The Beginning

I would like to share some of the strange experiences that I have had whilst living in my father's house in my late teens. It's a hot topic in my circle of friends, and I'd love to see what you all think.

It all began when I was sixteen or seventeen. My father had decided to redecorate, so the hallway was without carpet for a few months. My bedroom door was at the end of the hall at the front of the house.

I am an only child, and it was just me and my father around. He was on an afternoon shift at an electronics company, so he would get home from work around 11. 30pm - just after I'd snuck in to bed after hours of scouring the internet.

One night, I had just leapt into bed, expecting my father to be home at any moment. As I lay there, I heard him walk down the hallway, bare floorboards creaking. He stopped outside my bedroom door. After a few moments, of me wondering what he thought he was doing, standing outside my room not speaking or knocking, I heard his car pull down the driveway. It hadn't been him in the hallway.

Shortly after that, upon telling friends about this, we (being young and full of all sorts of beans) decided to do a seance in my father's house. Two friends and myself set ourselves up on the loungeroom floor and held a pendant over a flame, asking questions, clockwise for 'yes' and counterclockwise for 'no' type of thing.

After a time we had established that we were talking to a young girl, and that she was lonely. I find this interesting, as on several occasions in the time my father (and before that, my mother) lived in this house, guests had seen a young girl with short black hair walking down the hallway.

Not thinking much of it, we brazenly asked if she would move something in the room to prove she was there. (What would a ghost story be without that question?) The entity replied with a 'yes', and we sat frozen, waiting for paintings to come flying off walls and the furniture to start juggling. Nothing happened, so we went outside for a cigarette. Now, I was the last person out of that room, and the first person back in, and when we walked back into the lounge there was a hessian sack (of all things) lying on the floor, in the spot where we had been sitting. We all stared at it, then at each other, like 'did you put that there?' 'no I didn't, did you?' and so on.

We decided to go back to asking questions, and after a time we established that we were not talking to the same person, but to a man. And the man was not sad or lonely, but angry. It was at this point that we stopped, and my two friends left. (Left me alone in an empty, angry-ghost riddled house, thanks guys).

I would say that was the starting point for the strange activities, which I will be adding in installments.