The house standing before me was old but, oh, it was beautiful. It wasn’t beautiful in the sense of being visually stunning. It was beautiful because it had a past. A past that was lost somewhere in the generations of families settling in and then moving on. A past that involved my family, both through good times and hard. I had heard multiple stories about this house when I was growing up. Stories of the strange happenings and sightings. I was even shown a photo of my mother and uncle as young children with a young girl and dog sitting under the table they were eating at. Why was this odd? My grandmother said they never owned a dog in that house. In fact, a dog had never even entered that house while they were living in it. My curiosity was captured instantly, and I had to hear every story my family had about that house. There were other stories about negative experiences, but all the happenings in that house were harmless.
I was told about the footsteps that could be heard throughout the day inside a long closet that was upstairs. They would go from one end of the closet to the next, just pacing back and forth. But when you looked inside the closet? Nothing. The noise would stop after that, and then come back a few hours later.
I was told about the children’s train set that would run and stop by itself, but only when placed in that closet. I listened as my uncle described a green floating figure that was seen as my family was moving out of the house. The figure was laying perfectly still as if sleeping on his bed. However, there was no bed there anymore. It had already been packed.
I could listen to my family telling stories for hours. So when we finally went back to the town and state where the house was, I was more than ecstatic. When we were walking the streets of the house, we had to at least try to see more than just the outside of the house. My grandma walked up to a woman sitting on a porch and they talked about people they happened to know in common, and how our family used to own that Victorian house. Eventually, my grandma asked if we could go inside and see the changes that had been made. As we walked through the door, I could feel the environment change around me. It was almost as if I could feel the house in my skin. My toddler brother instantly started crying; something that was very rare for him. We asked if the current homeowners ever experienced anything strange. In response, they mentioned that closet. My grandma and I were amazed. She went on about her experiences in the house, we walked around for a little bit, and then eventually left. My brother stopped crying as soon as we walked out the front door.
Although not everyone believe in the supernatural, the stories and feelings I got inside that house sparked a yearning in me to learn more about supernatural experiences. My bucket list actually includes going to some locations that are deemed famous for being haunted. I’m not out to find the reason there may be ghosts lurking around the earth still. I just want to know if some people, or animals, really do stay with us, even after passing. Will I have stories to pass down to my grandchildren about spooky experiences? Who knows. But at the moment, what I do know is that I believe. I believe that something more is out there that I am supposed to learn and connect with. I believe in ghosts. Do you?
This is my first ever Daily Prompt writing. Feel free to give constructive criticism so I can write a better piece next time! Ghost