Natalina's Haunting Story: My first encounter with the paranormal

Five years or so ago, before I was married, I lived in a house with three other girls.  It was a very old house that was owned by the parents of one of my roommates.  It was a creepy old house, and the chill factor went beyond the external appearance, as I was soon to find out.

The house consisted of a main floor, an upstairs with two rooms (basically an attic with a landing) and a basement.  I got one of the upstairs rooms.  Prior to moving in, I was asked what color I’d like the room to be painted.  I requested a matte red paint with black trim.  When I moved in, I was greeted by a bright glossy red room with a blue floor.  Nothing paranormal about that, but it was scary!

The whole house was frightening.  When exploring the basement, we discovered a hidden room behind the furnace.  Opening the door, we saw a small room with a dirt floor and a shovel in the corner.  “This is where we’ll store the dead bodies,”  I joked to my roommates.  They didn’t think it was funny.

After living there for a short time, things began…happening.  Footsteps on the stairs and in the halls.  The hardwood floor would echo and creak with the footfalls of an unseen visitor.  The television turned itself off, lights flickered.  All of these things were explained away in our minds as products of an old house with bad wiring and a settling foundation.

One afternoon, I was in the shower in the basement bathroom.  No one else was home, and all of the doors were locked.  I thought I heard some commotion outside, so I turned off the water to listen more closely.  “Hello?” I shouted.  No answer.  Hearing things again.  Then as I stepped out of the shower to grab a towel, I heard it again.  This time it was the distinct sound of footsteps on the floor right above me, which would have been in the kitchen.

Ok, so this isn't an exact likeness of the house in question... but pretty darn close!

I shouted again and the stepping stopped.  I decided it must be one of the roomies, and went about my business.  Once I emerged from the bathroom, I heard a man talking upstairs.  At this point I was very alarmed.  Grabbing the only weapon I could find (an unfortunately small screwdriver), I walked toward the stairs.  As I approached, I heard the footsteps coming closer to the top of the stairs.  This is the point in horror movies where you yell at the screen, “Don’t go up there! Don’t investigate!  It isn’t worth it!”  You convince yourself that in the same situation, you would not do the same thing.

So there I was, at the bottom of the stairs, micro screwdriver in hand, and I thought to myself, “I really think I need to investigate this.”  So there you go.  I began to scale the stairs that comprised of two levels.  Half way up they took a turn, so that when you were on the bottom level, you were unable to see the top.  As I slowly crept up the steps, I continued to hear walking.  Then, just as I was about to take the turn and face my intruder, I heard the front door slam shut.  I ran the rest of the way up the stairs and was greeted by no one.  There was no way possible that whomever had been walking in the kitchen would have been able to make it to the front door that fast, let alone without making any noise during the retreat.

Needless to say, I was very unsettled by this incident.  I started to feel extremely uneasy as I lay in bed at night.  The house seemed to come alive while everyone was sleeping.  I blamed my fear on irrational paranoia and hyper sensitivity.  But I never really relaxed.

Some time later, I was installing some book shelves in my room.  I heard a whisper of what sounded like my name coming from behind me.  I quickly whipped around to see the source of the whisper.  No one there.  I hesitantly turned back to the task at hand, and instantly heard the whisper again.  This time I realized it was coming from the direction of the closet.  Once again, I decided to investigate, so I slowly crept toward the closet.  I stuck my head inside and looked around, this time I heard the whisper again, only it wasn’t my name.  It was saying, “Nancy”.  Clear as a bell.  Scout’s honor!

I ran out of my room and shouted down the stairs for someone…anyone to come up and hear this.  I could still hear the voice coming from my room, louder now, and more insistent.  Everyone was either gone or in bed.  No one could help me.  I slept on the couch that night, one eye open in fearful expectation of some specter that never arrived.

When I told my best friend (who also lived in the house) about what I had experienced, she suggested that we go to the city library and research the history of the house.  Fortunately for us, the library kept a very extensive series of records regarding the old homes in the area.  We looked up the address of the place where we were living, and discovered something very odd.  Since 1920, no one had owned the home for more than 2 years before selling it.

Prior to 1920, there had been only one owner.  We’ll call him John Larson.  His wife….Nancy.  Apparently Nancy had died in that house.  Later, John’s body was discovered, in the house as well.

I moved out of the house not long after that, and new roommates moved in.  One of them was a fellow named George,  who moved into the basement.  One day, he was in a very foul mood, and confronted my best friend, who occupied the room right above his bed.  He scolded her for being up until 4:00 am moving furniture around.  She’d gone to sleep at 12:00 am.

I cannot explain the events that took place in that old house.  Perhaps there was something logical to explain the noises, the voices, the footsteps, and the electrical issues.  I tend to think not.  I am convinced that the place was haunted.  Perhaps it was a residual type of haunting, where activities from another time are imprinted on the environment in and around the house, playing back like a recording.  Perhaps John and Nancy never left.

Whatever it was, I am no longer afraid.  Sure, I get the willies.  Yes, I get the chills.  But mostly, I am intrigued.  And I’d like to learn more.  I want to know where all of these mysterious phantoms come from.  The other side?  Another dimension?  My mind?

My search is not over, luckily for me. Because I believe that my current home is maybe…just maybe…a little bit haunted.  Or perhaps, I am the one who is haunted.