REAL LIFE GHOST STORIES

June 22, 2018 [WILDLY KRAZY]—Two WILDLY KRAZY writers reveal their creepiest, real life stories for our fellow Krazees.

At the time, I was two years out of college with my first daughter, while my husband worked night shifts. We had only been in this house for three months, renting until we could save up a little to buy our first house.

It was a two story house, but no one slept upstairs because my daughter was afraid of the upstairs, and it gave me weird vibes—like you knew something was up there, watching you—so our 3-year-old daughter slept with my husband and I in the same bed.

I hated nights the most in that house because my husband was at work, and you would hear loud footsteps walking around upstairs, and the occasional door slam. I was so frightened of that house that my husband bought me a 9mm handgun for the house.

I was doing the dishes one night, while my daughter slept on the couch, and right behind me, as clear as day, I hear someone whistle. As I stood there, scared shitless, and my arm hairs standing-on-end, I grab one of the knives from the sudsy water, and turn around to see...nothing. I look around the house, and then look at the couch to see my daughter still curled up, asleep.

The following night, I am in the bathroom giving my daughter a bath, as she giggles and plays in the water. Within five minutes of the bath, my daughter screams at the top of her lungs, looking up at the ceiling, crying, and yelling, "the bad man is on the ceiling behind you, mommy! Make him go away!"

My heart damn near gives out, as I turn around to look up at the ceiling to see…nothing…

As I was getting her dressed, I asked my daughter what the bad man looked like.

"He crawled on the ceiling…he was gray…with black eyes…" she replied.

I asked my daughter what the man wanted, and she says, "he wants us to leave, because it's his house; he lives upstairs. He says he watches us at night."

I asked her if she ever saw him before, and she says, "yes; he stands at the top of the stairs at night."

I told my husband the next day, but he brushed it off, thinking it was just a 3-year-old little girl with an imagination.

Two months later, on a Saturday—when my husband was off work for the weekend—he notices a girl about our age—early twenties to mid twenties—standing outside in the street, looking up at our house, towards the upstairs window. My husband walks outside, asking her if she needed anything, and she says, "no; nothing. My father shot and killed himself in the upstairs bedroom when I was 3-years-old. I am moving out of the state, so I just wanted to pay one last visit."

"Would you like to come inside?" my husband asked her.

"No…no thanks," the woman replied back, as she got back into her car and drove off.

Two months later, my husband decided it was time to move.

When I was in grade school, we lived in this house that had a basement that would not stay locked, with a bolt lock. Every night, we would lock that basement door, and every morning we would wake up to find it standing wide open.

The basement was a dirt basement, so my mom had in the back of her head that someone was probably murdered in the house, and then buried in our basement, but, if that were true, none of us were going to go down there and find out. After all, my mother was a single mother of two young boys.

In the room where the basement door was, you would often hear muffled voices…people having conversations…but they were always muffled, like they were far away; however, you could distinctly make out a male voice and a female voice.

My mother was a nurse that worked night shifts at the local hospital, so on the weekends, I would always have a friend spend the night.

On a Saturday night, while myself, my brother and my friend were sitting in the living room playing Sega [yes, ages ago], we heard a woman scream, coming from the room with the basement.

My mother would go to work about 3am in the morning, and work until about noon the following day, so it was about 4:30am when we heard the woman scream.

Thus, we all decided to sleep in my mother's room, on her queen size bed, while she was at work. The next morning, about 9am, a few hours before my mother got home from work, my friend said that my mom came home last night.

According to him, he woke up and seen a woman standing at my mother's bedroom door, and after he saw her standing there, she told him, "to go back to bed—everything is okay."

About ten years later, during our family Christmas, we were all talking about the same house, with the creepy basement. My mother revealed to my brother and I that she woke up several times to see someone standing at the doorway of her bedroom.

It gave me goose-bumps writing this story.