#paranormal story
Hell House: Kids in the Tub
Demons are known to take the form of children to gain people’s trust. I believe this waa the case for the kids in our bathtub, seeing as no one ever died in the house and no one ever owned it before my family. But demons are drawn to negativity, and I had some of my darkest times alone in the shower at that house. Though I will say, the kids never harmed me.
The kids appeared to be a young boy and girl, about kindergarten age, in overalls. The girl wore pigtails. Both were starkly blond. They only ever showed up in the bathroom, and could usually be seen playing on the floor together through the sliding glass door. They were never there if you looked out the crack or opened the door. You could also hear them talking to each other, though I believe they were one entity because they moved at the same time and were never seen apart.
The only way I got them to stay silent was for me to sing. They tended to knock mp3 players off the sink, but if I sang, they sat silent and still, listening to me. I sang to them in every shower once I figured this out, and even tried to step up my game with new songs and better quality for them. But my favorite story of the kids was a day I was terribly sick. I silently started my shower and heard them say in unison “why aren’t you singing?” I explained that I was very sick and couldn’t sing.
I shit you not, those kids started singing to me! They repeated some of my favorite songs. I cried int the tub, overwhelmed by their kindness. When I got out my mom asked me if that had been the kids she heard singing (Everyone who showered there heard and saw the kids, they weren’t a secret or doubted by anyone) and said they sounded nice.
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Hell House: Drums in the Deep
Hell House had a curious habit that even our guests would notice. It could happen in the day, but was almost assured to happen at night, starting around 10pm and ending at 1.30am. My family called it the Drums in the Deep cuz we are all nerds who love LotR. To be honest though, it was more like the Jumanji drums. Rhythmic, deep drums from the basement.
It always started really quiet, like the house had a heart beat barely audible over the TV or conversation, but come midnight it was sometimes so loud it was impossible to sleep through. I wish I could tell you that I went into the basement while the drums beat to see what it was. I wish I had even one story of me being brave enough to look. But I don’t. The drums scared me to death. Usually when they started I would retreat to my room with headphones and loud music, or a friend’s house out of fear.
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My Childhood: Vaile’s Revenge
My parents were really cool and enjoyed taking us kids on what they called “Spooky Drives.” This entailed loading up on protective items like crosses, holy water, and garlic, and taking drives along haunted roads, taking walks in cemeteries, and always my favorite, the Vaile Mansion. I always took these spooky drives very seriously, and was always reverent and respectful to the dead and spirits around us, but my brother however liked to show off how bad he could be to our parents. “No,” was an invitation, and ghosts were not a threat to him… Yet.
That night we went on a spooky drive. Our first stop was a local cemetery whose name I can’t remember. There were some raised graves with big stone lids that my brother decided to climb onto and do a little dance. I knew then that there would be consequences, and could feel the negative energy rise.
We had to call the night off early because at the next stop, the Vaile, my brother ran up to the door and kicked it. Not a second after he kicked that door, vomit came spraying out of his mouth and nose in a violent torrent. His head swam with a sudden migraine and he doubled over from the pain of his head and the burning liquid being rejected from his wee body. Having become terribly ill out of nowhere, we had to take him home. He was sick for days. To this day he feels like it was the house that made him sick, and he has treated it and all paranormal sites or graves with respect.
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Hell House: Ticking Clocks
As I mentioned in Red Rom Part 3, I had chosen to take my grandma’s room when my parents decided to move into her house less than a week after she died. The first night we slept in her house, it was still filled to the brim with her food, her things, and her scent. Her room was really creepy, but was the only room that didn’t have any scary stories about it, so that was the room I took. That first night I slept surrounded by her wig heads with faces painted on them and boxes filled with reeking perfume bottles.
But the worst thing was the fact that she had at least ten ticking clocks in her room, on the wall, on shelves, on the floor, and in boxes. These clocks did not tick in unison, so the room was filed with a constant uneven clicking nightmare. The next morning I puled all her things out of the room and found all the clocks. I thought my grandma was mad to sleep with so many clocks, and it was so nice to sit in the room without the ticking… At first.
The second night I slept with my light on because as soon as the sun set and the room went dark, the ticking continued. One solid ticking clock still ticked. Loudly. When the light was on though, the room was silent. I showed my parents and their answer was to just leave the light on, or bring the clocks back in. I realized that grandma had all those clocks to hide the fact that the room ticked all on its own. After those two nights I always had ONE clock in there ticking to hide the fact that I had moved into a nightmare.
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My Childhood: The Hanging Stairs (TW: Suicide)
My childhood best friend moved with her mom to a new house when we were preteens, so around 2002-ish. It was a one story house with a finished basement. In the basement her mom made us a nice hangout room that we always liked to spend time in, as well as a laundry room. This meant going up and down the basement stairs was a common, necessary occurrence. They were thin, tall, with a steep slope. They were wooden, with the nails and everything bare to the world. No carpet or covering. Above it, the wooden beams that made up the floor above were open, leaving the stairs to stoop down with an ever higher ceiling. That will be important later.
We always felt scared to go on the stairs. Sometimes we would feel pushed from behind or in front, as if something wanted us to fall, so I always clung to the railing. Luckily, at night, the hangout room had a door we could close, because we would see a man standing on the stairs with a dark glare and a violent energy. He scared us. (I should note, my friend was psychic too, it was the main reason we gravitated towards each other.) He would bang on the wall when we were trying to sleep as well, so we always had music going to cover the sounds.
Well, her mom wasn’t very open with us kids, but luckily she had told my mom that the reason they were able to get the house so cheap was because the previous owner had killed himself buy hanging himself in the stairway. He’d tied a rope around the beams of the floor and kicked a stool off of the steps. He had no chance of survival with the stairs so far below and nothing to grab onto. My mom told me cuz we don’t keep secrets like that in our house, so whenever I saw him instead of feeling fear, I felt pity, and it made him stop glaring so much.
