When I was younger, about five years old, my family moved houses. Being as I was so young, I was devastated; I've been living there y whole life! I made memories there! That's where I helped my dad paint the walls, it's where I played four square with the 'big kids', it's where I got mad at my frenemy neighbor and buried her second favorite doll.

With the move, my family was very busy packing and saying our goodbyes and the like. I don't remember who (since it has been 20 or so years now), but someone was taking pictures of the house inside and out so that my grandpa could build us a miniature, wooden model of our old house.

At that point my sister and I were talking to the people we'd sold our house to; a really kind seeming family, a mother, a father, and (if I recall right), two daughters--basically the same dynamic of my own family. I don't remember the conversation but the basic gist of it was something like, "enjoy my room and please take care of my house!"

Naturally they promised, with smiles, to do just that.

Come a few years later and a lot changes. My parents began arguing more and I started at a new school--I got transferred a lot as new schools were being built by my house.

One day I come home from school to find that my parents had come across a jarring news article about a murder that took place in our old neighborhood. A story about how a husband murdered his wife in their bedroom while the eldest kid was at school and the youngest in the other room.

Beneath the story was a photograph of my old house. The story itself was chilling with out my mom looking at my dad and murmuring, "that was in our bedroom. That could have been us." My dad assured her that, that was nonsense and their bickering slowed for a while.

I thought that, that was the end of it. It was creepy and, to child me, disrespectful. But even seven year old me understood that murder happened. This one just so happened to hit not close to home but right inside of it.

Things started to get strange though; my sister and I would wake up sometimes to hear the sound of a baby or a young child crying. This I remember clearly as it was my first wholly lucid supernatural experience. As a child, too young to remember much for myself other than my parents' tales, I was terrorized by these large black boar with glowing red eyes. I'd wake up screaming and my mom chalked it up to night terrors. But I was and still am convinced that they were demons, especially after tween years of research and coming across an article about boars being a sign of demons. But this is a story for another time. The point is I've dealt with the supernatural before even if I didn't remember it.

Getting back on track, I had been lying awake when the crying began. I recall frowning and then getting up to yell at my sister for playing with her baby doll so late at night.
She had shot up and looked at me with horror and said that she was about to yell at me for the same thing. We castes a glacé at my brother's room. But he was just a baby and had no baby dolls of our own.

We ran into my parents' bedroom screaming about ghosts. Unfortunately for us we interrupted them in a privet moment, if you catch my drift, so they were extremely sonic the hedgehog quick to usher us out of the room with a, "your grandma was planing on dropping by, you just head the garage opening."

Both of us knew that that was bullshit because we know that garage doors don't make that noise and that grandma wasn't stopping by at 12:30 at night. We both slept in my room that night.

Over the next few years things kept up and escalated from things (like my parents' wedding rings) disappearing to wall crosses rotating to my sister's friend having a sleepover at our house while I was away and saying, "I thought your sister wasn't home" while pointing to a figure in my room.

After years of dealing with it we noticed a common theme; the basement. As cliche as that is, that's where the activity seemed to radiate from along with my room and my parents' room. Missing objects would always show up in the basement. We always got the worst vibes from down there too and my sister and I didn't like being down there, especially alone.
Eventually we came to notice that the miniature version of our old house had been put in the basement. The two of us speculated that it was kind of a beacon to the ghosts due to its representation of a place where someone had been murdered. We assumed that it was drawing spirits.

My sister wanted to burn the thing but I protested as I was pretty sure that I read something on how bunting an object that the supernatural is attached to will only unleash the things attached to it. But one roaring fire lately grandpa's hard work was gone, unlike the activity that still continues in my house. Perhaps with more force that before.

Perhaps the murder in my former home and my supernatural experiences are just an unconnected coincidence. Perhaps not. Either which way, it's chilling to know that someone had been murdered in my old house. And I can't help but wonder if they'd seen any red-eyed black boar around the house before it happened.
Quote 1 0
Oooohh I like this one, Gives me slight Heriditary vibes with the miniature house. 
Quote 0 0
Write a reply...