When I was around the age of 13 or so...
I had my room in my Grandparent's basement.
It was my room when I was a baby, too.
My crib was down there.
I never liked the laundry room. I always had to have that door closed.
Same with closet doors. I had to have them closed, too.
The story I am about to write about involves a closet.
In the basement room I used to have.
I was sitting on my bed, and I saw the closet door open, then close.
On its own accord. Which scared me.
It opened and closed as though someone opened it,
walked through the open doorway, then closed it behind them.
There was no wind, all the windows were closed.
The door itself had a latch on the inside of the door.
Which means that the knob had to have turned for the door to open.
And it had to be turned to latch closed.
I didn't know what to do. I sat there for what seemed like an eternity.
Watching to see if anything would happen next. Nothing did.
I was waiting to sum up the courage to go check the closet. I did.
There was nothing there.
My mother told me that the closet used to be an entrance to the wine cellar.
A lady who I used to know told me she sensed
that someone had committed suicide there.
I don't know anything about the family who used to live there
before my Grandparents moved there. But there's always been
something strange about that house.
Once, I picked up on a name (I forget the name now).
I asked my Grandmother if anyone had lived there by that name.
She said it was the name of one of the sons
in the family who used to live there.How would I have known their name?
They lived there before I was born. Before my mother was born.
My mother told me a story of when she used to live there.
She heard my Grandmother's voice say "We're home!"
But something made her look outside, and my Grandparent's car
was just pulling into the driveway. Spooky.
When I was alone in that house, I only felt 'safe'
when the basement door was closed and I was in the addition.
The addition to the house was the back room we used as a living room.
The back door to the original house used to be just off the kitchen.
The one wall was all bricks, from the original house.
The dining room window was taken out and a step was added there
to make a wide entrance or exit from the dining room into the addition.
I felt like whatever it was in that house, was stuck in the original house.
And it couldn't 'get to me' in the addition.
Whenever I was alone in the original house, I felt watched. All the time.
I still think about that house and have dreams about being there.
I even kinda miss it since it was one of the only things in my life
that remained the same for so long.
My Grandparents moved there from across the street
when my mother was a year old. In 1963.
I don't know when the house was built or when the addition was added.
All I know is that my Grandmother stayed until 2001 or so.
My Grandfather passed away in 1998.
My Grandparents lived on the same street for over 50 years.
They would have known the family who lived there before they did.
Another house I lived in had a weird, scary cellar thing.
It was a hole in the wall, that lead into a room and the room had a dirt floor.
Actually, another house had a similar cellar thing, too.
just a hole in a wall, a room, with a dirt floor.
It creeped me out so bad that I never wanted to go in there.
I hated going into those basements. I hate basements.
They creep me out. The older the basement, the creeper it is, to me.
When I was a kid, I spent a lot of time in the basement of a town house
we used to live in, near where my mother and step-father currently live.
It was okay there, because the house wasn't really old.
My brother, his friend, and I used to play 'hide and seek in the dark' in there.
That never scared me. I was fine being in the dark in that basement.
But other basements since that one have creeped me out.
In the basement in the house next door, there was a creepy clown thing
painted on one of the walls. The people said it was there when they moved in.
Despite that, I was okay in that basement, too.
What would really bother me is if people started digging in the cellar
in one or both of those creepy basements and found bones.
Knowing that I lived there while there were bones buried there
would bother me quite a bit. Those 'creepy vibes' would be justified.
I had my room in my Grandparent's basement.
It was my room when I was a baby, too.
My crib was down there.
I never liked the laundry room. I always had to have that door closed.
Same with closet doors. I had to have them closed, too.
The story I am about to write about involves a closet.
In the basement room I used to have.
I was sitting on my bed, and I saw the closet door open, then close.
On its own accord. Which scared me.
It opened and closed as though someone opened it,
walked through the open doorway, then closed it behind them.
There was no wind, all the windows were closed.
The door itself had a latch on the inside of the door.
Which means that the knob had to have turned for the door to open.
And it had to be turned to latch closed.
I didn't know what to do. I sat there for what seemed like an eternity.
Watching to see if anything would happen next. Nothing did.
I was waiting to sum up the courage to go check the closet. I did.
There was nothing there.
My mother told me that the closet used to be an entrance to the wine cellar.
A lady who I used to know told me she sensed
that someone had committed suicide there.
I don't know anything about the family who used to live there
before my Grandparents moved there. But there's always been
something strange about that house.
Once, I picked up on a name (I forget the name now).
I asked my Grandmother if anyone had lived there by that name.
She said it was the name of one of the sons
in the family who used to live there.How would I have known their name?
They lived there before I was born. Before my mother was born.
My mother told me a story of when she used to live there.
She heard my Grandmother's voice say "We're home!"
But something made her look outside, and my Grandparent's car
was just pulling into the driveway. Spooky.
When I was alone in that house, I only felt 'safe'
when the basement door was closed and I was in the addition.
The addition to the house was the back room we used as a living room.
The back door to the original house used to be just off the kitchen.
The one wall was all bricks, from the original house.
The dining room window was taken out and a step was added there
to make a wide entrance or exit from the dining room into the addition.
I felt like whatever it was in that house, was stuck in the original house.
And it couldn't 'get to me' in the addition.
Whenever I was alone in the original house, I felt watched. All the time.
I still think about that house and have dreams about being there.
I even kinda miss it since it was one of the only things in my life
that remained the same for so long.
My Grandparents moved there from across the street
when my mother was a year old. In 1963.
I don't know when the house was built or when the addition was added.
All I know is that my Grandmother stayed until 2001 or so.
My Grandfather passed away in 1998.
My Grandparents lived on the same street for over 50 years.
They would have known the family who lived there before they did.
Another house I lived in had a weird, scary cellar thing.
It was a hole in the wall, that lead into a room and the room had a dirt floor.
Actually, another house had a similar cellar thing, too.
just a hole in a wall, a room, with a dirt floor.
It creeped me out so bad that I never wanted to go in there.
I hated going into those basements. I hate basements.
They creep me out. The older the basement, the creeper it is, to me.
When I was a kid, I spent a lot of time in the basement of a town house
we used to live in, near where my mother and step-father currently live.
It was okay there, because the house wasn't really old.
My brother, his friend, and I used to play 'hide and seek in the dark' in there.
That never scared me. I was fine being in the dark in that basement.
But other basements since that one have creeped me out.
In the basement in the house next door, there was a creepy clown thing
painted on one of the walls. The people said it was there when they moved in.
Despite that, I was okay in that basement, too.
What would really bother me is if people started digging in the cellar
in one or both of those creepy basements and found bones.
Knowing that I lived there while there were bones buried there
would bother me quite a bit. Those 'creepy vibes' would be justified.
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