I've had a lot of death in my family, all in my house. This story takes place when I was around 9 or 10, shortly after my father had passed away. I have always been able to feel ghosts, as my grandmother has been around, with her cigarette smell, and lights flickering, the usual.
One night I had gotten up in the middle of the night to get a drink. It was dark in the house, and I was and still am scared of the dark. So I run out of my room really fast. I get to the edge of the living room (My house is only 1 floor and a basement) and I freeze. I feel something, and thought I saw movement next to my dad's old chair.
I freak out and run back into my room, slamming the door behind me. I am hiding behind the door, and I hear footsteps coming down the hall towards my room. I hold the door shut as the footsteps stop. I let go and my door starts to open on its own. The door is hard to open because it is broken, so it would be impossible for a strong enough wind to travel all the way through the house and open it. Before it opens all the way, I slam it shut again, and hear the footsteps go back down the hall.
I start screaming. As soon as I am sure the footsteps are gone, I run into my mom's room, freaking out and stay in her room for the night. As I look back on this, it was probably my dad, but I think he didn't realize he would scare me so badly.
I've never had it happen again, and I almost wish he would, because I'm not a scared little girl anymore, so I could handle it. Being young and not understanding what is going on, I freaked out, even though I never felt in danger at all. I think he is still checking up on me, just in less obvious ways.
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