Last October I posted a series of true life tales about the hauntings, ghosts, and demons I experienced growing up, and later when I had children of my own. The first is printed below with links to the others. Happy Halloween!
While ”intellectually” I don’t believe in ghosts, demons, and the like, I have experienced such. And I cannot deny that the phenomena which I and others–indeed, all known cultures and societies–have laid claim to, are “real.” The reality they seem to have is unexplained, often unverifiable, and usually fleeting and ephemeral. And yet they persist in haunting humanity.
Throughout history, people whom we usually credit with intelligence and integrity have reported ghostly experiences, among them the psychologist Carl Jung, President Theodore Roosevelt, and Sir Winston Churchill, as well as a host of current well-known celebrities, such as Matthew McConaughey, Kate Hudson, and Halle Berry.
I can neither explain, verify, nor dismiss the reality of the experiences that I relate here. I can only state that these things occurred as I remember them, or as others I trust related them to me. And most were witnessed by more than one person.
Our House on a Haunted Hill
When I was a kid “House on Haunted Hill” was my favorite spooky movie. I first saw it a few years after my own family had escaped, just barely, from a haunted house experience. While living there I was not aware of all the horrors that house contained, and only learned the full account when my mother felt I was old enough to learn the truth.
I was eight years old when my parents rented a home set on a hillside in an older, respectable neighborhood in Omaha, Nebraska. The attic had been converted into two rooms, a tiny room overlooking the back yard and garage; and a huge room overlooking the front yard. This larger room had been recently renovated and then abruptly abandoned, it appeared. The high pitched ceiling and walls were covered in a richly varnished, knotty pine paneling. Finely crafted drawers and book cases had been built beneath the eaves. But the floor, made of rough, unvarnished planks of wood, had been left unfinished. And a large reddish-brown stain that looked like a puddle of blood had soaked into the wood.
This was my bedroom and I loved it. Being an avid fan of Nancy Drew mysteries, the giant blood stain only added to the allure of the room–that and the trap door on the floor of the walk-in closet. While the door had been nailed shut, I could still probe the cracks with a ruler, detecting steps that led downward—to where, no one knew. My discovery sent chills of delight down my back.
In fact, I was thrilled to have the whole second story all to myself. Even though the second smaller room could have easily accommodated my little brother, my mother made him sleep down below in the tiny room at the bottom of the stairs. She claimed the small room upstairs was “too cold” and used it as a storage room instead. She filled it with unpacked boxes and unused furniture, forbidding me to play there—which, of course, made the room seem even more desirable.
I remember entering the room often to play by myself and looking out the dusty window toward the mysterious barn-like structure that faced the alley. The structure, which could easily have accommodated several cars, sat empty nearly the whole time we lived there, and my brother and I were forbidden to play here as well. It too was considered “too cold” for human habitation. The one time I did enter, my eyes were drawn upward to the high rafters where, through the rotting roof, splinters of light filled with ghostly dust motes fell to the floor. I did not enter again. When some teenage boys wanted to use the garage to rebuild a car, they moved out after a couple of nights, never to return—even though they had paid rent for a full month.
I thought it strange when my mother kept wanting to move me out of my lovely upstairs “apartment” to a room below and I refused to be moved. She kept asking if I was afraid up there all by myself, and I insisted I wasn’t . This was true. I knew what needed to be done to stay safe, although I never shared this with my mother. It was a ritual that I religiously followed. Every night after my mother heard my prayers and tucked me into bed, I would pull the covers tight over my head and stay there until I fell asleep. I knew somehow that no harm would come to me if I followed this ritual. And no harm ever did come to me.
I might well have been very afraid if I had heard what my parents heard at night as they slept in the room below mine.
Often my mother was woken by the sound of heavy, dragging footsteps lumbering across room over her bed, and she would wake my father and make him go upstairs to investigate. At first he did so wearily, thinking she was imagining it. But once he woke early enough to hear it himself and went dashing up the stairs—but nothing was there and I was sound asleep in my bed.
We moved shortly thereafter. That’s when the neighbors told us about the horrible tragedy that had taken place in the house before we moved in. They hadn’t wanted to tell us earlier and scare us away. Apparently the previous owner of the house had murdered his wife in my bedroom and then hung himself afterwards from the rafters in the garage.
If some other tragic event took place in the small room next to mine upstairs—the coldest room in the house–we never learned. Whatever haunted that room did more than drag its feet across the floor or blow cold air down our spines. During our final days in that home, my mother, to her terror, found this out–with no one but my three-year-old brother at home to save her.
More about this in my next post.
You can read the full series of ghost stories at the links below.
- True Ghost Stories, Part II – Attack of the Poltergeist
- True Ghost Stories, Part III – When the Dead Refuse to Leave
- True Ghost Stories, Part IV – Resident Evil: In the Belly of the Beast
- True Ghost Stories, Part V – A Demon on My Chest
- True Ghost Stories, Part VI – Evil Incarnate
- True Ghost stories, Part VIII – Do I Believe This Stuff?
Luanne said:
Are you sure this isn’t fiction, Deborah? This is terrifying!!!
deborahbrasket said:
I wish! This and the other stories in this series happened just as I describe, or as told to me.
Stuff Jeff Reads said:
Awesome! House on Haunted Hill is classic Vincent Price. I also have had some strange encounters, both terrifying and comforting. To quote Hamlet:
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
Cheers!
deborahbrasket said:
I’d love to hear about your experiences, Jeff!
Stuff Jeff Reads said:
They are kind of long for a comment, but I’ll share one short one. When I was in my 20’s I awoke in the middle of the night and had a distinct feeling that someone or something was in my room with me. It was a feeling like I never experienced before. Couldn’t close my eyes. After about 20 minutes or so, the phone rang. It was my brother saying that my mom was rushed to the hospital. She had passed before we got there. I am certain it was her spirit or consciousness that came to visit me before moving on.
reneejohnsonwrites said:
Wow!! Growing up in the south, I was raised on the possibility of ghosts and the macabre, but sounds like you were living it.
Anna said:
Wow. That’s creepy! Your parents hearing dragging sounds and when they checked on you, nothing. Classic ghost story that never fails to give us readers a shudder. Thanks for sharing! 🙂
~Lisa~ said:
you know the last few weeks i have woke up with bruises, last week it looks like a bruised finger print on my arm and this week it literally looks like a lil kids foot print on my left inner calf. I take ambien at night so dont dream, but my kids are convinced something is getting me at night….~
deborahbrasket said:
Wow! That is spooky, Lisa. I’d get a friend to sleep over if that was happening to me.
~Lisa~ said:
Yeah your blog was great but terrifying. That real life ghost stuff freaks me out.
LB said:
Oh my gosh, Deborah, I very much remember this post from last year! YikeS!!
menomama3 said:
Please, please tell me where I can find part 2! This is a wonderful, creepy story!
menomama3 said:
Oh. D’un. Nevermind. It’s right there at the bottom of the post!
Pingback: Growing Up in a Haunted House | Living on the Edge of the Wild | DesignCrazzie
Africa far and wide said:
Gripping stuff Deborah! Straight on to part II from here…