I have greatly admired and enjoyed this site as it brings people with similar experiences together and helps people feel like they are NOT alone and NOT crazy. I just want to give kudos out there to everybody who has been brave enough to post a story, and here I go posting my own:
I was born to parents with firm belief that ghosts did NOT exist (which I would later learn they forced themselves to believe because they were scared of what had happened to them... But that's for later) and, as a result, were not too convinced when my sister or I came to them and told them about such experiences we had that we felt abnormal or, most times, paranormal. I can absolutely see where my parents were coming from when they looked at us in disbelief; having two little girls with a flair for the dramatic with nightmares is not that uncommon and some of it can definitely be argued to be imaginative. It wasn't until I got older, and when I continued having experiences, that I re-thought my childhood encounters and took a keen interest in the paranormal and all things ghostly.
During school (K-12) I had a very tough time. I was the easiest to pick on (probably did that to myself) and I have selective memory from my childhood, though some memories filter through (as they always do). Some (not all, of course) of the memories I have are of night terrors, experiences, whatever you want to call them, that I have reflected on and decided that they might be worth taking a second look at.
ANYWAYS, when I was six, I had what I called a "special place" in our backyard. It was right underneath where my mom had hung chimes and there was a landscaping rock there as well that was interesting. I would spend hours standing out there, looking up at the chimes, skipping around in a circle singing and sitting there staring at the rock. My mom told me later that she thought something was wrong with me, but when I came in I was perfectly "normal". She asked me what I had been doing, and I told her that I was "talking to the spirits in my special place". She was pretty taken aback, but I think she just attributed it to my imagination and was glad I was getting some fresh air.
That Christmas, my little sister and I decided to go all out and had tiny little Christmas lights strung across our rooms. We turned them off every night as my parents came to tuck us in, and when we forgot, my mom usually got up in the middle of the night to turn them off.
One night, she woke up to the Christmas lights in my room shining reeeeally brightly, so she lugged herself out of bed to come in and turn them off, as she assumed that I had just left them on or turned them on again after she had tucked us in. (My parents bedroom was across the tiny hall from mine). When she got into my room, she found me awake, wide-eyed and crying, sitting upright in my bed. She went into "soothing mom mode" and asked me why I was crying. I said that I turned the Christmas lights on because I was scared, but when I did, I could feel the presence of my Auntie Arlene, who had died four years before when I was only 2 years old. It was around this time that I also started talking about the "vampire kids" under my bed that were my friends. Weird, right?
I started getting horrid night terrors when I was about seven, stuff so convaluted that my elementary school brain couldn't wrap around it, so I would ask my parents and sometimes they would just stare at me without saying anything. I began to become terrified of the vampire kids and my "special place". I started avoiding the backyard (and consequently gained weight because I wasn't as active; this is when the bullying at school started). Maybe I was so stressed out from the bullying, I started to make things up to be "friends" with me? Who knows.
Throughout junior high, things started to get a bit better; I was better at defending myself and threw myself into my schoolwork. I also moved to the downstairs bedroom as I was a teenager, and we ALL know teenagers need some space! It was comfortable to me, but it took me awhile to get used to. Even as a teen, I had a feeling that those "vampire kids" followed me down there and were underneath my bed just waiting for me. Not a big deal, though, so I settled in to my new space nicely. I lived in the downstairs basement in solitude until I was about fifteen and my little sister moved into the former office across from my bedroom. It was after then that we both experienced some activity.
Now, my sister was known to sleep walk and talk. She gave herself a black eye when she was about ten from sleep walking! Anyway, I was up late one night finishing my homework when I heard my sister babbling away in her sleep. I had gone in to check on her like I always did to turn her over because she usually snored after she talked and it kept me up all night.
I was in the hallway, my back turned to my doorway and just about to enter hers when the toilet in the bathroom immediately to the right flushed. At first I thought it may have been her, but I was staring at her babble and toss in her bed! So I called out to my parents, hoping one of them had heard her as well and had checked on her, using the toilet on their way back upstairs. No answer and the light wasn't on, so I flipped it on and checked it out.
I know toilet's sometimes flush by themselves and I was tired, so I brushed it off as my imagination, but the random flushings happened all the time after that, so much so that my father got the plumbing checked out. They couldn't find anything wrong with it, but every time it happened, I still blamed faulty plumbing. No big deal there.
It was about a year after our "rogue toilet" flushed randomly every week that I saw the little boy. I had had a dream about him the night before I saw him, so I figured that it was just a recurring nightmare, and it may have been, but I figured it might be worth mentioning.
He was a tiny little thing with hair sticking straight up, solemn look on his little white face and creepy red eyes. The kind of eyes that you see in horror movies. In the dream I had, he had been murdered by his father in their hot tub and buried in the flower garden. It's strange: I remember the dream so vividly but only because this flower garden was immaculately beautiful, but I hardly remember dreaming about a poor little boy being murdered by his father. As I say that, I get almost a guilty feeling.
Anyway, this little boy appeared in my doorway, peeking around it. It startled me so much that I screamed loudly! However, of course, after that he disappeared and I was totally fine. I heard my mother race downstairs, but by the time she got to me, I had settled right down and was drinking a glass of water peacefully.
I just noticed how long this is getting. I think I'll end that there and post more recent happenings in a different thread so that it doesn't become too long.
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