Alright, this is going to make me seem horribly flakey, and i’m not even sure what i believe anymore but a bunch of strange little things have happened to me. I’ve always had a weird sort of sense about certain places, more or less, sometimes when i walk into a place I get this feeling like “there’s something not right here”. It happens very rarely now, but i remember it being much stronger when i was younger. My father has been a member of A.A. for years and during my early childhood he did a lot of sponsoring and counciling for other members, he used to drag me along sometimes when he did home visits with people that had kids, so yeah, i hung out with a lot of other children of alcoholics. Anyway there was this old farmhouse way on the outskirts of the region i lived in that he brought me to once. I was probably about 5 or 6 and i vividly remember something being just wrong.
So wrong that i freaked out and refused to get out of the car. My dad went in and did his session or whatever rather irritated by my behavior, but just let me sit in the car regardless. That house, and the relief I felt driving away from it I’ve never forgotten. Fast forward to about 10 or 11 years later, I’m driving around these crazy backroads with my friend Steffon, yes boring small town teenage crap. Steffon decides he wants to take me to the “haunted house”, he grew up in that area.
So we’re driving towards this so called “haunted house” and we see an amazing amount of black smoke coming from the direction in which we were headed. We follow the smoke, figuring something is on fire, get there and sure enough it’s that same damn creepy farmhouse that my dad dragged me out to, going up in flames, I’m kind of silent for a second and then Steffon proclaims “Jesus Christ! that’s the haunted house!” Needless to say i was a bit unsettled, there were quite few stories about that place i found out after the fact.
There was another house in that town that i actually lived in for a summer that had that feeling of something being just not right. I think the place was about 60 years old or so at the time and some of my friends managed to rent the place in high school. Who rents to 17 year olds? Crazy old ladies that don’t live anywhere near the place as far as i can figure. There was something in this place, strange things started happening as soon as my friends Regan and Curtis moved in. Things would fall of shelves, pictures off walls, you name it.
A lot of us hung out there, being the useless teenagers that we were, it turned into crash pad/punk house/riff-Raff central. I only spent a summer, but during my time there i was always uneasy, i saw things move, i saw a glass shatter in Regan’s hand in perfect timing with the phone falling off the wall. I saw the insanely heavy old ass pull-out couch visibly shake while Curtis and Geoff (both rather large guys) were sitting on it. The basement was a place you just avoided, there were so many things, it was just damned creepy.
The more people in the house, the more it would act up. It didn’t seem to matter where you were in the place, it always felt like someone was watching you or standing in the doorway of whichever room you happened to be in. Me and Regan took to calling the thing Joshua for some reason and I guess kind of got used to it, when anything weird started, saying “Joshua! Stop it!” usually worked, no idea why. Still the corner of the eye shit and unexplainable noises were always there. We found out over the course of the summer that another friends parents had rented the place at one point when they were first married, they had problems there too.
Through them we found out that an elderly man had died alone there at some time and was not found for a couple of weeks. Not fun, near the very end of my stay there one day some of the guys decided to open up the attic, nothing really creepy up there except a few old newspapers. The mistake was reading through them. One of them dated 1944, great article about a murder suicide that had taken place at that very address. That was enough to scare me out of there, even worse to me was that i could not get my head around how or why that paper was up there. The dates, mfdmkksfka, sense, ggawegjkkasfsdfs, no make!
Another strange, but kinda funny thing about that place was the elderly eastern European woman who lived next door to it. She was always out on her porch screaming at any of us going in and out of there about throwing “things” into her yard. My experience with this woman was just out right funny. Me and my friend Jason were walking up to the house and she starts screaming at us in a very thick accent. “YOU! YOU KIDS! YOU STOP THROWING POGO INTO MY YARD!” to which Jason replies “umm…excuse me, pogo? what?” I’m trying very hard not to break into a fit of laughter at this point and she just keeps screaming, “YOU! I SEE YOU! POGO! I SEE YOU THROW POGO INTO YARD! I SEE HAND THROW POGO FROM WINDOW!!! NO POGO! NO!!!” and she’s pointing to a window on the side of the house. Me and Jason are both laughing hysterically at this point so we run inside, and after a long debate, we could not for the life of us figure out what the hell she meant by pogo, but we did realize the window that she “saw the hands” coming out of was completely sealed, no way of opening it. That struck us as a bit creepy.
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