My boyfriend-at-the-time and I were house sitting for his parents one weekend. I was about 19 or 20, so there’s no mistaking what happened.
It was roughly 10pm on a Saturday night. BF is playing a video game in one of the bedrooms, I’m in the living room reading. Nothing spectacular. The house is fairly large, but not overwhelmingly so.
So I’m sitting in a chair in the living room, reading. There’s a fake tree behind me that fills the 3 feet of space between my chair and the wall. There’s a side table to my left, everything’s normal… until a gust, a GUST, of wind/air/spooky shit blows past my face. My hair moves. The tree behind me shakes like A FUCKING GUST OF WIND FROM NOWHERE JUST BLEW THROUGH ITS BRANCHES, and then something, SOMETHING, bangs into the wall. I immediately get the fuck out of there, run to the bedroom where boyfriend is playing games, and just start crying because I had no idea what the fuck just happened.
I finally calm down, then we adventure back into the pit of that evil place to investigate. All doors and windows are locked, tight, sealed, shut. There’s barely even a breeze outside. There is nothing, NOTHING, in the area around the chair to even slightly explain the thud I heard on the wall behind me. House sitting was officially over.
For the remainder of our relationship, I never set foot in that house again after dark. EVER.
I was staying at my aunt’s house when I was 12 or so, having a sleepover with one of my cousins. It was probably 2 or 3 in the morning, and I woke up feeling like someone was watching me. I looked toward the door and I saw a boy of about 5 standing there looking at me. He had brown, curly hair, blue eyes, chubby cheeks, a birthmark on his left cheek and he was dressed for winter in a red and blue coat, even though it was July. He smiled and waved at me, then turned around and walked through the door.
I told my aunt about it the next morning, and when I described him she got this terrified look on her face and went to get a picture of a boy who looked exactly like I had described. He was my cousin, who had died on Christmas day 1982 (the picture was taken that day), after having suited up to go try out his new sled. They were getting ready to cross the highway when he broke away and ran across the street. He was hit by a truck that couldn’t stop in time. I was only 1.5 years old, so I had no memory of him, and I lived hundreds of miles away, so I wasn’t there that day.