Image of reference to make you picture what ill describe in this story





Another one that from my own experiences.



Hi. This will be a collection of events that took place in a house where I no longer live.



As you can probably tell by the image used as a reference to this collection the paranormal events used to occur a lot in the staircase.



It was a two-story brick house with a dark wood interior; the staircase was made of the same materials. I lived there from the age of six until I turned fourteen. The house had no particular history of unwanted activity or anything of the sort; in fact, the atmosphere inside was quite comfortable and pleasant—at least on the ground floor. Upstairs, however, the mood shifted drastically. Starting at the staircase—which, notably, was U-shaped—the atmosphere became, for lack of a better word, quite hostile. Every room was gripped by a relentless chill that wouldn't lift even when the space was full of people. You could always sense someone watching you from a corner or lurking right behind you. Although wood makes naturally creaks—sounds that are perfectly normal—the wood on the second floor was the only part that sounded as if someone were moving slowly across it.



I have a habit of wandering around at night; I’m not a sleepwalker or anything like that—I just walk around my home to tire myself out or while away the hours before sleep. This habit has been with me for as long as I can remember, which, unfortunately, has allowed me to see, hear, and sense things I shouldn't.



As a child, I hated having to cross the hallway to the stairs—and the stairs themselves. On a few rare occasions, I caught a glimpse of someone peering up from below when I intended to go down, or looking down from above when I meant to go up. I didn't usually wander around the upper floor; although I didn't consider myself a coward, I couldn't summon enough courage to linger in the hallway or on the stair landing.



Once I managed to get to the lower floor, everything was perfectly fine—though whenever I walked past the stairs, I could feel an incredibly intense gaze that always compelled me to look up at the landing. Sometimes there was absolutely nothing there, but at other times I could clearly see someone standing on the landing, watching me. From the time I was six until I was ten, this figure—who had the build of an elderly woman (I’d guess around 80 or 90, given how hunched over she was)—never moved or made a sound. From the time I was ten and a half, however, I would sometimes hear her start to descend the moment I first spotted her. I would usually run to look at her to ensure she stayed put, because if I didn't, she would actually start coming down the steps. She didn't move slowly like in a movie or video game; she moved incredibly fast, and the thought of her catching up to me terrified me. Once she started coming down, I wouldn't go back up; once she appeared, she wouldn't leave until my family started their day and began using the stairs. You might think the simple solution was just not to go downstairs to wander around or waste time, but if I didn't go down, I could hear someone moving in the hallway and trying to open all the bedroom doors—doors we kept locked while we slept because of all this unwanted activity. My room didn't offer much security, either, since my specific door was quite damaged and could be pushed open.



The old woman wasn't the only one who visited us; my siblings' toys would frequently appear at the foot of the stairs or in the hallway. I never saw or heard this particular presence myself, but my siblings—who shared a room—said that someone would violently push and pull at their door. When the intruder couldn't get it open, they could hear a child sobbing softly—as if covering his mouth—begging to be let in, over and over again.



My parents were no exception when it came to facing something in that house; my father, who would come home late from work, said he could see the old woman peering out from his bedroom window almost every day. He was the only one who never felt at ease anywhere in the house, as he claimed he could feel eyes on him even while downstairs. My mother recounts that on nights when my father was late getting home, she could feel someone lying down beside her or breathing against her neck, waking her up. Sometimes, a glass or plate inside the bedrooms would end up on the floor, shattering for no apparent reason, and alarm clock batteries would drain incredibly fast, requiring daily replacement.



I’ve never taken the time to look into that house or try to go back, but if I ever do, rest assured I’ll post an update on this forum.



Thank you so much for reading, and in case you are the only person who was waiting for this story, thank you.