There’s always been something strange about our house.
It was built in 1911, and you can feel within it all the history accumulated over more than one century.
We’ve found odd things in the walls, newspaper clippings and what not, and sometimes there are bizarre smells, like cigarette smoke or perfume, even though no one else is home.
When I had friends over as a teenager, there were always jokes about our house being haunted, with the squeaky wooden floorboards, and eerie tiled bathroom. Some just said they got a “funny feeling” but I quickly dismissed it. I’ve never believed in ghosts or spirits, but I could see how speculating might be fun.
But then, as I grew into adulthood, stranger things started happening. I’d be sitting in my room, studying for University exams, and the light would turn off. When I’d turn it back on at the switch, it was fine. The bulb hadn’t blown.
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Still, I thought, the house was old. Weird things happen. Sounds at night could surely be explained by creaky piping or wind.
Then, one night, my bedroom light turned on as I was trying to go to sleep. I turned to see if it might be my mum or dad, but there was no one there. I quickly got up, and turned it back off.
As I was drifting off a second time, I swear I heard a noise – and then boom.
I must admit, there was an uncomfortable feeling in my gut. I was struggling to be able to explain it.
Months went by without incident.
That was until a Sunday evening in the middle of winter.
I was putting on my socks about to go to the gym, when I was struck by a terrible feeling.