the house got darker and quieter, I was thankful that mom had left us on the porch. 10 minutes later, they both returned. As they walked up to us, I heard Rich say to my mom, “…And you’re sure that everything was locked up when you left? I don’t see how anybody could have gotten in here with locked doors and windows. You should call the police, just to be safe.” Mom agreed and made the call. The police showed up about 15 minutes later. After checking the inside of the house, they went around and checked the outside. They announced that there had been no signs of forced entry; no broken locks, or smashed windows. They also declared out house intruder free, and left after promising to patrol the area a little more thoroughly in the next few weeks. My mom put on a brave face, but also suggested that the three of us all sleep in her bed that night… for mine and my brother’s sake of course.

Not too long after that, maybe two or three nights later, I woke up in the middle of the night to hear what I originally thought was a low growl coming from the floor on the other side of my bed. I was too scared to move, and so I just lie there listening to the sound. I quickly realized it wasn’t a growl, but a gurgle, and a sound that sounded almost like somebody struggling to breathe…just softly, and just out of view. I don’t know how long I would have sat there listening, but I was jerked out of my paralysis by the sound of my brother screaming. I hopped up and ran out the door into the hallway. I could hear my brother beating on his bedroom door from inside. Finally his bedroom door flew open, and he ran out and into my arms. He was crying, hysterical, “The closet door…it opened! Something was breathing in there! I tried to run, but my bedroom door wouldn’t open!” At this point my mom joined us in the hallway, and after calming us down took us back in to her bed for another night.

One of the last nights I spent in that house was a little more than a month later. My brother and I had spent a week sleeping in our mother’s bed, and had finally worked up the courage to go back into our own rooms, on the condition that all bedroom doors be left open, and the night light in the hallway be replaced with a brighter, more powerful one. This did the trick for several weeks until one night I was again woken up. As soon as my eyes opened, I knew something was wrong. The room was much darker than it was supposed to be. My bedroom door was shut tight. I heard the wheezing and gurgling again coming from the same spot on the far side of my bed. I quickly grabbed my flashlight off my nightstand and turned it on, preparing to make another mad dash to the door. The flashlight clicked on and my stomach jumped up into my throat. It seemed like everything was covered in blood. Big sweeping arcs of blood were splattered on all of my walls, in other parts it seemed to be dripping down from the ceiling. The floor had big, dark pools of blood that were connected by what appeared to be drag marks. It seriously looked like about ten people had been murdered in there. I’m not ashamed to admit that before hopping out of bed on my run to the door, I emptied my bladder right there in my bed. I remember racing to the door and, just like my brother’s, found it wouldn’t open no matter how hard I turned the knob. I remember at one point throwing my whole weight against it, with no luck. For the second time in my life, as the gurgle on the far side of the room grew louder, I passed right out.

I woke up in the morning to my mother meticulously examining my hands, back and front. I was still on the floor next to my door. I jerked wide awake, and looked around. The room was spotless and in perfect order, no sign of anything that had happened the night before. My mother said, “What happened here? Why are you on the floor, and what have you done to yourself?” I was confused. I started to explain what had happened before, but she cut me off, “Your hands look fine, so you must be bleeding from somewhere else. Did you have a nose bleed?” The mention of blood made me jump. She noticed and said, “Well, you must be bleeding from somewhere, you’ve managed to put a nice bloody handprint right on your cheek.” I broke away from her and ran to the bathroom, and sure enough there was a small, red handprint on my left cheek. I looked down, my hands were clean. I told my mother right there that I would not be staying in that house anymore. However, as I was only twelve, and had nowhere else to go, I had to settle for sleeping in her bed, along with her and my brother, it was the only way I was able to sleep after that point.

This arrangement worked, but didn’t last long. It didn’t need to. We lived in that house for only a week after that. I’ve never been told the whole story of what happened that night, but I remember being shaken awake in the night by Mom. She was whispering, but you could still hear the fear in her voice, “Boys, wake up! Wake up! We need to get outside right now. Grab my hands and just go. Keep your eyes closed and run with me. We need to get outside as fast as we can.” I remember panicking as the three of us ran out of her room and down the hallway leading to the front door. Things are mostly a blur from that night, but I remember hearing her bedroom door slam shut when the three of us got to the other end of the hall. My mother screamed and pulled us along, as she began to run faster towards the door leading outside. Once outside we made a beeline to Rich’s house and he let us in. We spent the night there, although none of us slept, and I never set foot in that old house again. Mom still to this day won’t tell us what happened in that room before we made our escape. I’m not too sure I even want to know.

Sent in by Kev, Copyright 2011 TrueGhostTales.com