#hauntedhappenings

I was raised in a Haunted House
(Picture grabbed from Google street view.)

I affectionately like to call my childhood home ‘Hell House.’ My family was the first people to own the house right after it was built in 1968. My mother, her sister, my grandmother, and grandfather moved into the three bedroom, one bathroom house not expecting to have inherited a nightmare. There are many stories about this house that predate my birth, told to me by the relatives they happened to, as well as stories from when I lived there. 

There were several entities inside Hell House that presented themselves to many people. I will make a post for each one, but the ones that come to mind right now are the children in the bathroom, the man in the bowler hat, the red light, and the stair creeper. Worse than what lived in the house was the entity that resided in the many miles of woods that loomed behind our home. We didn’t have a fun little nickname for the thing in the woods. All the families on our dead end street knew about the thing in the woods, and discussed its activities openly and often. It was unanimously understood that the thing in the woods was a threat.

I feel I should mention that the people in my life did not all start out as believers, but everyone who spent any time in the houses on that dead end came out with a new perspective and could no longer be skeptical of our claims. There were even people (like my uncle who married into the family and wasn’t used to the horror like we were) who refused to spend even one night in Hell House due to the constant activity that made the paranormal impossible to ignore. 

Hell House was lost to our family in 2009, but the 41 years we owned it, or rather it owned us, still offered me a wealth of knowledge, experience, stories, and a lifelong obsession with honing my gifts to better understand the realm of the unknown. What once filled me with fear now excites me to my core. I will be forever grateful.