Category Archives: The House

Dad Gets A Call

We were just sitting around talking about the house I lived in when I was a kid, and my dad was telling us about some things that happened to him. Mostly to my wife, since I’ve heard all these stories before.

Except for this one.

My dad was named after his dad only he had a different middle name. Never mind that, everyone called him Junior. Except for his mom, who affectionately called him Junie.

Dad said that about a month after his mother died, while we were living in that house, he got a phone call. On the other end was his mom who he said sounded very far away. She said “Junie” twice and the line went dead.
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The House That Raised Me Pt. 8

I guess I can finally lay these stories to rest here. Should there be any other stories I happen to remember, I’ll definitely post them, but I think I’ve written about everything that has happened. Except for this. Here is what happened after we moved out.

At the end, things were terrible. My dad couldn’t afford to pay the bills and because the family had all split up and he was basically losing everything he loved, he stopped paying on the house and the bills and let the electric get shut off before the bank repossessed the house and everybody had to move.

At that point I’m not sure where everybody went. I was already living with my mom in Cheviot and my step sisters had all already moved out. Really in the end, my dad and step mom were the last two in the house. I was 14 when everybody was out.

There were six of us and we lived in that house for six years. If you believe what the Ouija board told my step sister, there were six ghosts or spirits in the house with us, and they hated all of us and each other. That’s what my step sister told me one day. Put those factors all together and you get 666. I thought that was a creepy little coincidence.

Anyway, 1994 was when we were all out. The house was fixed up by the bank and put back on the market dirt cheap. Every now and then I’d think about the house, but I never took a trip to see it. Mostly because I wasn’t driving just yet and I didn’t want to ask anybody else to take me over there.

Finally one day in 1996 I happened to be nearby with my dad and I asked him if he’d take me by to see it. We pulled into the driveway and he shut off his van. Only I got out to have a walk around. It was strange looking in through the windows at the inside. Everything was nice. The walls were painted up real good, the holes had been repaired, the carpet was all new. It was good to see.

Then I got to the back of the house and tried to look in through my step sisters old window, the one that had been covered in flies. I couldn’t see into it. It was like I was looking in a mirror. I’m not sure why that was.

When I was done I got back in my dads van and he tried to start it, and it wouldn’t start. A couple of times he tried. It cranked, but it wouldn’t turn over. I just smiled. He said to me, “If I have to get out of this van in THIS DRIVEWAY and try to fix this van in THIS DRIVEWAY, I’m disowning you as a son.” I responded, “What do you expect? This is the house from hell and it knows we’re here.” I honestly wasn’t surprised. Just then the van started and my dad wasted no time in leaving.

Six months later while talking to him he said he wanted to let me know that the entire time he had owned that van the only time it ever didn’t start like that was that day in that driveway. Never before, or since.

Lastly, I got to make another stop there one night more recently. It was back in 2007, give or take a year. I was delivering pizzas in that neighborhood and one night I was just lucky enough to get a delivery to that house.

I pulled in the driveway just to see how my car would react. A man answered the door and I gave him his food. After he paid me I had to ask him if he had ever experienced anything strange in the house. Instead of asking me what I meant by “strange” he just said that he was a man of God and that he didn’t believe in those things. In other words, he knew what I was talking about because things were happening there and he was ignoring them. I said “whatever helps you sleep at night buddy.” And that was it, the last time I’ve seen the house. I have no desire to go back either.

The House That Raised Me Pt. 7

I can’t believe I forgot this story. This happened when things were just starting to get really weird, but the family was still doing well.

When we were doing well, we had a lot of fun together as a family. We would go out on family trips for the day, which is when the front door was opening itself. One thing we did typically was have a bunch of other kids come to the house and my step mom and dad would go up the street to the bar to have their fun. The bar was only a block up from our house, so they would walk there, spend the evening there, and then walk home after the bar closed.

Those who would come to the house were almost always my two step cousins, one about a year older than me and his younger brother who was as old as my youngest step sister. We would also have our friends from Milford come to visit too. One my age and his younger sister who was as old as my youngest step sister, and his younger brother who was the youngest of the group. My oldest step sister would be out with one of her friends.

Me and my step sister who was my age, the step cousin and the Milford friend would be in my bedroom playing Monopoly. The youngest step sister, youngest step cousin and two younger Milford kids would be in the kitchen playing cards. We always had a good time, except for one night.

There were two windows in the kitchen, one that looked out to the driveway along the right side of the house and one that looked out to the back yard. Behind our big, fenced in back yard was a bunch of woods that we loved to play in during the day. At night we didn’t even really look at them, let alone go into them.

As we were all well into the night playing and having fun, suddenly there was a knock on my bedroom door. We opened it to find all of the kids from the kitchen standing there, shaken up and in tears. My youngest step sister was at the front of the group, in tears, and we naturally asked what was wrong.

She told us they were playing cards at the kitchen table when they heard someone pounding on the back door. They turned on the back porch light and saw a man standing at the door. They said he looked scared and he wasn’t looking at the door, he was looking towards the back of the yard, towards the woods. They then looked through the back window and saw a man coming through the gate in the fence, from the woods, and he had a long black coat on. The man was looking up at the man at our back door and he had a knife in his hand. He ran up the hill through the yard towards the man at the door, who continued to pound on the door, and just as the man in the coat got to the man on the porch they both vanished.

Scared, we went to check and nobody was in the back yard, but the back gate was open. We always left it closed, and there was no way the kids would have gone out at night into the back yard without someone older with them just to open the gate. They weren’t that brave.

We all left the house, walked down the street and hung out on the corner of our street and the one the bar sat on. The people who lived on the corner had big concrete steps that went from the sidewalk to his porch. We sat on those or stood around, barely talking, for a couple of hours when the bar closed and our parents came walking down the road. They asked us what had happened and we told them.

When we got home and checked, the gate in the fence was closed.

The House That Raised Me Pt. 6

I was recently pitching the stories of my old house to the show Paranormal Witness to see if maybe they’ll put me on their show talking about how crazy the house was, and then film actors acting like my family in those situations to help eat up time, when I remembered something I haven’t shared here.

Back when my step mom decided she was going to better herself by getting religion, she drug us kids around to several different religions and churches with her to help us all out. We finally settled on the Mormon church and had a good time there. I talked before about the Missionaries and the flies in the bedroom incident.

Eventually my step sisters all stopped going and it was just my step mom and I who went to church. That was short lived, as my step mom fell back into her life of debauchery. The Missionaries then picked me up every Sunday for church and then took me back home after.

It wasn’t too long after that when I started getting sick on Sundays. I’d have a bad temperature and would have all the symptoms of a bad flu, and I’d miss church. It was terrible. Because I only got that sick on Sundays. The day before and after I would be perfectly fine.

It scared me so much that at one point I had the Missionaries sit with me on the front porch, because I didn’t want to have the conversation in the house for fear of what might happen, and I told them what was going on. I told them how I was only getting sick on Sunday, and that I wasn’t faking it. I was so scared I cried to them and told them I thought the house needed to be exorcised. They told me they couldn’t do anything for me.

Shortly after that conversation they stopped coming to get me for church and I stopped going. At 12 I had no other way of going. The house kept religion away from us, and it.

Well, my bedroom, which I spoke of before also, was more than just the banging windows and doors. There were nights when I felt as if someone or something was staring at me through one of my two windows. I’d pray and feel as if it had gone away. I then started having the dreams.

My dad had already been having bad dreams, usually when he slept on the couch, which he did towards the end of our living there. He would dream that he was in a third world country and he was surrounded by starving kids who were all reaching up at him and grabbing him, begging for food and help. Then he’d be back on the couch, laying there surrounded by those kids who were all still grabbing at him, and he’d have worms crawling in and out of his eyes, ears, mouth and nose. He would wake up out of breath, heart pounding and in a cold sweat.

My dreams weren’t that nasty, but they sucked. One in particular was of my third grade classroom. It was at night, or during a storm, I’m not sure but it was dark out and the classroom lights were on. I was standing in the door to the room, looking in. My teacher was at his desk and appeared to be working on something, or just writing on a paper and he was looking down at it. He never looked up at me. We were the only two in the room. Suddenly a great pressure built up in the room, and I actually felt it. The classroom door slammed closed behind me and the pressure kept building in the room until it was as if there was a tornado in the room. All of the students desks lifted up and began spinning around the room, banging into one another. My teacher and his desk stayed put, and he continued working on the paper, not looking up.

I woke up and still felt that pressure all around me. I left the bedroom and slept on the couch in the living room. For the next two months I wouldn’t go in my room unless it was to get dressed. And each time I went in my room I felt that pressure. The air was extremely thick and I always felt watched when I went in. Finally after those two months, the only reason I started staying in my room again was because that feeling had gone away.

The House That Raised Me Pt. 5

Recently I got to speak to my dad about the things that happened in The House. I asked him if there were any occurrences that happened that I might not know about. This is what he told me.

We had a pull down staircase that led up to the attic. This staircase was in the ceiling of the Utility Room. He told me some of the first things to ever happen in the house was this staircase, coming down, completely unfolded, on its own.

Both the first and second times it happened he’d go up to the attic, which we didn’t use for anything, and he’d search around to make sure nobody was up there. He’d also check the back door, which was just a few feet from the staircase, to make sure it was locked. Everything always checked out, and the staircase only did this a couple of times.

Skeptical, my step mom said that it probably just fell open. My dad had her try to open it, and she couldn’t. It was a new staircase and it was very hard to pull down. I remember as a kid living there, my sisters and I would sometimes play up there, and it was always difficult to open the staircase.

He also told me of the back door, always slamming open or shut. Nobody would ever be there.

I never knew of these things. And then he told me this…

I originally posted about what had gone on between the owners of the house who owned it before the people we bought it from. Well, my dad just told me a different story.

He had spoken with one of our neighbors who had lived on the street many years. He told my dad that the man and wife did have an argument, however, instead of the woman leaving the house and then being locked out by her husband causing her to dive back into the house through the living room window, he had shoved her during the fight and she went through the window, the broken glass slitting her throat and killing her. Apparently, the man then killed himself in the house.

My dad also told me the people we bought the house from had told my mom and dad that they were selling because his uncle or dad had won the lottery and were building them a nice new house somewhere. Our neighbor told us it was because of the hauntings in the house that drove them out, and they had only lived in the house for a year, maybe less.

The House That Raised Me Pt. 4

As I was going over in my head all of the incidents that I have encountered to see if I had left anything out, I realized I had. There were a few more things that had happened in The House that I had almost forgotten about, and they had all happened to a friend of mine, John. I mentioned him during the Apartment stories.

When I was growing up and living in The House, John lived just a block down the road from me and we were the best of friends. During the summer, we lived with each other. He’d be at my house for a week and then we’d go and stay at his house for a week. We ran the streets all the time. Every now and then while at his house, some strange things would happen but nothing really noteworthy, but while he was staying with me at my house, some strange things happened to him.

One night I awoke to see him standing in my room in front of the door, which was open. The hall light was on, so the room was lit up pretty well. I asked him what he was doing and he said someone poured water on him.

I got up and looked and honestly, it looked as if he had pissed the bed. His boxers were completely soaked. He said he woke up when he felt something being poured on him and he heard a guy laughing in the hallway, but he saw nobody.

He had left a glass of water on my book shelf and it had less water in it than when he had taken his last drink before us going to bed, but the water that was missing wasn’t enough to cover what got wet.

I looked at my bed, and the wet spot was cold. He definitely had not pissed the bed. I smelled it too just to make sure.

My bed at that time was a twin, just a mattress sitting on a piece of plywood which was held up by the frame. Whatever got him wet, soaked him, the mattress, the plywood, and the water was dripping from the plywood onto the floor, which also had a little puddle on it. A lot of water had been dumped on him.

We checked the house. Everyone was asleep and really, the only person it could have been was my dad, and that’s just not something he would do. Never mind that we could hear him clearly in his own room, snoring loud enough to wake the dead. No pun intended.

Another time, I woke up one morning to find he was gone. He had stayed the night, but there was no sign of him. I walked to his house and asked him what had happened. This is what he told me.

He had gotten up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. He walked out of my room and into the hallway and just as he got to the bathroom door he heard his name. He looked into the living room and in the very dim light he could make out a form on the couch. He told me the voice sounded like my step mother. She asked him by name if he could go home, so he said he would. He used the bathroom, got his stuff and left.

After I heard about this I was pissed. This was something my step mom would have done at this time, for no reason at all. I went home and confronted her about it and she was legitimately shocked. She said she never did that and would never do that. Really, there was no reason for him to go home, and I know for sure she would have done something like that and even lied to me about it, so I’m not too sure on this, but either way, it was odd.

The last incident, which I didn’t find out about until just a couple of years ago, was again at night while he was staying with me. He woke up to get a glass of water. He walked into the kitchen, got a glass and filled it from the tap. He walked into the living room and sat down on the couch to take a few drinks. While sitting there, the TV turned itself on. The TV we had then could only be turned on by the knob on the TV, there was no remote.

He told me he just sat there, drinking his water and watching TV, not quite sure what to make of it, but his heart was racing. He took another drink, went back into the kitchen and sat the half full glass on the counter and went back into my bedroom and laid down on the floor. He said he was wide awake the rest of the night.

During the night, he heard the TV shut off, but he hadn’t heard anybody get up or move around. As soon as the sun came up and the house was lit up, he went back into the kitchen to find his glass was gone from the counter and put into the dish drainer and it was completely dry.

After speaking with my dad recently and telling him about the TV incident with John, my dad said the TV did that all the time. It never happened to me, but apparently it happened to my dad a few times as well as a couple other people.

The Ouija

I mentioned earlier that I don’t believe in Ouija boards, for the most part. Well, here is that “other part”.

When I lived in the house that I grew up in, my sisters used to use a Ouija board to talk to the spirits inside the house. I never joined them in this, but my one sister would always tell me about what went on later.

The one instance she told me about happened when I was probably in the third or fourth grade. Her and her friends talked to Keith Zeus, and he told her he was a sixteen year old boy who was buried under our house. He had blonde hair and blue eyes and he wanted my sister to be his girlfriend.

Even at that age I knew enough about spirits that they could potentially possess you, if they were the right kind of spirit, of course. I asked her what she said and she had told him she couldn’t date him because she had a boyfriend. I told her that was good because he might be looking for a way into her body, perverted jokes aside.

I had basically forgotten about this until I was in the tenth grade. A girl who sat behind me began telling me about her Ouija board experience the night before. She told me she talked to a sixteen year old boy named Keith “something” and suddenly it all came back to me. I said “Zeus?” and her face went pale white.

We exchanged information on him to find out that she had spoken with the same spirit, apparently. The only difference is, he didn’t tell her he was buried under her house, he said he was buried somewhere in the city.

This girl had gone to school with me in both the third and fourth grade, but she didn’t know any of my family other than me and there was no way she would have remembered that from back then even if she had heard it. Of course the chance is there, but I seriously doubt it. I know her, it’s almost impossible. She also lived on the other side of the city from that house.

So who is this Keith Zeus? Is he really buried under my old house? I haven’t done much research on it but plan to one day. If it turns out that there is a body under the house and it’s the answer to an age old murder mystery, then I’ll be fully on board with the Ouija. Until then, the coincidence of the stories and huge improbability that the second girl was lying, is still creepy.

The only other option is, it’s an age old story that has been passed down from generation to generation and they both used it as their own story as many others have, but I don’t know anybody else who’s ever heard of this story. Strange, indeed.