From the age of 4 until 19, I lived in a haunted house. I guess you could say that because of this, I've been a believer all my life. There was one particular incident though when I was 12 that put any doubts I may have had at that point to rest. For the most part, the entities were friendly. Sure they loved to pull pranks on my family and I, moving things from one location to another, knocking stuff over, messing with the tv controls, harmless things like that. But there was one entity that lived in my attic that was different than the others. It wasn't harmless and most definitely wasn't friendly.
On the day of the incident, I was home alone babysitting my cousin who at the time was just learning how to crawl with little to no results yet. We were in the living room when I heard a thump in the kitchen. I was all to familiar with these sorts of things by that point so at first, I ignored it. It wasn't until the sounds became much louder, repetitive and more frequent, that I ended up turning my head to try and find the source of the noise. My apartment was small so from the living room, I had a pretty clear view of the kitchen. Nothing there of course but within that second, my cousin was gone and somehow was now in my attic. She was making these awful, gutteral screams that I imagine a person only makes when they know that they're in serious danger because it just sounded so ... desperate. These were certainly not sounds a baby as young as herself should even be able to produce yet. Even weirder still, my attic door locked at the top, not the middle like most doors thus making it even more impossible that she got up there herself. I sprinted up the stairs and across the floor where I found my cousin, facing the wall, in the back corner of the attic, pointing to something with tears steaming down her eyes. Her shrieks getting more and more desperate. I didn't look at what she was pointing to, I didn't have to because whatever it was, I felt it. It was a feeling like nothing I've ever felt before. In that second it took me to cross my attic and grab her, I felt this wave of anger, and hate, and desperation, and all things awful and evil rush through me. It was almost crippling like if I stuck around even for another second, or looked at it, neither of us would have gotten out of there alive. I flew down the stairs and outside, waiting for my dad to arrive home.
Out of the countless experiences I've encountered, this one is still my favorite because it's the one story that even a hardcore doubter has never been able to debunk and honestly, I don't think will ever be able to for that matter. So any thoughts about this? Maybe something similar happened to you? What's your favorite real life ghost story that you've experienced?
