This is Halloween, Part 1

In Non-Fiction, Opinion/Personal, Personal, Writing on October 24, 2013 at 10:40 am

I’ve always loved the supernatural: movies, documentaries, reality ghost hunting shows, costumes, all the like that spikes in popularity through the month of October.  So in honor of my love for this area and for my favorite holiday, Halloween, of course, I decided to share a few stories I’ve heard over the years and a few of my own experiences.  For the first story, I feel I should start at the beginning with part of the reason I ended up getting so interested in this area to begin with.  This is a story that happened long before my time that I’ve heard told and retold many times over the years from childhood.

My grandmother lived in Ohio in a large farmhouse with her mother, sisters, brothers, and a couple of their children.  The family was all sitting together watching television one night when they began to hear rustling coming from upstairs in the attic.  The men of the house grabbed nearby objects to use as weapons, such as baseball bats, thinking a raccoon had broken in.  The stairwell leading downstairs was like the old houses with the doorway at the base of the stairs leading up to the attic.  The door was closed, and as the men prepared their weapons of choice, the rustling turned into footsteps.  The footsteps slowly and steadily crossed the ceiling to where the top of the stairs would be, then began to descend.  The family was extremely nervous at this point, as obviously a raccoon would not be wearing boots or taking the footsteps of a grown man.  The men waiting by the door, baseball bat ready, as the footsteps got closer and closer to the bottom.  When they felt the footsteps were within baseball bat range, they threw the door open, ready to swing.  But there was nothing there.

Kinda creepy, right?  It gets better.

The children used the attic as their play room.  Often, one would come down with scratches or bruises and the family thought nothing of it, assuming the children had gotten into a scuffle while playing.  No big deal.  One day, one of the girls was playing alone upstairs and fell down the stairs.  She insisted that someone had pushed her, but the family thought she was just being a clumsy child.  Later on, she was playing upstairs by herself again when the family heard a blood curdling scream.  Rushing to see what had happened, they found her crying and scared, insisting that someone had slapped her across the face.  Except this time, she had physical proof: a large red hand print covering one of her cheeks.

Still not enough? Ok…

My grandmother had her own bedroom on one side of the living room.  Her sister would generally fall asleep on the couch in the living room.  If she woke up, she would go into their mother’s bedroom on the opposite side of the living room than my grandmother’s room was and climb in bed with her for the remainder of the night.  The bathroom they all shared was on the same hall as their mother’s bedroom just passed her doorway.  One night, my grandmother woke up needing to use the restroom.  She walked into the bathroom, did her business, and was making her way back to her bedroom.  Her mother’s bedroom door was open and she glanced in as she passed, seeing the normal 2 piles of dark hair in bed snuggled under the blankets.   But as she walked through the living room, she glanced over to the couch to see her sister sound asleep.  Panicked, she ran back to the hallway and peered into her mother’s bedroom to see only her mother in the bed.

The family ended up leaving this house.  I’m not sure if it was due to the activity or just because family members were moving on with their own families.  Information on this house was gained through research by some family members and found that many years before they lived there, and mother and son had lived in this same house.  The son tended to the farm and ended up having a tractor accident that left him disfigured and not fully functional from the waist down.  Out of his injuries, lasting disabilities, anger, and depression, he hung himself in the attic.  His mother passed away in the home shortly after.  Based on this information, it seems they found both what was so mean in the attic and the mystery lady who climbed into bed with them.

Furthermore, my grandmother spoke once about how she felt those weren’t the only things in that house.  She also believed that whatever else was in the house followed the family.  Years and years later, when the children that lived in that home were full-grown, after my grandmother had all her children, had a few grandchildren (me included), and had lost her husband, she returned to Ohio for a short period of time.  Her sister had an extra room at her home that she offered up.  I can remember being around 7 years old and visiting them in this home for Thanksgiving.  While there and after my grandmother ended up returning to Kentucky, I can remember  family members discussing the weird behavior of the appliances in the kitchen, turning on and off on their own.  My grandmother also told of a regular occurrence in which she would wake up in the middle of the night to the creaking of her rocking chair in the corner of her bedroom, slowly rocking back and forth.

And these stories are what started that little bud of interest in my head as a child, that grew into the creepy-ghosty-scary obsession I have now!

  1. […] started off in Part 1 with stories from my grandmother, before I was even thought of.  There is a mini-story of my own […]


  2. Thanks for including me. 🙂 Sooooo much nostalgia with this holiday!



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