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but we didn't stay very long, and I swear on everything as a kid I do vividly remember that house and talking to a person. I am not sure if it was an imaginary friend or something else. Maybe there was even a guardian protecting me from whatever was evil in the house. What is even stranger is the fact that this so called woman knew my dad had kids and all girls to be exact. He said himself he wasn't even sure how she knew since we were in our beds asleep.
Thinking about that house and his story gives me chills.|
Submitted by Tabitha
Categories: writing, basement, phone, evil, yard
When I was young, about 13, my dad rented a house on Diamond Avenue. There were at least two presences in the house that could be felt, heard, and even seen. It was a two-story home with a Michigan basement. One presence, that of a little girl, was upstairs. She was nothing that ever frightened us. In fact we found her to be rather calming and pretty comical. She didn't seem to like my dad. She would play with his alarm clock and made him late to work on several occasions. I saw her once. I went in my bedroom to get something, and as I turned around, she was standing in front of me, between me and my doorway. She was beautiful. I remember that she was wearing a lacey dress that tied in the back and a large sun hat. Her hair was long and spiraled down past her shoulders. She faded and disappeared before my eyes. I was left in tears not from fear, but for the peace and joy that came with her.
The male presence that dwelled in the lower level, back half and basement of the house was another story entirely. From the moment you walked into the kitchen, you could feel eyes on you. I can't tell you how many times I did dishes watching the small hall that lead to the basement stairway intently, petrified that something would round the corner and come after me. There was a bathroom in that hallway that I refused to use. I would go upstairs no matter how bad I had to in the moment. Some people might find that silly or irrational, but if I could invite you to experience the fear this thing would put in you first hand, I would. Once you walked into the hallway and would make your way to the basement you could feel something extremely dark and aggressive. There were times that my dad would ask me to go down there and do some laundry.
I was a very obedient and respectful child, so I would attempt to do so for him. Most of those times ended in me standing at the top of the basement stairs crying my eyes out and begging God not to let that thing kill me, only to run the other way and ask my dad to go down there with me (I was 13!!) On the very few occasions that I got up the courage to go into the basement alone, I would cling to the stair railing for dear life, terrified that it would push me down the concrete stairs and crying the whole way. I finally voiced my opinion about it and how terrified I was to my stepmother who, shockingly, got the same aggressive and downright evil feelings from it.
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