The House That Raised Me Pt. 1

When I was eight years old my mom and dad decided it was time to move us out of the trailer we had lived in since I was born and into a house, with a yard that I could play in. Shortly after we bought and moved into the house, my parents got  divorced. Shortly after that, my dad remarried and moved in my step mom and three step sisters. Shortly after that, things started going on.

We lived in that house for six years. It was probably around the second year when things started happening, and they only got worse as time went on until we all finally left the house. Here’s a bunch of the little things that went on there. When things  really got rolling, not a day would go by when something would happen, whether it be small or noteworthy.

Stuff would constantly go missing or be moved from one place to another. One night, my dad and I were tossing a golf ball back and forth. I was standing with my back to my bedroom door and my dad was sitting on the couch. The couch was against the back wall of the living room, facing the front door. He sat at the end of the couch closest to the hallway. As we would toss the ball back and forth, we’d bounce it once on the hallway floor. Between my dad and I was an end table next to the couch. On one of my bounces, the ball went between the end table and the couch. We searched for an hour for the ball and never found it. We took apart the couch, searched inside the end table… we never found it.

Little things like that happened all the time. Silverware would be misplaced inside the drawer in the kitchen. Sit a glass down next to you and go to reach for it a minute later, it would be gone.

As the days went on, things started happening that were a little more bizarre. For instance, every time we left the house as a family, before we could even start the car, the front door would open by itself. We’d all watch as my dad locked the door again and checked it to make sure it wouldn’t open. As soon as he’d get in the car, the door would be open again. Finally we’d just leave it open and go about our business. When we’d return home, the door would be shut and locked.

Once when my step mom was at home, alone, doing laundry, she was whistling a song. She said that she had stopped whistling before whatever verse she was whistling was over and somebody in the house, finished the song for her in whistle.

That’s about all I have to offer on the small stuff. The bigger stuff, the creepier stuff, will have to wait for another post.


3 responses to “The House That Raised Me Pt. 1

  1. Pingback: The Apartment Pt.1 « Cincinnati Ghosts

  2. Pingback: The House That Raised Me Pt. 7 | Cincinnati Ghosts

  3. Pingback: The TMS House | Cincinnati Ghosts

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