9. I actually have a bunch of weird paranormal stories, but there’s one that really creeps me out more than the others.
I was about 13, sleeping over at my friend’s mom’s house. She lived in a duplex that the family lived in for 40+ years. She had a couple of kid-cousins over that weekend, so I didn’t think of it when I saw a small blonde boy in a striped tee come around the corner and peek into the room we were hanging out in. My friend asked me who I waved to, and I just said one of your little cousins.
The next morning we went to the other side of the duplex where her grandparents lived, and I saw a picture on the wall of the little blonde boy with the striped tee on, with “in memory of” written on it. I got a chill and asked her who it was, and she said, “Oh that’s my uncle, he got hit by a car right outside the house when he was 7, in the 80s. Why?” I told her that’s the exact little boy I saw outside your room last night, and she just responded with, “Yeah, he likes to say hi to the family sometimes.”
10. I’m convinced the house I lived in during my freshman year of college was haunted. I also swear that all of this is 100% true. I don’t talk about it because it sounds ridiculous but it happened and I can’t explain it.
The house was 120 years old. My room had a door to the attic that I kept locked. I had 4 other roommates who all swear they weren’t fucking with me.
I was laying in bed one day and I heard a super loud crash behind the door of the attic. I grabbed my big male roommate and we opened the door together. At the bottom of the steps (there were 6 awkwardly shallow steps leading up to a bunch of that pink foam stuff and your typical attic) there was an old painting of some lady. We were creeped the fuck out. Nobody had ever seen the painting before (let alone gone into the creepy attic).
We put the painting in the corner of the attic where it COULD NOT fall and didn’t think about it again.
A few months later I heard the same crash. I figured I dreamed or imagined it. Again, I opened the door and found the painting sitting there.
This time I moved the painting into the basement. There were some shelves and I just threw it in the back of the top shelf.
A couple more months went by. Yet again, late one night, I heard the crash from behind the attic door. I thought to myself “no fucking way.”
Grabbed my roommate again and opened the door. THERE IT FUCKING WAS. That god damn painting was sitting at the bottom of the steps again.
I don’t understand how. I kept the door to my room locked as well as the door to the attic. My roommates couldn’t have gotten in there to play a prank. I truly don’t understand it.
After the third time we took the painting out to the fire pit and burned it. Thankfully, all the creepy shit stopped there. I moved the fuck out of that house as soon as the lease was up.
I can’t explain what happened I just know it was creepy as hell and you could not convince me to go back there.