When I was little I lived in a house that was haunted. Wait, don’t go! I know, I know, this subject is tired. The thing is I don’t even believe in ghosts. At least that is what I tell myself now, but back then I’m telling you that house was haunted.
We moved there when I was in first grade and the first time I saw it, I started crying. Something about the house just seemed wrong. It was “pretty”, but it gave me a really ugly feeling.
All sorts of weird, creepy, and inexplicable things would happen there. We had three dogs when we lived there, two of them ran away, and one went crazy and couldn’t live with us anymore. We had rabbits and they all died. We stopped getting pets.
The toilet would flush itself.
Once, I was talking back to my mom and she told me to stop or God would punish me and I said something along the lines of “yeah, right” and then the ground shook. I kid you not there was an earthquake, but no one except my mother and I felt it. Apparently, only our house shook.
Another time, my brother who was an infant at the time was in his bassinet under a lamp that was hanging from the ceiling. I looked at my mother and told her she shouldn’t put him there because that lamp was going to fall on him. I walked over and moved the bassinet and as soon as I moved him the lamp fell. Crazy!
It makes no sense to me that I have such clear memories of this house that was seemingly possessed and yet, I do not believe in ghosts. Do you?
Image via jonfeinstein/Flickr