I grew up in a very old house. The floors creaked and walls shook. It was a house with 4 stories and 14 bedrooms and the regular rooms every house has. Our family was looking for a house in a peaceful neighborhood. We needed a big house but also an affordable house. The real estate agency found us this house, and even though it had been abandoned for 85 years, we bought it. It was perfect. So anyway, I grew up in this house.
One night when I was 12 years old, I stayed up late doing my homework. It was 3 am. Everyone else was asleep. Suddenly, I heard footsteps. I turned around and they stopped. I felt the coldest breeze imaginable. It ran through my body and my back stiffened. I continued doing my homework.
Suddenly I heard noises, like giggling. I felt a breeze even colder then before. All of a sudden, the lights started to flicker. On and off. But only in the family room and some of the hallway. I heard footsteps again, but louder and harder. I looked over at the staircase and I saw something move. It was a flash of white and black. I got scared.
I climbed up the stairs, and went to my parents' bedroom. But the door was locked. I knocked on the door. No reply. I knock harder. Again no reply. "Mommy, Dad! I'm scared. Open up! Please!" No answer. I saw something again, and felt something hold my shoulder, but then I felt nothing. I panicked. "PLEASE! OPEN!" But they didn't even say anything. Not even an "It's Ok, Honey."
I ran to my grandparents' room, and all of my 9 brothers and sisters' rooms. All locked. There was still one room I hadn't tried: my aunt's room, locked.
All of a sudden, something pushed me. I fell to the ground. Suddenly I heard crying, then yelling coming from the room next to me. It was the extra room. No one went in it, because it was full of spiders, dust, and mice. We sometimes used it for storage space. I went inside, and I saw our old rocking chair moving! The back of the chair was facing toward me. I got scared, but also curious.
I walked to the front of the rocking chair, and screamed. In front of me was a girl I had never seen before. Her dress was grayish white and torn, and her hair was pin straight, tangled, and pitch black. She looked about 5 years old. She said,"Help me! He's coming! HE'S COMING! HELP! Do SOMETHING! HE'LL KILL ME! HE'LL KILL ME!"
A man came through the door. In his hand he held a chopping knife. I started screaming again. The girl continued to cry, even louder. "HELP ME!" He started mumbling to herself, and walked even closer to us. "You useless child! My beatings didn't work for nothin' I am so glad I killed your pathetic mother!" He raised his chopping knife.
I heard footsteps. MY PARENTS! The girl screamed, and they disappeared. My parents came in the room. "Are you done with your - What happened?" My mom looked terrified. I realized I was sweating, and screaming. "They... You... The door was locked! Why didn't you open the door?"
My mom hugged me and said, "Lizzie, the door wasn't locked. It was wide open!" I never went into that room again, and every time I see a chopping knife, I think of that night.
This story is a true story, I swear. I'm still terrified of knifes and I never stayed up so late again. It's been 23 years. I'm especially careful with my children, and always leave the door wide open. I never saw the ghosts again, but I have and always will have a vivid picture of them in my head. The thought of ghosts still haunts me.
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